African Journal #15: Winds Of Change

May 30, 2008

It’s the second week of the harmattan season, each day brings humidity, fierce winds and occasional thunder. Rain has come three times already, yet it does not wash away the dirt but makes it worse. Despite the heat, I have to close my windows, the dust comes in and covers everything. I find myself cleaning the house more often than I have ever done in any place in my lifetime in a week’s work. The stillness of time in the desert can be forgotten with countless chores to do around the house, most especially the task of making it feel like home. I’ve added colourful curtains to the kitchen and bathroom whereas there were none, hung up straw baskets I had purchased at a fair trade market in Jos. I have come to realize that without my laptop to bury myself into work and the internet, my creativity has soared. I have made sewing my hobby, as well as doing some carpentry around the house. The neighbour happens to be a carpenter so he’s been teaching me the tools of the trade, but it is unfortunate that my walls are made out of plaster and cement – some parts of the house have horrible holes and I am finding ways to fill it up or cover it up!

The situation has not ceased, with transportation and communication problems. My employer constantly forgets to do the favors I ask of him, written on a list, and it is sometimes two to three weeks later he checks them off his list. And that includes paying the keke nepap (the buggy driver that comes to pick me and drive me to my errands/work-out) meaning the keke nepap only comes to take me to the school, but has not shown up to pick me up every afternoon at 2pm for my work-out sessions with Sergeant Sanjo. Til today, I have only worked out twice at the gym in seven days and that puts a wringer in my fitness routine. I often wait outside with Amadu, the guard, for two hours under the shade of the veranda for the keke nepap driver. My intervenor, Marufat, has called him repeatedly to come and he says he IS coming. But he never does.
I will confess something, but I suspect my father will blow a gasket if he finds out (he reads my journals off Facebook, too) – desperate times, desperate measures for Coco. Some days when the keke does not appear, I walk over to the side of the commercial street a few blocks away from my house, and hail a motorcycle driver. Despite my blindness and deafness, I have managed to study the city’s streets and reach my arm out into the driver’s view to point which way to go. The way to Sanjo’s is pretty close, and the net café is a few minutes away. I know the price, and I pay when I arrive safely. There have been a few times when a new driver is wobbly and I’m nervous he’ll crash. I prefer having the keke nepap drive me around because a) I know the driver; b) he knows where to go; c) the buggy is more stable than a motorcycle, known as a kabu kabu. The conflict between the keke driver and the principal continue to brew, and I am left at home debating whether to hail a kabu kabu or remain at home. When I am at home instead, I walk to the market a mere few miles away, I do very physical chores such as dusting, sweeping, washing dishes, clothes and windows to keep myself fit and busy.

My laptop is at the repair shop now. I pray everyday it will be resurrected, because there are 20 vlogs and 400 pictures of my journey in Africa on that laptop, as well as several pieces of work I have started for VSO. Not having a laptop to do some work or correspond with my networks have put a screeching halt to my daily routine here, and I am often frustrated when there is simply nothing to do during the day. The school has computers, but it will only operate when the NEPA is on. Right now, I am doing this journal at the school, pray that it lasts long enough for me to finish this.

Things are beginning to change. I am starting to really live the life of a Nigerian. I don’t eat processed foods anymore, I rise and shine when the sun comes up, and the dust is not such a bother. I have finally found out my guard’s name. It’s Amadu. He is not literate, nor gestural. He just smiles and pumps his fist in the air for greetings. He looks stoned day in and day out. Friendly, he just lies on his back during hazy afternoons and watches the house during the nights. I have struggled to write to him in Hausa, he passes my notes off to other literate guards to translate. One day, I asked Umaru, the guard from the compound opposite me, what my guard’s name. Amadu, he writes. Aha! Amadu, Amadu, Amadu I recite with my voice. He smiled wide, and is happy I know his name.
I have signed up with a Hausa teacher, whoever he may be, and I begin on Monday. He can sign, and we will do our lessons three times a week for an hour in the school’s library. For two hours a week, I will also sit in the faculty room and sit beside the head mistress, who will teach me how to use a Singer sewing machine, powered by foot. I’m thinking perhaps once a week I will seek out someone with a special tool of the trade such as woodwork, pottery, art and such – and learn something new.

Despite the troubles as of late, I am trying my best to be optimistic and finding shortcuts or the way to the solutions. I am determined to keep my fitness schedule, keep myself busy with new hobbies, take up reading Braille again, and finding a way to strengthen my patience with the Nigerians who don’t own a watch. With them, there is no such thing as an appointment. It could be different in the big cities, but not out here in the desert.

Times are trying, but this experience is once-in-a-lifetime. I have the courage to stick it out for a bit longer.

Before I conclude, I want to tell you that my friend for life, Zach Wineman is a year older today. The day he was born, the people in his past, present and future – even those who never meet him – were blessed. I know I am. Happy birthday, Zach – as you celebrate, I am celebrating with you in spirit.

It is strangely cloudy today. Every and each day when the sun is out, the skies are a clear blue. No cloud in sight, until the sun goes down and the storm comes. But not today, the winds are up and the school’s flag is swimming with it and the clouds are moving at a fast pace. The brisk air is a nice change, despite the same nagging dust that creeps up on the floor or onto me. The very same is said about my life here, keeping busy and thinking positive is like the brisk air, but the situations are like the dust – clean it up but it’ll persist.

Tactile love,
Coco

UPDATE: Future Travels, Fundraising and Mailing Address

Hello friends and family:

 

Thank you so much for your outpouring of support after my latest journal expressing my hardships of life in Nigeria. I feel the love all the way over here and feel so blessed to have all of you rooting for me.

 

I have some current updates for you – didn’t make any sense to incorporate them in my journals.

 

Many people have raved my vlogs and wanted to see more. Unfortunately, the internet connection bandwidth here is too low, it’s not fast enough to download 16 more of my vlogs! The other bad news is that my laptop is dying, and I am at risk for losing all of my vlogs!!!! One alternative is having a friend from Abuja get an external Harddrive for me so I can save my vlogs. A few of my friends wanted me to have a videocamera so I could safely record all of my experiences here – turn them into a movie documentary of some sorts – and I love the idea. However, my salary is 250 USD a month so I cannot afford to buy one. So, I’m going to set aside an account for the videocamera and start fundraising. If you’d like to donate towards the videocamera (the best, plus equipment and cd’s, valued at $1,000) you can donate via my account at Paypal (tactiletheworld@gmail.com for paypal user account). Once I have the money saved up, I will seek for a good videocamera and make a purchase in the US – and forever immoirtalize the memories and stories of my life in Nigeria. I am also looking for donations of good laptops to replace my dying one. I’ve got one offer, I’ll check that out soon!

 

Another fundraising opportunity I am also focusing on is to raise enough money for my Deaf Blind friend, Hassan, to fly to the States in August to begin his training at the Helen Keller Center in Long Island, NY. The flight costs $2,500 (eyes popping out) plus an extra 500 – 1,000 in expenses bringing the total of $3,500. I am currently working with his family to fill out passport and visa applications, in contact with the Helen Keller Center about housing, and writing donation proposals to the politicians of Nigeria. Your contribution to send Hassan, a teacher at my school, to the HKNC will be life changing for him – he really wants to lead an independent life. If you’d like to contribute towards that goal, email me and go to Paypal.

 

I am indeed coming to the States this August

 

My plans for in-country travel are still up in the air but this is tentative – July 30 – August 7 in New York City; August 7 – 10 San Francisco OR San Diego; Aug 10-15 undisclosed place; Aug 15 – Sept 1 SEATTLE, Sept 1 – 6 Washington, DC; then drive up to NYC and leave on September 12.

 

If you are in these cities, gimme a holla and we’ll get together.

 

As all of you know, I had to leave two boxes of books and recources at home since I could not afford the high cost of airplane fees ($1,000) so I could only bring three bags and one box with me. The box that came with me to Nigeria was lost at one of the connecting airports, it contained my childhood and friend-filled photo books, survival supplies, spices, coffee beans, school supplies (markers, lined paper, folders, stickers, etc), large print books for leisure reading, and so on. So it’s been hard living without these items. A lot of people had asked me for the address so they could send parcels to ease my homesickness and the hardship of losing the box. Here is the mailing address –

 

MAILING ADDRESS
Christine Roschaert
VSO Volunteer
PO Box 2452
Garki, Abuja
NIGERIA, West Africa

 

Send me photos of us, of yourself, funny cut outs, magazines, large print books, Body Shop/Body and Bath Works stuff, goodies, snacks, etc.. anything. Once the parcel arrives in Abuja, VSO will find a way to bring it to me in the North. While I am in the US, I am meeting up with my father and collecting the two boxes I’d left behind and bringing them to Nigeria… finally! One more thing before I forget, if you have any current ASL instruction books and videos, send them. The school here wants to change its SEE to ASL, as well as some parents of Deaf children want to learn ASL. I’m going to teach drama class for the Deaf kids in ASL so that’s going to be fun if I have some videos to show them!

 

I want to thank everyone for their support – emotionally, spiritually and financially – in the past three amazing, overwhelming, awesome months of my life here in Nigeria. I can only give back to you my love , gratitude and my dedication to help Deaf Blind kids globally to have education and a good life.

 

Merci beaucoup, and til next time,

Tactile love,

Coco

 

African Journal #14: The Truth Stings

May 15, 2008

 

African Journal #14: The Truth?              

 

Ow. The fire-eater ants are making themselves at home in my air conditioned bedroom, zigzagging from the bed, under the desk, into the closet and making themselves comfortable in my bathroom. They’re less gross than the huge, shiny, black cockroaches that infested the house when I got here in March. But the ants have a sting that burns up my skin, especially the feet when they rest under the desk where the ants indulge in some toe-jam licking.  I don’t notice they have stung, until after I have my midnight shower before I hit the sheets. The clean water runs over the bitten areas, making it burn even more. The stings don’t last very long, but I’ll have to contend with the ants for as long as I live here. That sounds familiar – parallel to the truth. Truth stings, sometimes, when the situations are all over the place and it isn’t so much friendly as I thought it would be. But the truth is preferred over the ugly, big, bad lie.

 

What am I talking about? I’m talking about reality here at home, in the desert, in Nigeria. The truth has many explanations. I tell everyone adventure stories, they are the truth. But there is also the fears I have, the things that aren’t mentioned to people or to my readers that happen while I live so far away from most of them back home.

 

For instance, I am experiencing homesickness. Never in my life on my travels have I become homesick. I think it’s because living in Europe for a year as a teen was a luxuty and I needed to escape home; traveling abroad knowing it’d just be a few months put me at ease. I’m homesick because here, I have no photobooks to remind me of everybody I love, I have declared Seattle my home base and miss it very much, and missing the good fresh food back home is one of many reasons. I was warned by VSO I would go through this phase, like many other volunteers, so I am taking this in stride, holding my own and looking forward to being in the States for a month-long vacation from work in August. That will give me my dose of that home feeling.

 

Other thing is, while things may seem great,  I’m not feeling so great about the communication barrier. Tactiling in Signed English Exact has been a great challenge – not because of the dialogue itself, but having to piece word by word that was signed into my mind, filling out a sentence. But by the time I finish the sentence, I will forget the beginning. Teachers at my school want to learn ASL but I don’t have the resources to do that, so I am hoping on my travels to the US I will be able to collect some instruction books. The people of Birnin Kebbi speak Hausa, I’ve only attempted to learn 20 words in Hausa. I’ve come to blows with my keke nepap driver because he kept picking me up so late or forgetting to do so – leaving me stranded with no way of contacting someone from work to pick me up. I try to communicate with him in gestures or English, but he has NO inkling of what I am trying to tell him. My guard speaks all Hausa, and when I need to ask him to do something, he just does that  goofy smile and pumps his fist in the air in greeting. Sigh. So, as a solution, I have asked the principal to bring in a private tutor so I can learn how to write, read and speak some Hausa in order to survive and get by. Here’s hoping my language barriers will collapse soon, because it’s wearing on my patience really thin!

 

The food here – where do I begin? The cucumber is a yellow color, doesn’t taste the same but nearly the same. Tomatoes are often bought very ripe, and burst from the extreme hear the very next day. Apples are very expensive, they are hardly found anywhere. Oranges have no juice in them. Cabbages are very expensive, as well as eggs. The beheaded cows and gutted chicken strewn in the market isn’t a pleasant view and has affected my appetite for meat (although I do still love it, I order it in restaurants – cooked). My fridge runs on cold air half of the day so there’s often puddles of melted ice inside from the freezer thawing. I have to boil huge pots of water daily to put in the water filter so I can fill up water bottles. My pantry is stocked with high carbohydrates – rice, bread, pasta, rice noodles, cous-cous, and ramen. I have to eat a lot of them because the other foods are scarce. I may sound like I’m complaining – it’s just my third month here – and I miss the comforts of food back home in Seattle. But as the day goes by, I think up of good recipes to make more vegan dishes from the limited choices of food I have. I have made spinach, tomato, potato, cabbage, vegetable and mushroom soups from scratch; made a wonderful summer salad with the tomatoes, cucumbers and onions (I have dressings); I have bought a crate of eggs so I could made egg frittatas in the oven, omelettes, egg sandwiches, boiled eggs. It’s good for me. I’m trying to be creative with the limited choices of food – and I’m improving. Tomorrow I’ll try to make some mango crumble. Oh yea, we have mangoes and pineapple – sweet treats for a hot day.

 

What other truth is there to admit? The most toughest one I’ve had to admit. I’ve noticed with the glaring, hot sun of the desert, my cataract in my right eye is growing. I have noticed a more visible white fog over my central vision and it’s a telltale sign my cataract is growing. I had cataract surgery in 2004 and it resulted in complete blindness in my left eye so after that traumatizing experience I vowed not to opt for surgery until the cataract was overblown and covered my central vision. My field of Usher’s at 5 degrees remains the same, the tunnel has not become any narrower. That’s two different things – cataract and Usher’s. Read up on it, will you? So this means that living here had come with a risk, and that would be cataract growth. Truth be told, I knew of the risk and still wanted to come anyway. It’s just progress in life – I’ll eventually become blind one day – sooner or later. I’m prepared for it. It’s just that it’s kinda sad my vision had to go while I am so young, rather than an old age. I protect my eyes from the sun with a polarized sunglasses, and I stay inside most of the day. I find it challenging to go around my house in the dark with no light, and practice my Braille in the candlelight. It’s preparing me for full-blindness, and I’m doing this gracefully.

 

I think that the truth doesn’t really have a sting, just an annoying itch that will go away. It’s the loneliness I’m experiencing right now that is putting everything into perspective – throw away the rose-colored glasses and see everything for what it really is. I would rather swallow the truth than digest lies and keep it in my stomach – get it all out and feel so relieved. That sounded like a Freudian slip, didn’t it?

 

Tomorrow, I go off in search for the truths of Birnin-Kebbi and test my character and willpower.

 

Tactile love,

Coco

411: Canadian Airlines To Allow SSP’s Ride for Free!

Many thanks to Deaf Blind Canada, a group on Facebook for announcing the wonderful news. In sum, the Federal Appeals Court has turned down an appeal by Air Canada and WestJet – two major airlines in Canada – to argue the Transportation Board’s decision to allow passengers with severe disabilities bring assistance (intervenors, support service providers, family friend) to travel for free while obese passengers get a seat free.

The Toronto Star Article

http://healthzone.ca/health/article/425135

 

While the decision will cost Air Canada and Westjet a large percentage of their annual income (14-16%), this is a victory for Deaf Blind Canadians who have, in the past, had traumatizing experiences travelling alone.

I wrote a story about this earlier in November and posted an blog about whether Deaf Blind people should be allowed to fly alone.

Blog: I Could Have Been Tasered

http://tactiletheworld.wordpress.com/2007/11/20/blog-i-could-have-been-tasered/

Blog: Should The Deaf Blind be Allowed to Travel Alone?

http://tactiletheworld.wordpress.com/2007/10/21/blog-should-deaf-blind-be-allowed-to-fly-alone/

Veni, Vedi, Vici for us! I’m sure I’ll have a lot of friends begging to tag along!

Tactile love, Coco

African Journal #13: The Sands Of Time

May 11, 2008

 

Baring The Essentials

        It was time to bid Abuja adieu, its luxury traded for the rugged inferno of the desert I called home. My organization had agreed to have one of their drivers drive me home, amid concerns that as a Deaf Blind white woman I would not fare so well traveling alone on the open highways upward to Birnin Kebbi during a long seven hour journey cramped in the back of a beat-up Honda station wagon with eight other people. So, Matthew, the VSO employee that brought me to the hospital, was my driver and we set off for the desert state of Kebbi on Sunday. I was recovering pretty quickly from the viraemia flu, so I was well enough to travel. I was anxious to arrive home, after three weeks of traveling different central states and living out of my suitcase.  I wanted to settle down in my routine, start working out with my personal trainer, sleep in my own bed, cook food, start working at the school and immersing myself in the Northern culture. I knew I would miss the people I had befriended on my travels, but they were welcome to come up and visit – and I would be in Abuja in late July for meetings with government officials and set off for America where I would vacation for a month in August. So, living my life in Kebbi was important to me, I wanted to start making changes for the school so that the children’s lives would improve.

 

I wore a flowy sunflower dress with a peach-colored Nigerian headwrap, it was my favorite travel wear. Dresses during African travel made it easier for me to make a pit stop by the roadside, take a squat and pee rather than having to hike down my pants awkwardly and stumble, fall onto my pee which is something I want to avoid, especially with my faulty balance. Matthew came by bright and early, packed my things in the back seat of the truck and we set off – but not before stopping by a fast food restaurant to pick up some breakfast. Here in Nigeria, fast food restaurants (there’s NO McD’s or Starbucks) serve rice and chicken for breakfast. So I had that and munched while we drove off to Minna, a pit stop in between.

Once we got to Minna, we stopped by Mr. Biggs, another fast food restaurant to pick up some ice cream and I had to use the girl’s room.  Ice cream was a refreshing treat, as the temperatures rose every kilometer we drove up North. As I walked out, I saw several Nigerians and Japanese tourists staring at me with their mouths wide open. I was accustomed to these things – Erin and Zach had told me a million times (environmental information) that people were gathered around me and staring. So I didn’t pay any attention to it and got in the truck. Matthew wrote me a note, “Your dress has a tear in it”. I thought he was talking about the small hole on my right side seam so I told him it was OK and I didn’t need to change clothes. He gave me a very concerned look, so I brushed him off and we set out for the rest of the trip.

One hour before we arrived home, I asked Matthew to stop by one of these side-road huts, I needed to buy some mango and onions. The vendor, a young teenage boy, looked at me with his eyes wide, and his mouth open. It was hard to get him to finally get the mangoes and when I waved and snapped in his face, he finally “woke up” and scurried to get me my items. I paid and got back in the truck. He’s probably having some sort of culture shock, not having had seen a batura before. Before setting off, I glanced back and saw a few Nigerians staring at me with their eyes open. Now, what? I am sure they have seen at least one or two bature people in their lives? It was not the usual stares, it was more of a shocked look, as if they’d seen Allah walking on water.

Home sweet home. The guard was laying on his back on his ratty mat and slowly got up. I swear, this man seems to be stoned twenty four hours, seven days a week. He had that same, old goofy smile on his face. The guard hoisted his fist in the air – that is the North way of saying hello. His aged body walked slowly over to the truck to help me move my things. Abdullahi, my neighbour, was sitting on the porch, too, and beamed a big smile. He was ecstatic to have me back. When I walked around them, I glanced back and the two men had the same shocked looks plastered on their faces. WHAT??? WHAT???? I was so puzzled but went for the door to unlock. By then, I felt a strong draft up my dress and it didn’t feel right. It felt more…. Exposed. So I reached out for the left side of my dress and my hands ran over my bum. No fabric was covering it. It was bare. There was a huge hole – my dress had been torn into a huge meteorite crater, exposing my naked bum. Admittedly, my underwear ran out the day before, so I thought to myself, why not travel for a day without it? Ahem. Mortified, I opened the door so fast, ran into my room and got a change of clothes. I walked out of my room looking sheepishly, and Matthew was standing in the hallway laughing and mouthing “that, that” and pointing to where the hole on my dress was.

It had dawned on me: My dress had been torn like that ever since I left Abuja. How in the world did I not feel that? It’s likely 50 people saw my bare ass. Be cool, cool. I’ll see Matthew a few times a year but there’s my neighbour and my guard. They know where the birthmark is.

 

Once Matthew left, I was standing in the doorway of my living room that leads out to the central courtyard and it had dawned on me: Zach and Erin weren’t here anymore and I was truly on my own. I sat down on the concrete, looking around at the empty house and started crying. Not the painful kind, sure, I missed them but it was more of a liberating feeling. I was able to live on my own, with one female Nigerian intervenor coming soon – but I had disconnected myself from everything I was familiar with in America and now living as a Nigerian. I had my own home, a life to make, work to attend to and only myself to get to know better.

There was no electricity for three days, somehow the fuse box went idle while I was gone. So candles illuminated my room every night and I laid on my back thinking about my life back in America, my friends, family and colleagues. Thinking about the future, where I would be once I finished my volunteer stint in Nigeria. Thinking about today, who I am and what I am doing. In all this time I have by myself, it was sure to be a great metamorphosis as a person and as a spiritual being.

 

By Tuesday, Marufat – known as Moji – arrived at the house. She had come to Abuja when I arrived in Nigeria so that she would shadow Zach and Erin, learn the ABC’s of intervening for a Deaf Blind person. Two months later, she was here, ready to be my intervenor full time for a few months when she finishes her civil service and return to Oyo State to graduate from university there. Moji can only sign a few basic signs and fingerspells pretty well, however, communication had been very tough in the beginning for us in March. Now that she’s here, I hope that every time we have a conversation, she’d take note of each new sign and in time, pick up more signs so I’d have someone to talk to. This week, she came to work with me sometimes, and I would set off to Sanjo’s gym on my own after work and meet Moji at home. She’s there to make sure that I am safe, from intruders, hazards, and to ensure that I lead a more independent life.

 

One of the steps in my metamorphosis process is getting fit. I have enlisted Sanjo, a friend of a former volunteer Hilkje, to whip me into shape. I’ve been overweight for almost all of my life and I have chosen now to get healthy and fit so that I can travel more and participate in the Seattle Women’s triathlons with my Deaf Blind friends. So far, he’s doing a good job – every muscle in my body is aching!

 

Now that I have a place to call home, I have all the time on my hands. As the sun rises, I rise with it and watch the colors vibrate through the desert sky. It gives me energy to go on throughout the day with the prospect of learning something new. As the afternoon sun shines, the heat rises and the time becomes more idle. I sit in my office at the school under the whirring fan, look at the cracks in the walls and think about how I could fix it in time. In the darkness of my palace, my hands touch the walls to guide me from one door to another, and my feet tread so slowly. There is no rush at all, each door needs to have my touch, and one door will be opened. Candlelight move forward and back with the whip of the wind, billows of red sand burst through the screens and fall on my bed like snowflakes with grace. I cannot move, my eyes fixated on the ceiling staring at the illumination of the moving candles as it makes a warm glow around the room. It’s calming, while the fierce desert storm is brewing outside, like sands of time funneling down a hourglass. Time is still, then it runs away.

 

Tactile love,

Coco

African Journal #12: Malaria Malady

May 3, 2008

My First African Hospital Visit

As I laid down to bed on the eve of April 30, I dreamed about my upcoming trip to home sweet home: Birnin-Kebbi. All of a sudden, five minutes after I dozed off, my heartbeat started pounding rather fast and I could not close my eyes. Mosquitoes were biting me in a frenzy, and with the sweat rolling off my skin I could feel each and every one of the mossies. My sense of touch had been heightened, and my body started shaking and the fan’s cool air turned into icy cold and I had to get up and put my favorite Seabeck Deaf Blind Retreat sweater on. My sweat started to emit a sour smell, it wasn’t so sweet anymore. I started noticing the symptoms of malaria: the chills, fever rising, sore muscles, sweating, and feeling flu-like. It had been raining in Abuja, and that meant the mossies were breeding and creating havoc, biting everyone in sight. That meant the carriers of malaria were fluttering around the humid, soggy city looking for a victim to swap blood and suck even more.
In the morning, wearing my sweater and wrapped in sheets, my flat mate Monica woke me up and said my driver was here to take me home to Birnin Kebbi. I bemoaned and said I was sick, possibly with malaria. She called VSO Program Office and they asked my driver, Matthew, to take me to the hospital for some bloodwork to find out whether I had malaria.
For those who think malaria is deadly on all counts: fear not. It has different forms, mostly not deadly and can be treated immediately; one form is recurring and can come back so often once you have it; the other form is rare but it travels to the brain and develops a lethal fever. The interpreter, Timothy’s Deaf brother, died of that lethal malaria several years ago. I have been taking Melaquoine, an antimalarial tablet once a week on Tuesdays ever since I arrived in Nigeria. It’s not 100 percent effective, more like 95%. There are no shots for malaria, only yellow fever and hepatitis. Treatment is available if I were to be diagnosed with malaria and VSO’s medical insurance would cover the costs of medical treatment.

Matthew drove me to the Abuja Clinic, a fancy hospital with five floors and a gated wall around it. There were botanical gardens around the buildings and fancy Lexus and BMW cars. It sure was in stark contrast to the run-down clinic I had seen in Birnin Kebbi, with motorcycles lined up down the street!
As I got in, we went to the front desk and I showed my VSO ID and they logged me on in the computer file-sharing system and sent the doctor a notification I was here. I filled out a small paper with my name, my address, my employer and their phone number, my email address and my birth date. Simple. They gave me a small booklet with a grid where appointment dates/times were to be filled out, and a short summary of the services at the clinic. We sat down in the waiting room, and as soon as a patient walked out, I walked in Examination Room 1. That was fast! I didn’t have to wait 2-3 hours, unlike the waiting times back home in America! I met the doctor, wrote down my symptoms, my medical history, my anti malarial intake, and how I was feeling right now. He typed in the information on the file-sharing system and sent it over to the lab and asked me to go down to the basement to the lab to get some bloodwork. Off I went. And when I got to the lab, I was immediately seated and one vial of blood was taken and the lab technician typed information in the file sharing and said the results would be ready in 45 minutes. So off I went to the hospital coffee shop and ordered an omelette with toast – it was so delicious! I sat there in amazement, looking back at my experiences in American and Canadian hospitals and remembering it wasn’t pleasant. The food was horrid, the waiting times unbearably long, pain prolonged, insurance claim papers by the stackful, and the smell was toxic. At the clinic, there wasn’t that typical hospital smell, just the aroma of coffee and eggs wafting in the air. As sick as I felt, my stomach felt good to have some solid food being digested – and some good old tea remedy. Matthew and I conversed through pen and paper, I told him of the high costs for health care in America and the free health care system in Canada but it was backlogged and chaotic and of course, very expensive. One ambulance ride can cover my salary for six months here in Nigeria!
After an hour, I went in to see my doctor and he wrote down in bold: the results came back, you don’t have malaria. You have viraemia, a flu-like symptom which with rest you should get better in two days.
That’s it? I let out a sigh of relief and went to the clinic’s pharmacy and filled up on some painkillers for my muscle soreness, 2 sleeping tablets to help drift off to dreamland and vitamin E supplements.
I was out the door after 1 ½ hour. I could not believe how fast, easy and hassle-free that was??? I’m not sure if the same system is applied to the hospital in Birnin Kebbi, but the citizens of Abuja really have it easy.
I went to the popular expatriate store – Park ‘N Shop – and got some tea, water bottles and of course, cappuccino ice cream. I was sick and wanted the same comforts I would have – at home back in North America. Too bad there isn’t any Haagen Dazs Coffee ice cream here, I’m mad for that stuff!

Granted, my first visit to the hospital in Africa wasn’t because I hurt myself due to my blindness, but it was a common flu. I’m thankful I didn’t get malaria, and pray that I do not contract any during my two year stay here in Nigeria. I plan on visiting the hospital in Birnin Kebbi – don’t plan to injure myself – but in any case that happens, I want to meet the doctors and the staff and explain about my vision and how they can be prepared in case I was brought in by strangers, who they would contact. It helps to be prepared, especially in a developing country.

Gesundheit (German for ‘in good health’) to everyone, especially with the winter season ending back home in North America and the pollen flying everywhere in the air.

Tactile love, Coco

African Journal #11: Connecti Maximius

May 1, 2008

Connect-The-Dots

Reeling from the week I had in Jos, it was a weekend to look forward to when I hit the road to Abuja, 3 hours away, with Julia and Sebastian for a fun-filled weekend on Saturday. Hungry, we drove by the roadside market on the way and bought some grilled corn-on-the cob. It’s a delicacy, the corn is orange and tastes like burnt popcorn – I had devoured two! Speaking of orange, the trio of us were off to Abuja to attend a party hosted by the Dutch Embassy in honour of Queen’s Day, a national holiday in the Netherlands where everyone wears orange, paint their faces orange/white/blue, with wooden Dutch clogs. We had a former VSO volunteer, Thessa, working at the party so we were excited to get together with a couple of volunteers and dance the night away!
When we got to the fancy residential complex, we found a refreshing pool, a long bar that served free, flowing wine and Heineken beers, maitre d’s serving platters of cheese (tons of them), fresh raw herring, meat balls, and more! I wore an orange scarf and earrings, but apparently my black shirt wasn’t enough so they gave me an orange T shirt – and I obliged! There was a sea of people, mostly batures (white foreigners) dressed in orange, orange and nothing but orange!! Quite the sight! My face got painted orange, white and blue (the national colors of Holland) by a volunteer, Kristal. Once I got a cold Heineken in my hand, I set off to meet the other volunteers (around 15 of them attended!) and meet new people. While teams were assembled (I had signed up too late, so I sat by the sidelines cheering the VSO “O” Team on) and drank even more Heinekens… I think afrer the third one I lost count!
Through an Irish volunteer, I met Jimmy, an Irish fella working at the Ireland-based construction company, PW. PW constructs many buildings, including classrooms for special schools, so this was a great networking opportunity. Jimmy was a great fella!
Pretty much by 1a.m., everyone was seeing orange in the skies, in the water and in our faces – we ate so much herring, drank like fishes, and got wet n’wild in the pool. There was an awesome DJ that played Nigerian and Dutch music all night, and I danced in the rain while the song, “Do Me” blared – and had a cute Frenchman join me. This evening surely was one of the best highlights of my 2-month stay in Nigeria – and I am going to sign up for the 2009 Orange Party Games.

Sunday was a mellow one – the volunteers got together at our favourite hangout, AJs and had shawarma, chips, mineral and great laughs about the night before. Some of us were nursing hangovers, some of us ready to go back home. During the weekend, VSO volunteers had stayed with me at the VSO flat – now everyone was leaving and I was staying behind… alone. ALONE?????? *gulp* alone. I had become so accustomed to being with people – the intervenors, the volunteers, and friends – but now I was really, really, really on my own. I had to start hailing taxis on my own, find places, eat by myself and try to figure life in Abuja all by my fabulousness. And I didn’t mind. This was a great challenge. Zach and Erin had done their jobs well – taught me everything about environment, the people, transportation, and how to adapt to life in a village and a big city. I was ready for the ultimate test – living in Abuja by myself for an entire week before I left for home up North. I absolutely love challenges, don’t you?

Monday, I got ready for dinner with Timothy, an interpreter friend at AJs, then went off to the Nigerian Republican Party’s cocktail hour. Unfortunately, I arrived when the party ended! I thought it started at 8pm, but in fact it ended at 8pm. But I got in some networking – I met the president of the International Republican Institute, an organization that advocates a variety of issues and lobbies the Republicans in the government houses to pass laws in the IRI’s favor. Also gave my business card to some organizers and would see them the next day for the conference.
Up bright and early, I set off for the conference and met up with several other Deaf people who were members of the Nigerian Association for the Deaf, as well as a principal of the Zamfara State School for the Deaf, and a Deaf politician from Jos who worked with the state government of Plateau State. I didn’t know that there were Deaf people working on higher government levels and I was proud of that. From the looks of it, there were around 200 people sitting around a long, rectangular room, listening to each participant speak out on the issue of disabled people and how they are portrayed in the media. The topic of the conference was, “Disabilities in the Media”, it attracted very important figures in Nigerian politics and media. During a photo session, three representatives from the federal House of Representatives approached me and was astonished to find a Deaf Blind batura working in Nigeria and from the looks of it, they were excited about the possibility of a future for Deaf Blind children. Two out of three requested lunches with me when I returned to Abuja in July, and we swapped email addresses. Back to the conference room, the interpreters – Lola and Timothy – interpreted the entire conference continuously (Timothy for the group of Deaf people; Lola volunteered to be my tactile interpreter). They interpreted for what, 4 hours straight? In Nigeria, the availability and professionalism of interpreters is such a huge issue (see my previous journal entry). I decided to go up to the podium and give a few words about my experience using the media (vlogs, blogs, writing newspaper articles, going on TV and university press) to educate people on Deaf Blind topics and made a recommendation to the politicians to develop a relationship with the media, the government funding agency and disability organizations to produce TV commercials featuring disabled people being able. Round of applause for the only white woman that attended the conference.

After the conference ended and lunch break began, I was faced with a long line of people who wanted to meet me. I met several people with physical inabilities, three blind lawyers (it isn’t a joke, one of them works for the federal Justice department), Deaf people, and politicians. I received so many invitations to have lunch, and my business cards are running out. This was an excellent opportunity to network, as this was the place where lawmakers of Nigeria got together and discussed topics related to disability. And they’ve got Coco tattooed on their arm! Looking forward to meeting all of them in Abuja later on.

A southern chicken dinner at a fast food joint completed my dinner for the evening and Timothy dropped me off home. There wasn’t any NEPA for the past two days, and no water – the pump needed electricity to run – so I had to summon the guard to lug heavy buckets of water up the apartment stairs (in the dark, oops).

Wednesday wasn’t such a good day. I had gotten lost in a taxi who claimed he knew where the British Consulate was but kept venturing further and further away. I kept trying to point him in the right direction (it was a mere 3 minute drive from the flat) but this stubborn mule kept going, going, going… finally he asked for directions and 20 minutes later I arrived at the B.C.. I was rushed off the internet because of a long queue, and I forgot my flash drive when I got out of the consulate. I arrived at the VSO office and was told I needed to accompany a staff woman to the bank for some financial business, and what was supposed to be 10 minutes turned into an hour of confusion, wahala and frustration. I was beginning to feel unwell, sweating so much and feeling a little lightheaded. When I was done with my shopping (getting a few “city” items for the village where I call home) , I went to the flat and started feeling worse. I felt some flu-like symptoms, the chills, sore muscles, weak knees, could not sleep and the “bad” kind of sweat started pouring out of my pores. I became worried – what if I had contracted malaria? That really wasn’t something I wanted to have, I wanted to go home on Thursday the 1st of May and start working, living at home and starting my own routine.

My adventure to my first Nigerian hospital deserves its own journal entry – so you’ll have to be patient (no pun intended). I’m off to pop some vitamins, boil some green tea, lie down and read a good book. My trip home has been postponed until Sunday, so I better unpack and make myself comfortable. Abuja has me for at least a couple more days.

It really is amazing, how rapidly my network here in Nigeria has grown. I know people on federal, state and local levels of government, lawyers, doctors, headmasters of many deaf schools, ex-patriates, foreign businessmen, construction company, Deaf associations, an interpreting network, embassy people, a great group of volunteers and a good number of friendships. I really am blessed and fortunate to have had this opportunity to be able to settle in Nigeria well, especially when I am a Deaf Blind white woman. I foresee my next 22 months here to be productive, comfortable and eventful.

Tactile love and be in good health,
Coco

African Journal #10: Jos With The Most

April 27, 2008

Coming Together For Greater Reasons

So much has happened the past week, it would be so hard to sum this up in a short and sweet entry. Let’s put this simply: it was a bittersweet time I had spent in the Plateau State city of Jos.
I bid Jane and Akwanga adieu and hopped into a car with Julia and set off for Jos. Julia McGeown is a VSO volunteer based in Jos, works for the special needs school, Open Doors, and hails from England. She specializes in speech therapy for children with speech challenges as well as teaching children who are mentally retarded how to speak simple words to communicate. I wanted to visit Julia and Sebastian, another volunteer from Germany, and I went to Jos for another reason – to meet with the Deaf community and to speak at a meeting of Nigerian sign language interpreters. So it promised to be a busy week!
Once Julia and I got to her house which she shares with Sebastian, I was greeted by another cute housemate – Crumpet, a mixed-breed, white haired & patched African cat that Julia adopted in her first few months as a volunteer over a year ago. Crumpet is truly a house cat, he ventures outside the door just for a little bit, but prefers to stay in the security of the house – and away from the dogs that reside in the neighbourhood. I’m a cat lover and I think Crumpet felt that vibe, too, so he warmed up to me much to Julia’s surprise. The cat wasn’t very affectionate with strangers – rather, it would run away and hide. So it was a good thing I had won him over!
The next day promised a visit to Open Doors for the entire morning, and an afternoon of craft shopping in Jos. I met with Professor Joanne, a batura (white woman) who has lived in Nigeria for a long time, and she is the principal for Open Doors. Open Doors has classrooms for children who are severely to mildly retarded, physically challenged (Cerebral Palsy), autistic and learning disabled children. There are no Deaf children at the school, they go to the Otana School for the Deaf in town. Julia took me to visit the Level 1 class after my meeting with Prof, and when I got in the door of Level 1, a small boy hugged me, and grabbed my cane and went off. It was David, a 4 year old boy with Down’s Syndrome. I met other children who were between the ages of 4 to 6, some with severe mental retardation, some with C.P. and Down’s. Julia took out some flash cards, and the kids could pronounce words such as ‘goodbye’, ‘hello’ and so on. They were given instruments and we started singing these words on the flash cards, and played some pretty loud music that really probably didn’t make sense, it sure wasn’t the orchestra. When I tried to show David how to beat the xylophone, he whacked me in the middle of my eyes with the drumstick – ouch! Then he proceeded to beat me up with the drumstick (it was harmless and plastic) so I just moved my seat away and played some jingles with Miracle, a small girl with severe cerebral palsy. She had one of the most beautiful smiles I’d encountered in my life and it was easy to understand why her mother called her Miracle.
My visit at Open Doors continued, I ventured into Levels 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6 to meet a variety of students with disabilities, and they welcomed me with smiles and handshakes. Break time came, and Julia offered some tea and biscuits. An autistic teenaged boy named Neneameke came in – he snuck up behind me and grabbed my biscuit! I eventually got it back, and guarded my tea with care. What an eventful morning it was, and especially my visit ended with good news – the Prof had gotten me an invitation to attend a conference on Disabilities in the Media, in Abuja for the following Monday and Tuesday. She had connections, and pretty soon, many people organizing the event were happy to have me participate. It’s so great to network here in Nigeria, and I am pleasantly surprised at the growing number of important people that have crossed my paths. The more people I keep in touch with here, the more likely my work will be successful!

The lunch at Afri-One bakery was delicious – and I finished it off with a generous helping of mint chocolate ice cream. If you’re ever in Jos, this is a must-go place – the ice cream is really heavenly. Julia and I set off to meet Sebastian at his store, he volunteers as a Information Technician for an arts and handcrafts place that imports and exports local-made art to the States and Canada, as well as a small shop where tourists come in and buy real Nigerian crafts. I had some money left over from my salary and I was in the mood to buy several pieces of art for the house in Kebbi to spice it up. I bought beautiful handwoven straw bowls; a wooden hand painted African motif basket, fridge ornaments of Nigerian women in their exquisite dresses, a plate for hot dishes, and some beautiful handmade cards with elephants, giraffes and butterflies. Makes for great greeting cards to friends and family. The most wonderful thing happened – there was a herb shop next door, and having not had any fresh herbs (cilantro, mint, parsley, tarragon, rosemary) where I live in Kebbi, I was on cloud 9 when I saw the gardens! I bought a bag full of herbs and could not stop smiling like the Cheshire cat! Some cheap earrings were bought, then we were off to Julia’s home where we would just chill all night with Crumpet, have delicious omelettes with herbs for dinner and some quality time viewing the others’ pictures. Julia had worked in New Zealand, traveled Thailand solo (just like me!), vacationed in Ghana and a state south of Nigeria, Calabar. It was amazing to see the pictures and it made me want to book a trip to Calabar and Ghana in the new Year.

I didn’t really sleep soundly, the mossies kept at biting me and the faint breeze of Jos wasn’t enough to cool me off. In the morning, I walked in on Julia and Sebastian – and they didn’t look happy. Turns out, Crumpet had snuck into the kitchen and broke through the plastic wrapping of rat poison and ate three packets. Crumpet had become very sick and was shaking terribly – Julia was wracked with guilt for not getting rid of the rat poison when Crumpet moved back in (long story, but Crumpet was moved around several homes when Julia moved to another place with a roommate who was allergic to cats and had just returned two weeks ago). The search for a vet was fruitless, driving around town turned up no hits in their search for an animal doctor and Crumpet was breathing irregularly and shaking. They returned home as I was having my coffee and toast, and I saw Crumpet hobble off to my bedroom, unable to walk with one of his legs. It was so sad to see, and we were all very worried, and Julia didn’t think he would make it. Three packets of rat poison was surely lethal. Sebastian and Julia found a vet on the phone, and as per his advice, Julia fed Crumpet some palm oil through the mouth with a syringe with no needle. Crumpet was hiding under my bed, so I decided to lie down on the floor and try to comfort him. It was one of the most horrible sights I’d ever seen in my life – this cat was dying from the poison in the most horrid way. He gagged, limped, convulsed – and his tongue was stretched so far out. I started crying because it was so hard to see him suffer and wanted him to die right away rather than prolong this terrible side effect. Of course, we all wanted him to survive, but it was inevitable Crumpet was going to die. I became very emotional and continued crying – one of the reasons was because the night before, Crumpet hopped on my bed, stretched himself and looked at me. I told him – I am adopting you. Julia was going to leave in July and I told her I would take Crumpet in and bring him to Kebbi. Now that was not going to be possible, he had a few hours to live. Julia was devastated, and Sebastian was heartbroken and wanted to do something for Julia and the poor feline. I had to leave Julia with Crumpet in my bathroom (attached to my bedroom inside) while I went out to meet the Reverend Athenasius Dapul, who is hearing but has been involved with the Deaf community extensively in Jos. Sebastian drove me to Afri-One to meet the Rev, and I was off with the Rev to a meeting room full of Deaf people and educators for the Deaf who were eager to meet this Deaf Blind batura from America. I really was not in the mood to meet people, much less smile, because my mind was on poor Crumpet. I gave a short speech to the audience and greeted everyone, and bumped into some people I had met in Jos in March. When we were done, the Rev took me to his church 20 miles out of Jos, and when I got there I was surprised to find that there were no Deaf people, only 50 hearing people. The Rev sat me down and started his sermon – without sign language? I attended church growing up til my late teens, but one of the things I hated about church was lack of interpreters. It brought back bad memories of having to sit in the front pew not understanding anything and had to sit still for a full hour or so. I wanted to leave the church to go outside and text my friends, and Timothy, the interpreter. Timothy was supposed to meet me at the Deaf meeting but he was late getting in from Abuja, so the Rev took me in. I didn’t want to be rude, so I just sat in the front pew like a good Christian girl and daydreamed. Finally, after an hour inside the dark church, the Rev dropped me off home. It was a sad homecoming – Crumpet had died from fatal poisoning. He was laying in my bathroom – and no one wanted to move him. So we all went out to the Bacardi Lounge to have some pizza, beer and some laughs. It was a good time for all of us to try to forget the sadness for a little bit, and enjoy my visit in Jos. When I got back to the house, I truly did not want to sleep in my room – there was Crumpet, lifeless in the bathroom. Mattress was brought out to the living room and I suffered at the wings of the mossies, once again and dreamt of Crumpet.

Early in the morning, I had a visitor – a Mr. Jurmaine, who is an educator for the Deaf and is keen on working with the state to develop programs for Deaf Blind children. Prof, Julia’s boss, told him about me and he was so eager to meet me so he came over for tea and we talked about his network, how he came to want to work with DB children and we agreed to meet again during the summer and plan a meeting with other educators who want to develop the same program.
I went off to the University of Jos with Timothy to attend a meeting hosted by the Association of Sign Language Interpreters in Nigeria (ASLIN). They invited me to be the keynote speaker, talking about what kind of interpreter agencies there are in America (RID, local and state agencies, freelancers), the Code of Ethics, how money is funneled from the government and private sectors, and so on. Around 20 people attended, most were interpreters for the Deaf and around 5 were Deaf, wanting to become Deaf Interpreters. I promised them I would develop a dossier of people in America who would help them take off. ASLIN is not an official agency, however, they are working hard to ensure it happens. Also, the University of Jos has a department for Special Education and a lot of people go there to become educators for the Deaf. Now, the U of Jos is seeking to develop ASL classes, and a field for interpreting. If you know anyone that could contribute to this progress, please email me.

After the meeting, I rode the motorcycle to meet Julia and Sebastian at the gate. They had just gone up the barren valleys of Jos to bury Crumpet. We were ready to set off for Abuja, where we would indulge in the annual Queen’s Day festivities at a posh apartment building hosted by the Dutch embassy. The Orange Party was definitely one of the best highlights of my time in Nigeria… I’ll save that for another journal entry.

Life can be so random: it can either go cruelly or peacefully. I hope I go peacefully, and without conflict. Rest in peace, little fella.

Tactile love,
Coco