#13 - Madagascar, Kenya and Teeth

Dear Faithful Reader,

Peace of Christ!
and
Greetings from Lagos!

I know - you thought you had been dropped from the Massive Missive Mailing list. Wrong. I tried at Christmas, but the feelings of guilt persisted, so here I am, in the midst of everything else, writing away.

Actually, the first several pages were written sometime after Christmas, when the guilt was especially severe - probably had something to do with the dust in the air. Not everything there is still relevant - for instance, the trip to Australia and those other exotic places had to be scrapped because we are so desperately short of manpower around here. Imagine - the Development Director is too busy to go begging for money. Anyone see a problem here? Hmmmm.

The longer section was my recent trip to Madagascar and Kenya, and I just got in one of those moods where I started writing as though a letter to a friend, and voila! Or perhaps even VOILA! Suddenly I have thirty pages and no ending in sight. So this is perhaps overkill to try and make up for all those times when there was nothing in the mailbox for ages and ages from you know who. (Whom?) If you don't know, then you have probably received this by mistake and you should know that reading it gives you a moral obligation to sit down and write a check to the Society of Jesus for the ongoing support of poor missionaries. Not unlike me. Once you read one of these, you will understand that we are truly in desperate shape and need all the help we can get.

Okay - on with the words. In a recent letter someone asked about my day. A day. They're all different. I have four jobs, and sometimes one is more crisis-laden than another. Let me pick one last week, neither especially busy or quiet. Up around 5:30 - no NEPA (electricity) so wash and pray by candlelight. We have been having a very heavy harmattan - the dust storm from the north - looks like a heavy fog, except that it is dust. Very fine, gets into everything including your lungs. Off around 6:45 to Pacelli School for the Blind to say Mass for the kids and the sisters. Driving over the traffic is light - coming back is heavier except that we are in the middle of a fuel shortage, so there are long lines at the stations that have petrol, and a lot fewer cars on the road. Home by 7:45, a piece of toast and some hot water. I used to drink coffee - real coffee, I have never gotten used to instant. But it has gotten so expensive that I use my imagination and drink hot water. Take the morning paper and do my news summary - we have many men outside the country right now, and news about Nigeria is almost impossible to get. So I do a news summary, send it out every three or four weeks, so our guys can keep up with at least the major stories. I have one going out this week, it will be #48 in the series. (Well, I was impressed.)

Off into Lagos, with Edward, the driver. He dropped me at Deanna King's. She is head of the American Women's Club, to whom I have applied for an endowment. She is also a singer, and we are going to sing a duet for the benefit for the American International School. While I am singing, Edward has about six letters to deliver. Mail is so slow and unreliable that anything of any importance gets delivered by hand. Deanna is also involved in the first communion group I am working with, and we spend some time looking at music for the 1st communion Mass.

We finish - Edward is there, and we make a couple of other stops. To buy some groceries, to get prices on some furniture - we are renting the house next door, and before I went to the U.S. I did most of the physical renovation of the house. Now I have to furnish it. I usually keep 400 litres of petrol stored away, so I am not worried about the petrol, but we are keeping an eye on it. I stop at the Rotary office, which is next to the site where we are running a feed the poor project. I want to inspect some construction that is going on, and see if the secretary we hired is actually there. I also have the cable tv box which has been giving us trouble, and I get that replaced. It takes raising the voice a little, but it gets done. Home. NEPA is back, but the workers are threatening to cut off the power unless we produce our receipts to prove we paid the bills. I do and they leave. Desk work for several hours. Could be the regional newsletter, the quarterly newsletter (a copy of which I am fully intending to enclose with this letter), accounts and bookkeeping, or outlines for funding proposals, all of which are current. I also have to bring the membership records up to date for the Musical Society of Nigeria - I finished their newsletter earlier in the week - and so on. Visitors drop in. A young man interested in becoming a priest. I quickly determine he is not especially interested in the Jesuits, and his grades would not be good enough anyway, so I direct him to the diocesan office. A women comes looking for a job, another man who wants "help" - ie, cash. A woman calls up and wants help writing a grant application, and Fr. Cusimano, the Jesuit in charge of our parish in Ilasamaja calls with questions about car insurance (I have an appointment with the insurance man tomorrow and with the engineer to do physical evaluations for later in the week - I have 13 cars to keep track of) and changing money. London calls asking for confirmation on Peter's trip to India, his trip to Rome and London and my Madagascar dates. We also talk about the satellite phone, and I check some account numbers that need to come from London.

Around 6 I take a break for a shower. Harmattan leaves you feeling dirty all the time - and you are. Unfortunately, we lost water earlier this week, and although I got it fixed and back, the pressure has changed, and so you can get scalding or freezing, but never the twain shall meet. It is not an especially satisfying experience. Peter and I have supper at 7:30 - he goes off to read, I go back to my desk and work. About 11:30 I quit, read for fifteen or twenty minutes - I try to be in bed by midnight, but don't always make it. I have a vast variety of pills I am taking at the moment - some from the doctor to help get rid of this thing in my chest, some that are part of a cleansing program I am doing courtesy of a friend in the U.S. and the usual vitamins. So I take my evening snack of medicines and drop off. And another day goes into the record books.

I condensed some things there so the list would not get too boring, but that's not an unusual day. Some days are all spent traveling, some spent visiting, some I never leave the desk, never leave the house. It's not the stuff of which inspirational literature is made. Part of my job is listening - if Peter has tough decisions to make, I am the sounding board. If one of our guys needs to let off steam, I am the valve. If someone wants to get a sense of what Peter might think
about something or get information to him without actually talking to him, I am the conduit. Household shopping, staff supervision (we have six working for us now) maintenance, dealing with the phone and water and light, cars - all of this comes in and out of the routine, so that Peter doesn't have to deal with it. I do travel arrangements for the Region, money changing - ah, it's a full life.

I have said that my job is to make it possible for the other Jesuits to do their job, sort of an apostolic stage manager. I deal with the shit so they don't have to. It's not that I can't do the other work, or don't want to. But they can't do what I do, in some part not as well, and in some cases, not at all. It's not what I had in mind, and I suppose it's not what I would want to do. But in a very real sense, I didn't sign up to do what I wanted to do. If you don't believe it's a call from God, then the whole enterprise gets a little weird. Again, it would not be my choice - although it is, I guess - but if my life gets spent in real service, in filling real needs, that's a good thing.

I just got back from a gathering at the French Ambassador's - lest you think that all is sturm und drang around here. In the past I have said Mass on occasion for the French community - there is a weekly Mass at the Nuncio's - and although I have not been in a while, this was a party for that group and they remembered me. I passed up an evening of opera - a well-known baritone singing selections of Nigerian opera, which would have been fascinating. But this invitation came first, and in terms of what I am trying to do, is a more valuable way to spend time. Very interesting - we had people from Europe, Latin America, North America, Asia - and a number of languages. Anyone around here with only one language is at a real disadvantage. Even though it was a small group, I did not get to meet everyone - I went in native cloth, and I am sure several people remained uncertain as to who I am. Nothing like a little mystery to spice up other people's lives.

Today (Saturday the 8th) was the 2nd day of a two-day national holiday, celebrating the end of the Ramadan fast. They were uncertain as to exactly when the moon would be sighted, so they declared both days holidays. One of the ongoing tensions here is the desire of the government to be Islamic and the constant guard of the Christians against even slight moves in that direction. Every now and then there is a cry that Friday should be a holiday, as Sunday is. In a country with a dying economy and high unemployment, this is not a great idea, adding another non-working day to the week. But every now and again it re-appears.

I am currently wrestling with whether to involve the Region in debt equity purchase, a way to increase our money on exchange by as much as 20%. It is an established procedure, and works for many people pretty much all of the time. But there is always a risk, and when you are responsible for a whole bunch of people, I find I get a tad cautious. Someone once was teasing me about the soft life I had chosen, that for a religious, all the needs are provided for, all the wants supplied (well, many of the wants), no cares. I reminded him that in each order there were always some who had to take care of the finances and the management and the finding of the money so that could be true for all the rest. That is one (ONE!!) of my jobs. That's not why I entered - but boy, if it were, God is certainly having revenge.

News from around here? Well, on Wednesday (of Ash fame) we had another bomb. Another? yup, fourth or fifth since I came back in mid-December. The first targeted the military administrator of the state, the second seemed more random, and then two or three aimed at military buses. No one was killed - whether that was mercy or incompetence, no one is saying. Or, as some suggest, it is elements of the military trying to force the military leadership into a tougher and more conservative stance. The last several have been in our neighborhood - the one before this we actually heard from our house. Now I hasten to add, that doesn't mean it was close - it was a BIG bomb - but we do try to stay in the state of grace.

Speaking of Grace - as in my mother - when I saw her, she was not always sure who I was. Several times she thought I was Pete Wickham. Now close your eyes for a second and picture a good-looking white-haired man in his seventies, clean shaven, perhaps six feet tall - then me - then him, then me - personally, I don't see it. On some deep level, I take it as a compliment, but there were some confused people in Salisbury Maryland when my mother introduced me as her cousin. Anyway, on Christmas Day she was taken to the hospital with congestive heart failure, high temp, fluids in and between the lungs - then to a nursing home, where Terry thought she would stay. Well, apparently short of using handcuffs that was not going to be, and so she came home. We have been pretty much blacked out here in terms of overseas phone, so it gets to be a long time between calls and bits of information. Last word I heard was that she had gone back into the hospital and then into a supervised care facility. She hated the idea, of course, but the doctor was very insistent, simply for her own good.

I am still busier than God - going to Madagascar in April/May, a week in Nairobi, then Australia in July, and I am hoping to work in Indonesia (to sing a couple of concerts), the Philippines (to visit some friends and try to recruit some priests to come and work in Nigeria) and Hong Kong, to visit Eileen and Jude. It will be right after the handover, so it should be an interesting time to poke around. I continue to do some singing here, just was named a Paul Harris Fellow by Rotary International, and am writing and preaching and shoveling paper like Hercules doing his stable thing.

I enclose a copy of a recent quarterly newsletter. I do this for folks in Nigeria, to keep them informed about and involved with the Jesuits. Next issue we open ourselves up for advertising and invite people to contribute to help pay for the production cost. So far we have been giving it away, and will continue to do so - but now, enough people look forward to it so we can start to ask them to help. Note, please, Fr. John and the Secretary General of the UN. Didn't get me any money from him, but he's an interesting man.

Okay - switch gears - this is the bit from when I was going to Madagascar and Kenya. Sort of stream of consciousness/Dear Diary whatever. Minimal editing.

25 April - actually, around 12:15 in the morning of the 26th, in a small room at a small retreat house in Madagascar. A bed (with a mattress that rather graphically demonstrates the effects of gravity from the center out towards the sides), four hooks for hanging clothes, a plain small table and chair and a sink. One bare bulb with an overhead shade hanging from the middle of the room. Large open window - no screens, but there is netting on the bed. And a blanket, which is a good sign that the climate will be somewhat different. Different, when you are talking about Lagos, is good.

I left Lagos on Thursday evening - hot and sticky, crowds of pushing people. Got to the ticket counter and was told they could not check my bag through to Madagascar. This is not good news in Africa. Unless something else happened, that meant I would have to go through Immigration, retrieve my bag, re-check it, and pay a $20 airport tax. I was not a happy puppy.

Boarding the plane was the usual Nigerian pushing and shoving match. When they travel, Nigerians are like nothing quite so much as spoiled and greedy children. Not pleasant. Pushing when there is no need for pushing, fighting for seats when the seats are reserved, trying to bring on more hand luggage than the airline allows you normally to check, and never, never bothering for an instant to think about another passenger or fellow traveller. It's every man for himself and Katie take the hindmost.

Waiting for the boarding process to begin - an airline employee, a woman, is on duty in the middle of one of the fingers at Murtala Mohammed Terminal. She is supposed to help direct passengers to their gates and offer other assistance as needed. She is, naturally, sitting down, in the space between two moving sidewalks, one of which is actually working this evening. An Oga, ie a prosperous looking businessman, comes up and she jumps up, grabs his light briefcase and walks him to the gate. Right behind him, a very pregnant woman with a large suitcase struggles, alone, unaided and invisible. Had the Oga not been in front of her, she would still have received no help from the airline employee. In some places in the world, women are struggling for equality. In much of Nigeria, they are struggling simply to exist.

The flight was fairly ordinary - the movie was 101 Dalmatians, but it did not keep me awake long, even though I have known Glenn Close for a number of years and I always try to watch films my friends do. And I had read the book long before Disney made the first movie. But I faded. Into Addis Ababa in the morning - strolled around, had a fairly awful breakfast, courtesy of the airline, and then onto the plane for Nairobi. Some slight concern when I checked in, that they did not give me a boarding pass but instead kept me waiting until the flight was called and then gave me one - but hey, I got on, got an aisle seat, we move ahead.

Arrive in Nairobi around 1 in the afternoon. Went to Air Madagascar, the next leg of my travel, to see if they could check the bag through for me. No problem - except that the guy comes back and says he can’t find it. (Insert happy puppy line.) He takes me through and we go everywhere, even out onto the tarmac to check through luggage carts. Nope. So I file a report, and go back inside to wait the six hours before the flight leaves. Now the bag went to Addis then (in theory) to Nairobi - but if it arrived in Nairobi, it sat for some time before the Air Madagascar guy got there - which in Lagos would mean that the bag was gone forever, but they assure me that the security in Kenya is very good. It could be anywhere - except, naturally, where I need it.

Ran into some other Jesuits going to the same meeting - bought some scotch for our host and a pair of trousers and two shirts for me - I have been in these clothes for many hours and I do not look forward to an extended further wearing. (I am sure that something suggestive could be inserted here about getting me out of my clothes, and I will trust the creative among you both to create it and insert it.) The girl at Kenya Airways assured me the bag would be delivered to Madagascar on the Friday flight - but she lied, because I know that there is no Friday flight. Monday will be the first time I can realistically hope to be reunited with my underwear. I sat and made a list of everything I can remember that I put in the bag, and it was fairly distressing, from my vow cross to two pipes (together worth in excess of $1600) to the complete budget preparation files for the next budget year, several files I was going to work on on this trip, and mail for people throughout Africa. The bag not re-appearing is not a happy prospect.

I'm always fascinated by friends who write and tell me what they had for dinner - so I thought I’d retaliate. Thursday night before leaving I had a light supper with Ray - Hamburgers with melted cheese mashed potatoes with a spicy dark gravy and fruit. Warm fresh bread - Thursday is shopping day and so the bread is great. Off to the airport, and I was intending not to eat on the plane - take minute and try to anticipate the cuisine on Ethiopian Airlines. Figured it would be more trouble than it would be worth. They had fish, so I tried that - not bad, heavily micro waved, but working on the assumption that when traveling in Africa one never knows when the next meal might be available (rather like being a beginning actor) one eats when it is offered. Sometimes. Okay, not more trouble than it was worth but only scarcely worth the trouble. No breakfast, but when we were sitting in the lounge, there was an announcement that Lagos passengers could get breakfast - so we all trudged off to the restaurant in the airport. To do that we had to leave the security section, which means we turned in our passport and got a slip of paper. Now that made me nervous. Here I an in Ethiopia without a passport. Long wait - breakfast was a stale (and I mean stale) roll, with butter and an indeterminate jam of some kind, a pre-fab juice meant, I think, to be papaya, but I wasn’t certain. After a while an “omelette” arrived - notice the quotation marks. Micro waved - virtually tasteless. Lots of salt helped. By the time the coffee made its appearance I passed. Besides, I had seen the men’s room, and wasn’t at all sure I wanted to deal with what coffee would be sure to offer. Back to the waiting area - with only several mistakes but I did get the passport back. On the flight to Nairobi there was a snack thingy - small sandwich on a croissant, actually fresh tuna, not bad - small but tasty and the usual plastic wrapped cheese and cracker, fruit - I had some wine, figuring anything would help. In Nairobi during the long airport sojourn I didn’t eat or drink anything - until I knew what was going to happen (including whether or not there would be a flight and if I would be on it), I wanted to harbor my resources. On the flight to Madagascar we were served a tuna and rice - well, a little like a Wellington - baked in a pastry shell, rice on the bottom, tuna on top, with a pastry top, then sliced. Not bad. The wine was awful but they had (thank you God, and about time) scotch. When we arrived here there was some bread and cold veal, and wine and beer and fruit. I slept through breakfast, and today (I am writing this on Saturday morning - read on to find exactly where to insert it) while visiting a local publishing house, they served us coffee and a local wine which was rather nice and a home-made cake, which wasn’t and fresh applesauce which was to die for. I kissed the cook in every place in was appropriate and told her that if we came back, she should serve more of that. I started to say that I could take some with me in my suitcase - and then I remembered that I didn’t have a suitcase.

One of the priests here took me out to do some shopping. The pants I bought at the airport were too large and so I had to walk with my hands in my pockets. Malagasy men are very small, and so the biggest belt we could find was not big enough. I am now wearing a luggage strap, wrapped one and a half times around me. But it works. Did buy some toothpaste and a razor and some shampoo - although a shampoo in cold water is something I really hate. They took me to a large department store, very much like K-mart with a large grocery store attached, very modern and American. Expensive, even by US standards. They had no underwear - and I discovered, trotting out my limited and rusty French that when I was saying underwear, they were hearing pajamas. We got that straightened out and then discovered that they did not have any. Can it be that Malagasy men don’t wear any? Hmmm - something else to do tomorrow. Finding underwear, I mean - learning the truth about the private habits of Malagasy men is not on my list.

It’s funny - I found the store disturbing, even a little bit offensive. And while it was fun to browse around, on one level, on another I found myself real uncomfortable. There were things we saw I could have used, but I refused to pay that much.$4 for a pair of socks - I certainly wouldn’t pay it in the US and I am not about to pay it here. Hopefully we can find some simpler markets - this fancy stuff leaves me cold.

When we left there it was too late to go into town, because of the traffic, so we went to visit the publishing house where the man who was taking us around is working. I’m not sure what they do there, since most of their stuff is printed in Italy - they may do generalized layouts, but I don’t even know that they do typesetting - certainly we saw nothing of any of it, and the one computer they had is a laptop IBM Thinkpad - nice machine, but not powerful enough to handle the publishing or layout. I set up a laser printer for him and he was inordinately grateful. But it was a nice break, and did give us a chance to see something else of the area. And eat great applesauce! (See above.)

It’s the tail end of their rainy season here, so the weather is delightful, air is clear, cool, people are wearing light jackets. We are staying at a retreat house, so the place is quiet, the food is good and plentiful - I slept through breakfast but lunch, after we got back from the publishing place, was a first course of a salad with beans and lettuce, wonderful fresh tomatoes, and sardine. The bread is great - reasonable win - and then they trot out beef and potatoes and rice - rice even for breakfast out here - and fresh fruit. Apples - crisp apples. The apples in Nigeria are all mealy, like the corn, no crispness about them at all. This was nice. A little nap - window open. I did shave, which helped me feel a little better, and there is something refreshing about new clothes. I suspect I am going to get very tired of my underwear in fairly short order - I suppose tonight I will experiment and see if things will dry overnight. I only like experiments when failure doesn’t make a difference.

The second wave of our participants arrived - we now have men here from South Africa, Nigeria, Cameroon (really West Africa Province, includes 3 countries), East Africa (encompassing 5 countries), Zimbabwe, Zaire, Zambia, Burundi,
Madagascar and the Assistant Treasurer of the whole Society from Rome. Thank God I speak some French. There will be translators but it is a great help to be able to hear and sometimes to speak directly - and outside the meetings it makes life much more interesting because with the best of intentions, we do forget to include our brothers when things get going. I had been reading a French novel during the past several weeks, and instead of my usual bathroom fare, I left a French grammar next to the toilet, for those odd moments with nothing else to do.

Toilets - the great variety of which populate Africa and would make a wonderful topic for a humorous reflection - humorous as long as you were not the one facing them. When I first went to Europe, back in 65, my grandmother, with memories, I was certain, of a very different Europe, gave me several packets of travel toilet tissue. I was both right and wrong. Right, in that it was a very different Europe than she remembered. Wrong, in that those little packets came in real handy more than once. I learned to deal with corncobs (actually quite good) and glossy magazines cut into squares (less good). But the total absence of any kind of paper - hmmm. This is a lesson once learned is never forgotten - look before you sit. Now here, as it was explained to me in one memorable interview, men (I cannot speak for what goes on behind the door with the little figure in a dress) simply use their hands and then wash them. What do they dry their hands on? Oh, there are rolls of toilet paper provided for that. Being thoroughly unorthodox I used the toilet paper for something else entirely, and then, simply to prove my independence, didn’t wash my hands.

What prompted that little interlude was that here there are, in our section, two working toilets, one with a seat, one without. Actually, exercising a certain care, the one without is more comfortable. I am sure you are fascinated by these little asides, but after all, when one is discussing what is important in one’s life and daily routine, the availability and non-availability of toilets and the necessary accompanying accoutrements is not a minor issue. I once was at the Sheraton in Abuja, the Federal Capital. I really had to go the bathroom. I walked in and discovered that the toilet was a hole in the ground with a porcelain foot rest for your feet. Prescinding from the overpowering smell (some, less restrained than I, might have used the word “stench”), the reality of that hole suddenly made me realize that I did NOT have to go as badly as I thought I had, and I was able to control myself for another forty minutes over rough roads. Mind over matter. Or in this case, holes.

It is the end of Saturday, 26th of April, and I have spent more time today speaking in and listening to French than in/to English. Maintenant, c’est nécéssaire pour moi de dormir, parce que demain nous avons un tour des places historiques en Antananarivo, et nos traducteurs sont occupés avec les autres travailles. Le père ici m’a demandé que je traduis pour les anglais. Ce sera, je pense, un peu comique. J’ai besoin de dormir.

Sunday morning - before breakfast. I think I have said that coming to Africa has helped me discover how much I enjoy killing things - ants, mosquitos, mice and rats - to that list you may now add the dogs of Mount Saint Ignace, where we are staying. There are three - watchdogs - and last night they went off virtually every hour. Woke me up - and while the bed is okay, getting to sleep is not an automatic. Grumble. I also discovered this morning that if you wash socks the night before, they are NOT dry by morning. So today’s touring will be done in sandals and bare feet.

I had skipped breakfast yesterday - I was disappointed to find that rice was not being served to us, although it is a staple here and people do eat it for breakfast. I kind of got to like it when I was in Micronesia - a little rice, hot or cold, with soy sauce. Not good for your salt intake, but tasty. Here they had cornflakes (but the only milk was hot), a strong local coffee which one drinks in a bowl - I skipped the milk but did add a little sugar. Fresh wonderful breads and fried eggs, obviously a concession to these strange Europeans. Also a cake, which I also skipped. And a big bowl of fruit. They have great persimmons - called here Khaki - very sweet and juicy. Apples continue to delight me.

The weather is wonderful - after Lagos, it does not take much to delight me, but this is delightful. Clear and crisp and cool - early September in New York. I had a dream last night about walking around in new clothes.

I give you fair warning - I seem to be in a mood and a place where I have the time for writing, and it has been forever and forever since the assembled friends of Sheehan have received a real Massive Missive, so I think I am on my way to writing a long letter to the world. Just so you know...

The touring was actually kind of fun. The Malagasy people are small - very Asian, I keep thinking I’m in the Philippines or some sections of Micronesia. Thus, everything else is small. The roads are small, the cars are small, the houses are small. The countryside where we are is very hilly, and there is lots of up and down and driving close to people - and being Sunday, lots of people out on the roads. The place we went to visit is the palace of the kings, way on top of a mountain. You drive and drive and drive, up and up - then stop and pay a toll, fill out about six forms - drive up some more, park, and then walk (walk!?) Up and up and up and up - and then you get to pay another fee. But it is lovely - the height of the monarchy was in the 17th and 18th century - diminished with the arrival of the French colonists (or as they are called here the colonialists). But a gentle sort of people, not much for warfare or human sacrifice. They had three cannon at this fort, but they were used for calling the people together, not for shooting. Our guide was about three foot four - not unusually small for around here.

She wasn’t quite sure about our group - no one ever told her we were priests, only that we came from all over Africa. That confused her, because we are obviously not native Africans. She gave her opening bit in English. Then she was asked to give her talk in both French and English. Okay - she started doing her spiel to me, in French, because I had only spoken French to her. In flawless French I told her she should be talking to the others because I spoke English! That confused her even more. Others in the group and I started translating both ways so we had constant goings on. At one point someone asked her about the line of succession of the kings - because there was a great period of four queens - and it took us forever in three languages to get that one straightened out. Turned out she was explaining the history of the succession, and our guys were trying to construct a theory of right of succession out of the history. As far as I could figure out, she was simply telling us what had happened and had never given any thought to whether or not there was a theory behind it - and I rather suspect there wasn’t. Who could take and hold the power.

There were lots of people around selling stuff, and I ended up buying a Malagasy instrument - a long bamboo pipe, beautifully carved and decorated, with strings along it all the way around. Moveable frets for tuning, so it can be tuned to a Western scale. I’m going to learn to play a couple of things for the November concert.

Unfortunately none of the places were selling underwear. Had my socks hanging outside my window, still not dry when we returned from our jaunt. Lunch - time for rest - and off to the Novitiate to meet the next generation of Jesuits in Madagascar. We were especially interested, because around Africa the per diem cost for Novices runs between $2200 and $2600 per year per man. But in Madagascar they cost out at about $650. This is quite a gap, and although people say, ah they live simply, that seems like a lot of simple living. They do live simply, and they grow a lot of vegetables. But their routine is good, the men are happy and full of energy and enthusiasm - we still have some questions, but it was a good visit and we went away very encouraged.

The group then went to see the publishing operation that some of us had visited yesterday. And home for Mass (on the way in, the chairman asked if I could get a quick homily together for Mass in 20 minutes. Hmm - I did.) And dinner. And drinks and a lot of talking - and now here I am, writing to you before I do my washing, hang my few poor clothes out the window and crawl, naked and shivering, under my mosquito net. I’ve decided to leave the windows open and sleep under the net - maybe clothes will dry more quickly. Given the ambient humidity I don’t think so. But it’s worth a shot. The secret is to be sure that there are no mosquitos inside the net with you. Or in this case, with me. As I write this the dogs are barking. I wonder what the local penalty is for killing a dog. Assuming, of course, that they catch me.

April 28 - Monday morning - the dogs only woke me three times last night, and when I awoke the room was full of mosquitos. Well, when I awoke it was dark, and I went to take a shower - there is, in case I didn’t mention it, hot water, which makes everything else look better. And one of my brothers gave me a pair of his underwear, so things are looking up. I now have two and can rotate. Anyway, I returned from the shower, crawled back in bed and watched daylight start to happen. Then I got up and dressed and turned on the light, and then I saw all the little nasties. I assume that they had been there all along but they’re hard to see in the dark. Sunrise - as are the sunsets - was gorgeous. Many houses here are made of a reddish brown mud, which picks up and reflects fading and rising light. Because of the hills and mountains there are usually interesting clouds and so even though from my room I don’t get much horizon, what I did see this morning was really quite lovely.

I keep adding things to the list of stuff that was in my suitcase. Today will be the first possible chance for a reunion. I am, quite honestly, not hopeful. My suspicion is either that even though I visually identified it on the tarmac at Lagos that it never made it into the plane, or that it was taken at Nairobi. My digital camera was in the bag. The mail for other people is perhaps the worst, the files are going to be hard to replace - personal stuff I don’t care about so much, although I will miss my gyroscopic razor - no batteries, just pull it until it is spinning and then shave away. I supposed the toughest personal thing will be the vow cross - I don’t always take it with me when I travel, but this time I did.

In the magazine on the airplane, there was an article about a festival that takes place here in Madagascar. Called the Fitampoha, it has something to do with worshiping the ancestors, and involves bringing out a whole bunch of royal relics which get washed in the sea. It’s all very complicated and all takes place out on an island. It used to be that only the royal families went out, but now crowds of people go. One reason might be this line from the magazine article, “During the night preceding the bathing, the crowd will freely indulge in indiscriminate collective sexual activities.” It goes on to explain that this symbolizes the chaos that was present at the beginning of the world. But it seems to me that this is something that travel agents would build whole tours around. The article is very careful not to tell you exactly when this takes place, although the French version does mention it is only once every five years. The local people are adamant about the importance of this ritual to the life of their people and that it should continue.

Breakfast was simple and pleasant - again with the cornflakes, again only hot milk, again everybody passed in favor of the fresh hot bread and cheese and fried eggs and slices of canned ham and coffee drunk out of large bowls. One of the men brought me a shirt and a set of underwear - I have to remember where I got these various pieces so I can return them at the end of the week. I think I have said this before - and it’s not in any kind of a self-pitying mode - but I am usually the one who does the looking after, and every now and then, it is nice to be looked after. Even if only to the extent of a pair of underwear.

I have to stop now and re-charge the batteries before the 1st session. Not mine - the computer.

Later in the day - actually later in the evening, after the supper and after dinner drinks and a spell with one of the Malagasy priests helping him straighten out some problems he had with his computer - it is not a novel observation, even for me, but occasionally I am struck by darkness. Even in Lagos, except for those times when there is a widespread NEPA outage, and really not even then because people light fires and start generators and there are always lights from cars and ambient light from places where NEPA has not gone off - but when you get out in the country where there is no light - I mean no light - you are reminded about darkness, and why the feelings about darkness were so strong in our ancestors. Stars - we don’t really see stars much in Lagos - and the moon - and damn little else. Kind of neat, especially when you are inside.

Long day - lots of reports from all around Africa, which are interesting, but only two of us followed recommendation from last year and prepared written reports in advance. When one speaks French, it is very tedious to hear everything twice. Especially when the translators aren’t very good. I was brief - and translated myself. But the French do tend to go on, and it doesn’t seem to matter if they are speaking in French or English, whichever way the translation is going, they take twice as long to get it out. Tomorrow we deal with financial reports from around the Region, and given that our translators know very little about the finances, that should be most entertaining. I asked today if anyone else in Africa was doing anything with debt equity financing, and since no one knew what I was talking about, even after an explanation, I pretty well figured the answer was no. Sigh. I skipped lunch and felt much better through the afternoon. The house did laundry today - but mine was already hanging out my window drying by the time the announcement was made, so that didn’t do me much good.

Somewhere over the ocean as I write this there is an airplane on its merry way from Nairobi to Antananarivo, and it might just be that there is in its belly a green suitcase filled with the detriment of the life of a bearded Jesuit. (One of the young Malagasy priests was talking with me after dinner, and he said that he had been in Weston and had met a young Scholastics who looked like me. I said, “Oh, I’m sorry for him” and this priest thought that was the funniest thing he had ever heard. He doubled up laughing and was unable to speak for several minutes. I began to worry about his health. Then his sanity. Wasn’t that funny. It’s true though, that it is not until you begin to understand the humor of a place that you can begin to think that you are a little inculturated.) They said if it comes in they will call. (The priest who was dealing with the airline also said that the woman he had been talking with wasn’t very optimistic.)

Nigerians have very little sense of humor. It’s one of those things the English left behind that they keep up without really understanding it. Nigerian cartoons and jokes - they defy description.

I have to wade through nine financial reports tonight in preparation for tomorrow’s four working sessions, so I am going to do a little work.... until the next whenever whenever....

Tuesday, 29 April - 6 am - Good morning! Another day, another sunrise. Sort of. The sky rather looks as though we are going to get our first experience of rain in Madagascar today - pretty but very very grey and no little patches of sky peeking through. I have to spend some more time with these financial reports - at the moment I feel like the schoolboy with a quiz who has not adequately prepared. There are some significant differences in how some items are treated in the French and English systems, and so you have to reconcile those in your head, and I have some system aspects I am looking at, in terms of my ongoing task of re-creating our own accounting systems in the Region, so there are some things I am paying special attention to. Yecch. The pius hope is that we can wade through everybody’s today, but given the French propensity for expanding (see above) - we’ll see.

Later in the day...

I’m glad I’m not Chairman of this group. He is trying to move this along, and we got thoroughly bogged down in a discussion over the accounting principle involved in one particular kind of account. In fact, according to Jesuit policy, there is a certain freedom involved in this account, and everyone, although they were doing different things, were well within the bounds. But the French especially cannot understand why everything is not by the book - their book, naturally - and so we went on and on and on - and having to stop for translations. Boring. So by the lunch break - I am skipping lunch - we had heard the financial briefing from one province and part of another. There are nine of us slated to review our submitted financial statements and one guy presented us with eight pages. Sigh. Today is the first day I did not do laundry - I better watch out, I’ll be getting lazy.

Nope, no word about a suitcase. I have a vision of a family somewhere dividing up my clothes, rather like the Roman soldiers at the foot of the cross.

We have a break until the afternoon session, and I have volunteered (saint that I am!) to go over to the publishing house and help one of the men with his computer. He has been assigned to head up a publishing house after 30 years as working as a parish priest in the bush. He can barely deal with a typewriter and has rooms full of equipment he cannot turn on and doesn’t know what they do. Has no idea what works and what doesn’t and why not. He has just gotten a laser printer which I hooked up for him the other day and he is scared of it, so I’m going to walk him through a couple of simple operations and try to convince him that he can read the manual without any special permission from Hewlett-Packard.

Late in the evening - tired and not entirely sober. I want my luggage back. However, the reality is, the longer I don’t get it, the less chance there is I ever will. Rather like a kidnapped child.

Let’s see - the point of these letters is to share with you the content and activities of my day. Why anyone would want to share my day, I have no idea, since many of these days I’m not exactly thrilled to be wandering through myself, but you never can account for other peoples’ taste, so there you are. Now what part of today shall I share with you? The extended discussion on the proper accounting for surplus to be distributed through arcae? The placement of foreign capital that really isn’t capital at all but deferred liability but is still earning interest? Extended payment schedules for scholasticates and the procedure for refunding shortened liability periods? (These are all real topics that we spent a lot of time on today. I kid you not, serious stuff.) We had a long discussion on how to expand Arca Seminariis funding, and whether or not internal foundation accounts in Arca Fundationis could be invaded. (I learned of the existence of a foundational structure I didn’t know existed which was, in its own quiet way, fairly exciting.) A recurring topic is market value versus purchase value, and whether or not you can carry surplus amounts in the Sumptus Communes. I also learned that I could help distribute surplus by calculating all the individual expenses of the Treasurer’s office and distributing them across the arcae. That gives the effect of eliminating the surplus without having to alter any existing Arca accounts. And to end the day there was a long discussion on the method of allocating expenses in formation houses as opposed to apostolic communities.

Arncha glad ya asked?

I also spent two hours trying to track down a problem with one of the computers in the house - I think it’s a memory problem and I am hoping it’s not a faulty chip, although it is certainly behaving that way. It’s a sign of how truly desperate things are here (in terms of annual capital income, Madagascar is one of the 15 poorest countries in the world, with an ACI of $160.) when >>I<<>>I<< know anything at all. I spent an hour this morning advising one Jesuit on how to manage the financial affairs of three apostolates he is running and some places he might look for money - and he seemed very grateful and very interested - and all the time I keep feeling a bit of a fraud. Yet I do know more than he does, and that is perhaps the least comforting thing of all.

Somewhere inside of me I am still around twelve years old and slightly startled at the fact that I am growing hair in strange places and fearing that some day the adults are going to catch me playing at being an adult - but they never seem to.

I think rainy days and cool weather do this to me. Obviously I need a shot of something, whether subcutaneous or in a glass remains to be seen. Well, time to change my shirt, comb my hair and join my brothers in prayer. I suspect if the rain and these strange moods continue that you will hear from me again before I again snuggle - I do like that word - into my delightfully hard bed (although I wish the pillows were a slightly more conformable substance - hard beds are great, I am less enthusiastic about hard pillows), read a few pages and drift off. Boy, even to my jaded ears that sounds pretty good.

I was right - you are hearing from me again. It’s just that - well, I like this place. People gather for drinks before dinner and there is conversation, and then they stop and pray - after dinner everyone goes to the chapel for a quiet visit. It’s an old Jesuit custom, but one observed more in the breach. It’s a house with a lot of older men - but of course, I am rapidly gaining my credentials to become part of that group. After dinner some talking, people gather to watch television - I saw Chicago Hope for the first time tonight - a lot of terrific talent that doesn’t seem to be going anywhere - certainly I was not caring particularly about any of them, and I admire several greatly as actors - Patinkin, Marshall, Arkin, Hart - but while I was able to admire the work they were doing, I never got involved in what they were doing or why.

One of the guys here who is head of the Jesuit Refugee Service worldwide told me that they had met an old friend of mine, a woman who had been in the Jesuit Volunteers Corps with me just before I joined the Jesuits. She is a religious sister, and is in Kenya at the moment, so I am assuming that our paths will cross in the next day or so. You’ve always got to be careful - and a very good friend of mine is in Cote d’Ivoire at the moment, and I am hoping that we will get together sometime soon. The other bit of news is that I was talking at dinner with one of the men about ailments - old men do that, you know, we sit and compare what is failing - and I mentioned my problem with my cracked teeth, and he suggested going to see a dentist here. I had not thought of that, but he seemed to think that their dentist could pull the teeth and fit the bridges by the time I leave on Saturday. That may spoil my schedule a little, but it could be well worth it. First thing in the morning I am going to trot myself over to this guy and see a) if he can do it and b) if he will and c) what the cost will be. I’m the only one I know who can turn a mini-vacation into a visit to the dentist. “All the better to bite you with, my dear.”

And on that salivating note, I will put my escritorial teeth in their glass, and put myself in the appropriate position so that the birds can again wake me up. Have I mentioned that I like it here?

Wednesday - May 7 - There is less of me to love. Not that I have suddenly lost vast amounts of weight, but where this morning there was a tooth, there is now space to rent. The tooth in question was not savable, re-buildable, and so out it came. Actually I have it - I’m thinking of varnishing it and putting it on a silver chain as a necklace. The anesthetic is still doing its thing but I shortly expect to be in pain so I thought I had best write a few words quickly. I was going to a Rotary meeting today, but under the present circumstances...

I also canceled dinner for tonight. Going to a restaurant that specializes in exotic meat is not the best plan on the same day one has had a tooth out. I’m not supposed to eat anything today that involves chewing. I can also already feel my jaw stiffening up - it was not an easy extraction (nothing I do is easy!) and I am going to feel it in the jaw for the next day or so. But it’s out, it’s over, I have a full set of x-rays to bring back with me and when I go somewhere else I can investigate if there is anything that can be added as a replacement - maybe one of those bone implant things - or if I am simply one step closer to being toothless ole Father Sheehan - I understand he used to be a good speaker and had a pretty fair voice.

I just read an issue of a Jesuit magazine that I had not seen, in which they focused on Jesuits in the arts. They had done section of pictures and short bio pieces on Jesuits who were working either full or part-time in the arts. I only minded a little that I wasn’t on the list - I know most of the guys who are - but I minded more not being there when I saw that they had included several guys who are critics! Jesuits in the arts, and they include the guys who don’t do anything! Grumble, snort, whuffle.

In the last few minutes, the anesthetic has started to wear off, so I am going to take one of these fancy pills the doctor gave me and I am going to go and lie down. Later.

And the good news is that the little pills seem to work. One is an anti-biotic, to keep things from infecting, I guess. The other is for pain. Or rather, against pain. And when I took one, the pain went away. Makes my mouth dry and I can’t drink spirits, but on the whole, a fair trade. Rather spoiled the day - I did not go downtown or do any of the things I thought I would do. I did a little work at my desk - not as much as I should have but enough - and I lay down for a while, and I read novels - lots of clouds but no rain today. Tomorrow I am being taken out to a national park where there are supposed to be a multitude of flamingoes - what is the collective for flamingo? It is a knot of toads, an ecstasy of larks, a pride of lions, a pod of whales - I can’t think what flamingo would multiply into. Something else to look up.

Much of what I did today was work on budgets - depressing, largely because so much of what I need isn’t with me, which means much more work than I had thought when I return. It’s work that needs quiet and concentration and time and I fear that in the week when I return I will have none of those. I did manage to get off a 4-page e-mail to NY about funding possibilities for an endowment drive they are going to do in the U.S. That is done - and tonight I am going to try drafting an article on the Apostleship of Prayer movement. I need that for the next issue of Jesuit Quarterly News that has to go out. I also have material for another article on Christian Life Community - I bet I don’t get to that tonight at all at all.

Tomorrow I will go and see flamingo - and maybe in the evening eat Flamingo. The restaurant is called carnivore and specializes in exotic meat - zebra, hippo, gazelle, crocodile, elephant - you name it, they are supposed to have it. I love trying to new things - although I have eaten crocodile, and ostrich - nothing tough, since I will be chewing on one side only. And re-confirm my ticket. And on Friday do all the other little things I still haven’t done. One of our guys was going to try to get me on a 3-day safari into the bush and I could go back on Monday, but I told him there was simply too much to do when I got back and too little time in which to do it. I guess that means I’m a responsible person, huh? I still feel bad at missing it. After all, how many safaris come into your life?

The evening activities call. The little pill seems to be wearing off, but I am going to try not to take the next one until right before bed. Dinner tonight is fried chicken - I’m going to suck on the skin and hope that mashed potatoes are accompanying it. If there’s corn on the cob, someone else can have my share.

10:15 pm - on my way to bed. Why do I feel like Anne Frank?

Drinks before dinner, I had soda water. Small pieces of chicken - community prayer after dinner, and then someone had just received the video of Fargo - I have travelled all across Africa to watch a movie about North Dakota. The snow was nice - the acting was wonderful. The pain is increasing, so I am going to bundle myself in warm thoughts and blankets, take my pills and try not to dream about an Indian man pulling things out of my mouth with large shiny pliers. The phone lines here are suffering because of the rainy season, and there is only one line in the community that gets out - and to the international circuits, only sometimes. I had been filled with thoughts of at least calling home to see how my mother is but no chance. If you are very gentle about it, imagine a hug on the side of the body where the teeth are intact.. If not, accept an IOU. (An IOU on a spiritual hug - getting a little abstract, John?) It is obviously time to take a pill.

Thursday, May 8 - Feast of the Ascension - I even set the alarm today, and it woke me up. This may not seem like much of a much to you, but this past week or so I have not been setting the alarm - of course for a large chunk there was no alarm to set - but usually when I set the alarm, I wake up just before it goes off. When the alarm wakes me, it tells me something about the state my body is in. Pain is tiring, even when you don’t feel it.

But I got up and went to Mass and breakfast - hot cinnamon rolls left over from last night, warmed in the toaster, lovely - still tender on one side. The mouth, not the rolls. A very good friend of mine wrote a poem once called Extraction. I used it when I was teaching, the boys loved it. I’ll have to look it up when I get home. It suddenly seems extremely appropriate.

Off this morning to look at flamingo - beautiful day, the birds are doing their bird thing, and the sun is shining - it will probably rain before afternoon. I’m not being pessimistic, that’s the pattern for this point in their rainy season. One of the priests here is talking about bringing me back for a concert to raise money for a drug program he’s involved with. I said I was willing, but tried to impress upon him that the financial success of such an effort rested with his people, not with me. I’d provide publicity material and be in town early enough for interviews, I’d give the people who came a good show - but getting their fannies into the seats and making sure the bills got paid with enough left over for the centre would be his problem. And my expenses come off the top - I get travel and local expenses and we negotiate some kind of fee for our own scholarship program. That last startled him, but I assured him that we were talking small fee but still something for the kitty. We’ll see. A lot of people do a lot of enthusiastic talking - and then very little happens.

Anyway - time to put on socks and find my hat and head off into the African bush. Later...

It is - 11:35 pm to be exact. And I was going to try to tell you about today, but even though the pain pill has not kicked in yet, I am going to go to bed and I’ll owe you today tomorrow. Part of me feels very silly - I am apologizing to a typewriter, when you, of course, will read all of this at the same time. Yet, at the same time, I sort of felt I didn’t want to go to bed without at least saying good night. To a typewriter? Strange business, this premature senility - never know when it will catch you. I’m outta here. Hugs.

Friday, 9 May - I feel better - although a nap in the afternoon would not be entirely out of line. There is an end of year party over at the college this evening, and yours truly has been invited - with the full expectation that during the entertainment segment of the evening, he will sing something. And, all things being equal, he probably will.

Yesterday looked a lot like a day off. David Ehimanre, a brother who is also studying here, collected me around nine, and with another of the brothers from his house, off we went to Nakuru Lake National Park. About a two-hour drive. On the way out of Nairobi, you come to View Point, the height overlooking the African end of the something or other ravine, which extends from here up to Israel. Talk about truly magnificent views - several thousand feet up, this vast expanse of valley opens up before you - and then when you drive down in it, you have this mountains / cliffs on either side in the horizon. Most impressive.

The park is a wild animal preserve, and we just drove around for just over four hours. Saw rhinoceros, lion, giraffe (remember the giraffe, they re-appear later in the narrative), lots of water buffalo and wart hog (Pumba!) and gazelles of assorted shapes and varieties, zebra, monkeys (including one adorable baby), a large tribe of baboon, about a million flamingo - and they tell me that is not too much of an exaggeration - a very large lake covered with pink - and when a couple of thousand of them move at once, it is a sight you remember - and the weather was gorgeous throughout. We saw perhaps four other cars during our time, and then only when we got close to one of the tourist lodges. We were conscious of the time and so we kept moving. The secret, of course, is to pick a spot and turn off the car and sit. After a while, you will see the things you didn’t see, and the animals will start to ignore you, and then things can get really interesting. In another life.

But it was a thoroughly relaxing day. Home for a quick sit down, a piece of bread so I could take a pill and then off to Carnivore with the assembled troops. We have the one brother, three Ghanaians studying theology and one priest who used to be in our Region - his home Province is the Philippines - and while I have been here we had a talk about his possibly coming back to the Region for a couple of years. He has been teaching for 30 years and he thinks he has had it, and is looking for some place in Africa to spend a couple of years and then back to the Philippines in ‘99. So there we were - with me paying the bill.

Carnivore is a restaurant that specializes in meat. There is no menu, because you can have - literally - everything they’ve got. Drinks are extra - after a belt (I had fruit juice, because of the assorted pills I am taking) onion soup and then they plunked a large lazy susan with about eight different kinds of sauces on it, and they put a flag on top. When you want the meat to stop coming around, you take off the flag. Waiters circulate with large cuts of meat on skewers and they come to your table, announce what it is and cut according to your taste. If I can remember everything, last night there was chicken, sausage, spare ribs, pork roast, roast beef, lamb chops, lamb, chicken gizzards, giraffe (I told you the giraffe would re-appear), eland and hartebeest. (I bet my spell checker won’t have that one.) And salad and hot whole wheat rolls - great desserts - and liqueurs after dinner. We spent more money on drink than on the food, and Kwame and I were only drinking non-alcoholic. The prix fixe is 1,100 - around $20, and the ambience is delightful. They even let you smoke a pipe after dinner.

But it is like Times Square on New Year’s Eve - something I had always wanted to do, and I am glad I did it, and I can’t imagine ever doing it again. There is a bar attached, the Simba Bar, and I have been told that you can get the game platter there, served, for about 20% of the dinner price - a couple of beers, listen to the music. If I ever go back, it will be in that direction.

Actually I’d rather like to come and spend a two-week holiday here. Nice community, great weather, and there are enough things to do in town that I could be entertained and still relax. For instance, this week-end, a local group is doing a production of Merry Widow, there is a benefit concert of Italian opera selections, a couple of interesting looking musical groups, they say the museum is first rate and there is the Nairobi National Park, which is a wildlife preserve with one end squarely in the middle of the city, that has one of the largest concentrations of rhino in the world - and as you may or may not remember, the rhino has been my totem animal for many years. (It is not, as some have suggested, because the rhinoceros is an ugly creature.)

But it was a fun evening, and gave me a chance to touch my Jesuit brothers who will shortly be ordained - I am one of those who will be making decisions about their futures, and so it is in all our interests to keep in touch and know how they are coming and what their dreams and desires are - and important too for me to be able to catch them up on what is happening in the Region, and what are needs are - which well may take precedence over their dreams and desires. It is something that every Jesuit knows - but it is something that every Jesuit needs to be reminded up and made present in our lives, because when the time comes to make a sacrifice, it is not always easy, especially for the younger men.

I have to go to a meeting with the Treasurer of the East African Province. I need him to do me a couple of favors, we need to coordinate our communications better with regard to the expenditures of our Scholastics, and I am going to steal some forms and procedures from his office for my own operation. Francis is very good and thorough and is running a much more complex operation than my own, and he has already solved some of the problems that are on my desk and I am perfectly willing to save the time. I tend to make things more complicated than they need to be, and so his chart of accounts helps me to prune my own.

It looks like a dark and restful day. I will stroll over to the shopping center to get some film developed and have the dentist take a look at my hole, one of the men who is going to be ordained this summer is coming over for a serious talk about his future, and if there is a space in the proceedings, there is always that elusive nap. Did I mention that the Provincial of this Province was in Ireland when I was there, and he was a member of the choir I put together for the Christmas Mass. It was very good, and he remembers it with great enthusiasm - so I am distinctly persona grata around here.

Saturday - May 10 - A quick break before I begin the regular puzzle of putting my life back into the suitcase. I do lead an interesting life. I had a very good meeting with the Treasurer yesterday morning and got his staff to do some errand running for me, and had a lovely visit with the Provincial and with his Socius, my other counterpart. I may have unearthed a couple of priests for the Region - we’ll see. Terry Charlton came in while I was there, a Jesuit who had been briefly in Nigeria and is now teaching here. He walked with me to run errands and we chatted and I learned a lot about things here under the surface - some things he assumed I knew and I (most uncharacteristically!) kept my big mouth shut and picked up some valuable information. I also bought presents for all the staff - the ever-present question in Nigeria is, “What do you have for me?” And we have a staff of six. I went to a music shop and bought reggae and Gospel tapes, and will try to distribute them according to taste. Lunch at home was very nice, and then one of our men came to visit, to talk about his future, which was also good. Then a Maryknoll Sister came who had been with my in Jesuit Volunteer Corps before I entered the Jesuits - she is temporarily here in Nairobi on her way in September to Namibia. We had a lovely visit, and she took me over to the JRS - Jesuit Refugee Service - headquarters, which includes a very nice gift shop of items made by refugees.

She dropped me at the college, for the end of the year party. Mass, with music in a multitude of languages. A generous dinner, featuring about four kinds of meat and rice and potatoes and mash and veggies and fruit - and then the entertainment. I had been told there would be entertainment, and would I do something, and I said yes. I was first one invited up - I made people laugh, and sang four songs, which were well received. (Oh, to hell with this false modesty, I was very good and the group was stunned and highly enthusiastic, cheering and standing - I am, in my better moments, quite good.) But then it turned out that I was it - the whole entertainment - and the rest of the evening was just dancing.

I had intended to quietly sneak away and walk home - it’s about a fifteen minute walk. But I wanted to be absolutely sure of the way so I asked someone about a turn, just so I wouldn’t make a mistake. He was horrified - “You can’t walk!” I thought he was being solicitous about a guest, and he said no, it was because it was too dangerous. I chuckled a little and reminded him that I had grown up in New York and I was now living in Lagos - I was not concerned. Apparently I should have been - they do not walk outside the compound after dark, and a couple of people have been mugged and severely beaten within sight of the compound. I let someone drive me home.

And so now I am preparing to return - oh joy, oh rapture - to Lagos. I wonder if I have stored up enough rest and beauty and peace to carry me through the next several weeks. The tooth still hurts periodically - but it doesn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary.

So now to pack, collect the (hopefully) developed film, change into my clerical travelling clothes and see if the driver will actually show up at 11. I will probably get one more addition to this opus - I look at the counter at the bottom of this page and note that it is on page 30 - and then, I give you fair warning, there will be a great silence. This week coming is breathtaking and I do not mean that in any sense that is nice. The week after that is busy and travel and then six scholastics descend upon us. Somewhere I have to find time to go to Makurdi for a grant evaluation report. And the summer craziness has begun, including two ordinations in two different countries. Part of me says that I should disengage myself from some of my community activities, but those are an important part of the development work, and I don’t want to lose almost three years of work in setting up those relationships. On the other hand, I have not completely figured out how to get away with no sleep whatever.

So much for my powers of prediction - here I am in the airport in Nairobi (again!) waiting for a slightly delayed flight. I have, in addition to my luggage, four bags of coffee beans, so I, at least like my smell. The morning was uneventful although one of our men who was bringing some papers over for me missed us - my fault, we left the house five minutes early - and bless him, he came out to the airport to make the delivery. I guess he takes my comic threats seriously.

Africa - there is a commercial on Kenya tv for Stallion Insurance, and they have this great white horse galloping through the commercial at different times. Problem is, if you look closely, you notice that the horse is a mare. Today’s flight - I have a boarding pass, I have an assigned seat, but in over an hour, I have not been able to determine a gate. No word on the ticket, and no one here seems to know. I talked to a young women who works in the one of the duty free shops, and she says that Ethiopia Air usually flies out of Gate 8, so I am sitting with Gate 8 in view, to see if something happens. Several police have moved into place, which may or may not be a good sign. The 1:30 departure has been officially moved to 2:15 - we’ll see.


Sunday morning - May 11 - Looking through my mail last night there was a note from Nelli - -a bill, actually - the florist - and accompanying it was a reminder that May 11 is Mother's Day. Aaargh! Another one missed. Hopefully my sister will pick up the ball on that one. Happy Mother's Day to you.

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And now, in July, I finally get this long thing in the mail. Love to everyone, remember this poor bearded Jesuit, even during his long periods of absolute silence, and know that even when he is not writing, he does remember you in his prayers on a regular basis.