#2 - Life in Kaduna

MEDIA SERVICE CENTRE
Independence Way
PO Box 200
Kaduna, NIGERIA

Letter #2 - January 15, 1993

Greetings from Nigeria!

Peace of Christ!

It's me again. Trust me, these massive missives of missionary mumblings will not usually be this frequent, but given the unsettled state of affairs, I wanted to get you caught up as to where I am and what doing. Once regular routines arise, I am assuming that I will be too busy to do this kind of writing more than two or three times a year.

But of course, you don't know what I'm talking about do you? Before I pick up the chronology (remember, children, when last we left Father John, he was just packing the car in Benin City to begin the long trek to Kaduna. Check your maps, and who can tell me where Kaduna is? That's right, about 16 miles beyond nowhere. It was New Year's Day....fade narrator, dissolve to camera shot of 4 Jesuits cramming luggage into a slightly battered white station wagon....)

Before we resume that story, let me fill you in on what I had learned about Kaduna when I arrived in Lagos. I had heard rumblings when I was still in the States, and as the details came in, the situation got increasingly interesting.

Fr. Francis (Packy) McFarland is a long-time Jesuit missionary and communications expert. He spent much of his life in India, was Secretary to the Indian Bishops Conference at one point, has held a number of different positions in the Society of Jesus, and is well-known around the world in communications. He has been an officer of virtually every major international organization, and has a great reputation. When he was in his late 60's, he came back to the States from India, spent not quite a year at home, and then came over to Nigeria and Ghana. After he had been here several years, he was asked to come to the Media Centre, where he has been Director of Training, and acted as Assistant Director. During the past year he has been Acting Director, as the Executive Director was away.

As he got more familiar with the operation of the Centre, and had a chance to examine the books, he became increasingly concerned with the methods of bookkeeping, and what seemed to be irregularities in the accounts and unexplained discrepancies between what ought to be in the accounts and what was in the accounts. As he examined the books more closely, he became convinced that this was more than simply bad record-keeping. Large amounts of money that had been received from foreign funding agencies for specific programs simply did not appear on the books, and were not in the existing bank accounts.

So he presented his concerns to the governing board of the Centre, a group of regional bishops. I will not take you through the various meetings and conferences and further investigations, but note that his first presentation to the bishops was just over two years ago. As time passed, he also felt that the Executive Director, a Fr. Martin Dama, a native Nigerian priest (who had been ordained by the Pope when he visited Nigeria) was not devoting his full attention to the administering of the Centre. The conflicts between the two men increased, and when I arrived in Lagos, Fr. Schineller, the Regional Superior, briefed me and warned me that I could expect almost anything when I arrived. That, then, is the brief background to prepare for the next installment of "Life in Nigeria; or 234 Ways to Eat Dust".

January 1, 1993 - Friday. Although we didn't notice it at the time, we were packing the car at almost precisely the moment that the great Apple was descending in Times Square, and the assembled populace was indulging in their annual frenzy of shouting and jumping up and down. We were somewhat more subdued. All the assorted luggage got squeezed in, and four of us - Cyril Latzoo, the Ghanaian Scholastic who is beginning his regency at the Centre and who had flown down to the Christmas gathering, Brother Jerry Menkhaus, who spent many years in Micronesia and is in Nigeria to help oversee several of the building projects, Bill Scanlon, whom you met in the last edition, and some guy named Sheehan - took off. Driving on New Year's Day presented few of the usual challenges of driving in Nigeria. There was practically no traffic, the weather started out very misty from the harmattan but cleared quickly, the weather was not hot until early afternoon, and even the roads seemed less surprise-filled than normal. We left a little after 6 and arrived around 2 - some 7 1/2 hours on the road, which was terrific since we had expected the journey to take around 10.

Scenery along the way changed gradually from rain forest to savannah. Long stretches of bush, broken by only occasional paths off to a village. Sometimes there would be stretches with sellers displaying their goods in great pyramids, and there were the usual collection of hawkers at toll plazas and gasoline stations. As we got to the center of the country, great hills appeared, which are filled with iron ore, and so there are several major refineries and mining companies located there.

As we neared Abuja, which is the newly created capital city and Federal territory surrounding it, where the new Jesuit high school will hopefully be built, we got a terrific view of a great rock which is becoming almost the symbol of the new city. We passed a lot of small villages along the way - mud bricks seemed to be the major building item, and the small houses alternated between rectangular and round. There is a greater feeling of space here, even in the cities the population does not seem as crammed together as it did in the south. Maybe there are fewer people, maybe I am starting to get used to a different style of living. As we drove north, we could feel the air getting drier, and the dust becoming more prevalent. Yet there was also a brisk wind, and so the sky remained clearer and some of the views were very beautiful.

A large plot of land, situated in the midst of police barracks and training facilities, houses the Catholic Social Centre (primarily a hostel), a Catholic book store (run by the Media Centre), the large altar and canopy that was used by the Pope when he visited Nigeria and accompanying benches, the Media Centre and the residence. There is also a small house for the couple who take care of the residence. The Papal altar was originally situated in a major arena, and was later moved here.

The Centre itself is a long narrow building. The reception area is in the center. One wing houses a very complete recording studio, and a control room. There are three offices, a video editing suite and a video dubbing suite. On the other end of the building are two or three more offices, a library, restrooms, a working and study area for students, a kitchen area, and a large classroom slated to become the television studio. While there is certainly room for upgrading, especially in the tv studio area, it is surprisingly well-equipped, and seems to be well organized. Fr. McFarland's fine hand can be seen in a lot of areas.

The residence is certainly the loveliest of the houses I have seen in Nigeria, and perhaps in any Jesuit complex. It is airy and spacious and nicely appointed. There is a car port, and the front door opens onto a large living room, with a very high ceiling. To the left is a dining area, with an enclosed porch beyond that and sliding glass doors. Similar doors open on the right to an enclosed courtyard area. On either side of the courtyard are bedrooms. The room I am in was apparently originally designed as the chapel. Again, a very tall ceiling, and an elevated area (yes, like a stage) at one end. How appropriate, that my bedroom would have its own stage. It also has a sacristy, where we keep the vestments and utensils for Mass. Each bedroom has its own bathroom, and both a shower and a tub. It is the largest bedroom I have ever had in my life.

The chapel is right next to my room, and is quite small. There is a kitchen - and that's the house. Dennis and Rebecca take care of us - they both cook, and do cleaning, and someone comes in several days a week to do laundry. The first time I looked out the back window and saw my underwear drying on the back fence I was a tad startled - but given the vagaries of electrical service, a dryer is not a logical investment. My room gets swept, my clothes get cleaned, the meals get cooked and dishes washed, things get bought - and I don't do it. Tell me again why I should want to return to the States?

Obviously, there are the odd drawbacks. Dennis, for instance, has a real compulsion about not letting any of the "Reverend Fathers" carry anything. My first full day here I started to go over to the Centre with my computer and my briefcase. Suddenly, there was this man trying to take the computer out of my hand. After a longish discussion I convinced him that no one carries the computer but me. But I lost the discussion about the briefcase. If I go over to the Centre with literally so much as a book, if Dennis sees me he carries the book over and puts it on my desk and then goes back to the house. Now the Centre is only about thirty or forty yards away from the house - it's not like going 15 blocks - but I am definitely not used to that kind of service.

The car arrived and we surprised Packy. The phones here have been out since August, so there was no way to warn him exactly when we would be coming. We had some food, and Cyril and Bill Scanlon and Jerry went for a rest, and I had a long talk with Packy about what was happening at the Centre. Packy is scheduled for his vacation starting in a couple of weeks, and he has still not gotten a definite solution to what he sees as the major problems at the Centre concerning accounting and administration. So he had met with the Archbishop before Christmas, and had again gone over the facts, and let it be known that if a resolution had not been arrived at before he left for his holidays, he would not be returning to the Centre. He said that he would not have this hanging over him for his time away, and that if the current situation were going to be allowed to continue, he did not want to be associated with the centre. In fact, he said that in the sense of truth and justice, he could not allow his name to be associated with the Centre.

Welcome to Kaduna. And don't unpack too much. The Archbishop tried to convince him to postpone that kind of a decision until after his holidays, but Packy felt that two years was long enough for a board to come to some action. The Archbishop said that he would consult with the other bishops, and that Packy should come back on Monday, the 4th. Definitely makes one slow down in forming a permanent attachment to a place. Ironic, eh? A natural assignment, beautiful residence - and I could be out before I get settled. Obviously, if Packy leaves under these circumstances, with a long history of conflict with the executive Director, my own situation coming in would be less than desirable. And Fr. Dama - who is away, again - has the 4th bedroom in this complex. I seem to have strolled into the proverbial nest of the hornet.

Nothing to do on that front but wait until the meeting with the Archbishop on Monday. The rest of the company arose from their naps, we celebrated Mass and had dinner. Talked a little - and bed.

Miscellaneous Thoughts: We are north, nearing the desert areas, and we get the desert extremes - hot in the daytime, and chilly at night. Here I am with a bag of shorts, and using a fairly heavy blanket at night. Makes for great sleeping. I also discovered - as I went to bed earlier than others, having been deprived of my siesta - that when the VCR is playing in the living room, my bedroom becomes an auxiliary resonance area. Now I know why this seemingly so desirable bedroom had remained unoccupied.

January 2 - Saturday. Morning Mass at 7:30, then breakfast and Bill and Jerry headed back to Benin City. I spent the morning unpacking, and Sam (bless him) came to get my laundry. Lunch, a shower, a nap, a little reading - not exactly a strenuous day. I had agreed to celebrate Mass and preach at the hospital on Sunday, so I spent some time after dinner reflecting on the readings - and killing living things. I was sitting at my desk, and became conscious that I seemed to be killing a lot of wandering ants. Unlike the Benin City ants, these boys have some size on them, and I found myself much less tolerant of their existence. I killed some more on the wall in front of the desk, and happened to look up toward the ceiling. Madre de Dios - there was a veritable parade of little guys, and I mean we are talking thousands of ants. They were processing from the window to a large crack in the ceiling, and I knew that just the thought of 6 million tiny feet was going to keep me awake all night. So I went to see Packy, who provided me with a spray can of the local equivalent of Raid, and I went to town.

Very effective stuff. Not only did it kill the ants, it drove me from the room for the next hour. This is potent stuff, and I must note that as I write this, a full two weeks later, I have yet to see another ant in my room.

Miscellaneous Thoughts: Turns out we have two mosques within earshot. Each using amplifiers to project their calls to prayer, the first of which hits around 5:30. Unfortunately, the two seem to have slightly different clocks, so they start at slightly different times. One morning they were timed very nicely, an alternating duet. Most mornings, however, that seems not to be the case, and cacophony rules. It's very pleasant in the evening - I am less fond of the early morning serenade.

Sunday, January 3 - There starts to be a sense of the routine of the place. Breakfast at 7:30, lunch at 1, dinner around 7. During the week, Mass at 6:30pm, on Saturday before breakfast and on Sunday we go out. Normally, Packy has been saying an 8:30AM Mass at the Polytechnic College and an 11AM Mass at the chapel at St. Gerard's Hospital. The Polytechnic is still out on holidays, we we went over to the hospital. I celebrated Mass and preached. The place holds around 200 or so, and was fairly well filled. One older woman - whom they call "Mother General" - has placed herself pretty much in charge, and while I gather she can at times be a pain in the sitting down place, she also is a good organizer, making sure that the altar and gifts and servers are ready, that the hymns have been selected, and she always knows what Catholic patients are in the hospital and who wants to receive communion. She is a bit of a tyrant - makes the women patients wear something on their head before the Blessed Sacrament is brought in - but does perform a good service.

After Mass, Packy took communion to the patients and I visited with some of the congregation. There is a Polish doctor who works at the hospital - he has apparently been in Nigeria for a number of years, and he and his wife invited us over the following day for a drink and some Christmas cake. Cyril took me in to meet Stan, an Englishman who has been here for some 14 years. He is a media person himself, and is suffering a bad case of emphysema (Sp?). We had a nice visit, although at one point I turned around and found a small clerical person in a white cassock trimmed in red standing behind me. The give-away was the large cross on his chest, and I realized that the Archbishop had snuck in. He is very short - even by my somewhat modest standards - and very pleasant. We chatted for a minute, and I left him to visit with Stan. On his way out we visited again, and he seemed very pleased to have me there. I was tempted to ask about the meeting the next day, but (uncharacteristically) controlled myself.

Lunch, and I spent the rest of the afternoon getting used to the Centre. Several of the major currents are run through a voltage regulator, so with my heart in my throat I plugged in my computer, and everything seemed to be working without a hitch. Well, for reasons I have not yet tracked down, the right button on my mouse seems not to want to work - but the trackerball right button is always on, no matter which option I have selected, so while not as convenient, I still have access to all functions. Interestingly enough, the access time seems to be slightly faster on some functions. But I am again hooked into my computer, so I feel whole once more.

Supper - talk - and we watched an English film. A little heavy, a little contrived - but since there is no broadcast television, better than nothing. And bed. Another strenuous day in Northern Africa.

Miscellaneous Thoughts: When I first arrived in Nigeria, I was relieved to learn that the Jesuit residence in Ibadan and in Benin City and in Ibadan and I think at Christ the King - all have video tape recorders that can handle both PAL and SECAM, the european and american video systems. Imagine my surprise to learn that the Media Centre does NOT have this capacity. Yup, we are supposed to be teaching video, and do not have access to any of the North American videos. (Including forty or fifty that yours truly has included in his stuff still somewhere between there and here.) Not only that, but at the Centre and in the residence, there is apparently no ability to pick up local broadcast television. There is an antenna on the residence, the only line for which goes into Fr. Dama's bedroom. Which is locked, no one has the key and he is away, expected to return sometime in February. If the decision emerges that I will be staying, trust me - there will be some changes made in what we do and how we do it.

Monday, January 4 - The major event of the day was to be Packy's meeting with the Archbishop. At which session, Packy reiterated his determination to leave if matters were not resolved. The Archbishop said he would contact the other bishops, and would be seeing them on Sunday at Abuja, and they would set up a meeting. So all those items that were up in the air are still up there. No word on the whereabouts or activities of the missing Director General. I went over to Alien Registration, where I was presented with forms to fill out. The bureaucracy here loves to surprise you with its demands, and I think they were a little disappointed when I was able to produce 6 passport photos, 220 Naira, letters of appointment and acceptance and a copy of the visa quotas. I did not, however, have a letter from the Archbishop addressed specifically to the Alien Registration Office, so we went back to the office where we typed one up and walked it over to the Archbishop's office. He signed it, and back to Alien Registration. Where they then told me that they needed two copies besides the original At least I'll have something to do tomorrow.

Back for lunch, the siesta, and when in doubt, go play on the computer. Mass, dinner - a typical day in Kaduna. Sigh.

Tuesday, January 5 - This keeping track of things by days is more for me at this point than it is you, faithful reader (OK, trivia buffs, where is that reference from?). Right after breakfast, I trotted myself back to Alien Registration, where they informed me that all my papers were in order, and they had my Alien Registration card all ready. However - now why was I not surprised to learn that there was a however - it seems that the chief of the office had suffered a death in the family, and he was not in, and he was the one who had to sign the card. They were very apologetic, but I would have to come back the next day. In fact, to save my valuable time, I could just send someone with my passport and they would have everything all ready. (Note: they did. Cyril came with me, and he understood enough of their language to know that they were basically telling me the truth. And the next day, as advertised, all was ready.)

We then went to an office where I was able to send a FAX down to Lagos, to alert Fr. Schineller about the latest news or lack of news regarding the situation up here. He was about to leave for a trip to the States, so I wanted to catch him, hence the FAX. And lunch. Doesn't sound like we accomplished much, but remember - no one is in an office before ten, and between traffic and waiting and polite conversation before getting down to business, things tend to eat up more of a day than North Americans might be used to. Spent the afternoon doing odds and end on the computer. Cyril's sister came for a visit and will be spending several days, and a sister (religious) who is teaching at the seminary in Jos also stopped by to visit. We have been cat-sitting for her, and she wanted to check on some furniture that she is having a local carpenter make for her. Suddenly we had a crowd at evening Mass. In the evening, Packy wanted to watch Delta Force 3, so the evening ended in a hail of bullets and bloodshed. Well, almost. Cyril and his sister had been out, and when they came in, as I was about to go to bed, they wanted to watch a 3-episode tape of Fawlty Towers. now, I have seen every episode more times than I want to admit, and so I was only going to watch for a couple of minutes. You guessed it - plunked down for all 3. A much nicer send-off than bleeding bodies.

Wednesday, January 6. A very quiet day. I was supposed to celebrate Mass at the Cathedral in the evening, so I spent a little time mulling a homily, doing some work over at the Centre, a little nap - strenuous it ain't. But I have consciously not been getting too involved or interested in things at the Centre, until we learn what is going to be happening. Packy has work to do, to close books and prepare, no matter what. If he leaves on vacation, he'll be back in the middle of May. If he leaves and will not be back, his packing will actually be simpler and cleaner.

I went over to Cathedral with Cyril, (all the local priests are away at an annual gathering of indigenous priests) and learned (from the altar boys, who, as in the U.S. know all things) that there is never Mass on Wednesday, only Benediction. So, we had Benediction, and then managed to get back to the house in time to join Packy for Mass. After last night's blood and guts, tonight we had a video of Kim, the Rudyard Kipling tale. Packy, having spent many years in India, was particularly interested.

Even if we do stay, there is apparently virtually nothing going on at the Centre between now and the start of a major course in mid-May. I will certainly have time to more fully explore the local communications outlets, perhaps do some workshops for the seminary, get to know the Centre's equipment - and maybe write a book. I wish my thesis material were available. Unfortunately, I last saw all my notes and my immediately necessary books at the JSMB in December, as they were put into a box that probably won't get to Nigeria until next December. Hmmm - I wonder if I'll remember what I was writing about.

Thursday, July 7 Expecting anything exciting? Not today. Packy said the 6:15AM Mass at the Cathedral (There are benefits to not yet having my Nigeria driver's license), and I spent the morning finishing up the last magnum opus, including the xeroxing. After I had gotten all the envelopes put together and addressed, I came over to the house to read the newspapers, at which point I discovered that there had been a rise in the postal rates. Over here, there is no warning about that sort of things. On the 6th, a local letter cost 50 kobo (half a naira. And does anyone remember from last time how much a Naira is in U.S. dollars? That's right, about 5 cents.) On the 7th - 1 Naira 50. Similar jumps happened in other categories. Airmail to the U.S. had been 1 naira 50, now it is 30 Naira. And so across the board. We quickly figured out that it was cheaper (not to mention safer and faster) to use a service and send it all to one person, who would then mail it onwards. So I did - and many thanks and an apology to that one person, Tom Gifford, who found himself faced with suddenly becoming the publication and mailing office of JRS west. Ah Thomas, there'll be an extra star in your crown in heaven.

Packy is still feeling lousy - combination of a cold and low blood pressure and the general uncertainty of not knowing what is going to happen. So he went to bed right after supper, Cyril and his sister went out, and I watched a little bit of an old video, and then smoked a quiet pipe, and did some reading. The weather is getting downright cold. I have broken out my infamous sweatshirt with the rhinoceros on the front, and have switched from sandals back to shoes.

Miscellaneous Thoughts: It occurred to me today that this is one place where I am never going to blend in. Fit in, hopefully. But whereas in Austria and Ireland and even in Canada I took a particular delight in becoming so integrated with the local scene that even those who were natives would take me for a native, in this place, that is not going to happen. I may get to know my way around, I may even be in one place and active enough that I get known and accepted, but I am never going to be mistaken for one of the "indigenous population".

The liturgical scene is very strange. You have a church with Irish missionaries as the foundation, so there is a conservative root. You have a current crop of bishops who have been largely educated in Rome, and imbued with the Roman spirit, discipline and current conservative slant. And priests who want to get along with their bishops.

Yet there is also the pressure of the social realities, so you have priests who get very upset if you don't put a second alb over the first alb you are wearing as a soutane, or put an amice on - I have even seen priests with a maniple - and at the same Mass you have altar boys with cassock and surplice and cape, and no shoes. Everyone knows the old Latin Hymns, and the Latin Mass parts, and people like to sing everything - except the Mass parts. There are some attempts to introduce African music, but some object that it is not "traditional". One bishop recently made a big fuss about everyone receiving communion kneeling down - which is far and away the norm here. His argument was that to receive standing up is "not the Yoruba tradition". (He, by the way, is not Yoruba.) It has been pointed out to him that St. Peter's routinely distributed communion with people standing, but he is more than adamant. When you have a single Mass with over 4,000 going to communion, the time difference in having multiple communion stations around the church and only four or five priests going back and forth like little mechanical men in a shooting gallery... - I think you can sense where my sympathies lie.

One Nigerian said to me recently that his grandfather's church was the Irish Church, brought by the missionaries. And his father's Church was the Roman Church. He is a staunch Catholic, but he said that he had spent his life so far looking for the Nigerian Church. He hadn't found it, he said, but he was still looking.

Friday, January 8. Packy continues to feel dreadful. I am saying Mass tonight at the small Church just across the road from us, Our Lady Queen of the Apostles. Packy is going out to say a house Mass somewhere in the countryside. I spent the morning at home - even thought our future is uncertain, I decided to re-arrange the room. Packy went out to see the doctor, so I took advantage of the empty house (except for Dennis and Rebecca, doing the cooking and the cleaning, and Samuel, doing the laundry, and Albert, who was checking some wiring, and Jax who came by to drop off some papers, and Thomas, who was just there) and did some singing. There might have been no one in the house, but the ping pong boys were a little startled. (There is a large ping pong table just inside the front door of the residence, and when there are no students in residence, the local boys come and knock on the door and take it outside to play ping pong. And when they are finished, they close it up and bring it back. All day long, there is a crowd of youngsters just outside the dining area, whomping a little plastic ball back and forth. We supply the table and the paddles, they replace the balls when they get stepped on. Or eaten by the goat. Whatever.) Pascal drove the bundle of mail over the DHL place. Did some work at the Centre in the afternoon, and then Mass across the road.

I love the altar boys. For this weekday Mass there were seven. Seven!! The sacristan said they just love to serve Mass. And they are well trained and serve beautifully. A poor church, but lots of singing, lots of participation, and a number of people going to communion. By the end of the Mass, the candles on the altar were functional as well as decorative - there are a few electric lights in the church, but not many, and not near the altar. They had started a building program several years ago, but were running short and stopped for a bit. One of the men told me after the Mass that stopping had been their mistake, because the inflation rate went up so fast they now don't see how they will ever be able to start again. If they had kept going they might have been in debt, but their church would have been finished. Last year, inflation was something like 107 per cent.

Another quiet evening of smoking and reading. Packy went to bed, and Cyril and his sister watched an old Joan Collins flic, the Devil Within Her. I hope I never get that bored.

Idle Meanderings: Today, let it be noted, was/is the 1 week anniversary of my arrival in Kaduna. I've said Mass in fourdifferent places (including our house), unpacked and re-arranged furniture, sampled even more types of interesting food, and started to get a sense of where things are in Kaduna. I am now a legally registered alien (Mork, take note), and have sent and received mail. The computer works, the printer works, the power pack for the short wave doesn't, and there isn't a plug close enough to the bathroom to make the electric toothbrush sensible. I have taken one roll of film, and next week will see what localdeveloping is like. Apparently they are somewhat stingy about changing chemicals, so if your film arrives as they put in a new batch, they do very well. If, however, your developing is toward the end of a run... I can hardly wait.

So - having gone through two weeks in Nigeria and one week here, I think it is time to change the format. No more day by day reporting - my letters will become more topical, reflective, disorganized - and shorter. I will hang on to this one until we have arrived at some decision about Jesuits and the Media Service Centre in Kaduna, and then will either mail it as I am settling in, or moving out.

Miscellaneous Thoughts: Food - again. Dennis and Rebecca seem to be happiest when doing something for the Fathers, and their first instinct is to feed us. In quantity. I have managed to convince them that breakfast means one piece of toast, some fruit and coffee. There is also cereal (hot oatmeal and our cupboard has enough cornflakes to have fed Desert Storm). Usually there are two fruit courses at breakfast - I restrain myself. Lunch is the major meal of the day here, and always starts with a small bowl of very spicy soup, which is how we deal with the leftovers from other meals - they show up in the soup. Which makes for some fascinating contents and great and unusual combinations. Lunch tends to be a starch (large cakes of sliced yam, or rice, or spaghetti or small peeled boiled potatoes) and a sauce, usually some kind of meat, sometimes cooked in the sauce, sometimes separate, sometimes identifiable, sometimes not. A small dish of vegetables, and a salad of some kind. There is always bread, if you want it, and dessert is usually (more) fruit, although Dennis also makes a bread pudding that is very nice in small quantities.

Dinner is a lot like lunch, although portions tend to be smaller. Lots of water with the meal. Nigeria has not yet heard about diet soda, so the minerals are all sugar crammed, thus I drink a lot of water and coffee. Occasionally a beer, but only occasionally. The meat? Well, we have had beef in chunks, a good workout for the jaws and teeth, and meatballs. We had a small stringy bird the other day that made the beef seem tender, and a chicken recently that was very tender. Packy had received it as a gift from a family for whom he said Mass and did a house blessing. He brought the chicken back, we all examined it, and then Dennis took it out to the back yard and sent it to chicken heaven. There are goats wandering around in the back yard, and I keep looking at them suggestively, hoping Dennis will take the hint. Several Moslem festivals require the sacrifice of an animal, and the goat is usually the animal of choice, so you try not to buy goat around those times, since the prices are outrageous.

A woman the other day tried to charge an additional several naira for a loaf of bread, usually 10 naira. She said that she had to charge more, because the postage rates had just gone up.

At the moment, the country is frozen. The old military ruling council has been replaced by a "Transitional Council". They are supposed to rule/supervise until the final handover of power, slated for late August. (We note for the record that this is merely the latest in a whole series of postponements of scheduled changes to civilian rule.) There is also a National Assembly, the role of which no one is quite sure, and whose opening was suddenly postponed from last week until the end of January.

While all this is going on, there has been no budget announced by the government for 1993, and no one is willing to commit themselves to any financial activity until that budget is seen. Everyone is assuming, and with some justification, I suspect, that it will not be good news, but right now, banks don't want to clear checks, stores don't want to put in supplies of goods, even the courier service has stopped selling coupons. You could buy a thousand Naira worth of coupons for DHL deliveries, and get a 12% discount. At the moment, they don't want to give the discount.

Neighborhood Noises: The evening was very strange. There is some kind of a festival going on just down the road - whether a wedding, a funeral, or some sort of religious holiday I have not been able to find out. But the drumming and the singing and the accompanying noise started around 7pm and continued until at least 4:30am. And resumed around 8am and has been going on all day today. Last summer Jerry Menkhaus had suggested bringing ear plugs with me; bless you, Brother Jerry. I plugged in, tuned out, and actually got some sleep. (I was reflecting the other day that some of the local music and chanting and instruments, by themselves, even played at strange times of the night, would make the place a little romantic, a little exotic, reminding one of being in a very different and truly "foreign" culture. However, the addition of amplifiers to the equation turns what might otherwise be exotic into a damned loud nuisance.)

Harmattan: Over the last several days, the winter phenomenon known as the harmattan has been getting increasingly stronger, and the harmattan today is fierce. You know when a car pulls away on a dusty road, how you literally eat dust for a couple of seconds as it leaves? Well, that is what today has been like, all day. Dust in your throat, in your nose, on everything. And since the sun is blocked out, it stays quite chilly. The wind carries the dust everywhere, and I am real tired of this very fast. My tongue thought we had been at the rear end of a cattle drive; your mouth is always gritty, you never want to take a deep breath. Maybe I should have included this under the food section - edible dust. Motorcyle and scooter drivers have disappeared, and much of the public transport is very slow, and some drivers just decide to stay home. It is not only inconvenient, it is downright dangerous, and the newspapers have been filled with stories of the latest accidents. Well, I suppose we should be grateful it's not snow....

I haven't heard a football score since December 23rd. I know there's supposed to be a SuperBowl at some point in January, but I'm not even sure of the date. On the other hand, thanks to the BBC, I am well up on the problems with the Test Matches in India. (Test Matches - that's cricket, one of the world's truly great games.) Voice of America is around, but if you really want to know what's going on in the world, the BBC World Service is a life line.

Concluding. As I write this, a large part of my brain is dealing with the details of packing and getting not only my own things but those of Cyril and Packy down to the Lagos area. Packy is still going to head off to the States for his vacation. He had been planning on going to India, but he said that he's seen enough violence and rioting in his life, so he's skipping that.

I confess, I am disappointed. There is real potential at the Centre, and some good people on the staff. I don't want to sound condescending, but they do need direction, and the ones I have talked to have very strong feelings about (against) the present Executive Director. The quality of much of the"professional" work is not very high, and I recently spent an hour with one of the staff of a diocesan newspaper, telling him things about his paper that I would have treated in my grade 9 English class. And he was very grateful, took a lot of notes, and was very anxious to go back to his editor so they could make the improvements for the next issue. There is great room here for contribution, and a great eagerness on the part of many to learn.

There is also the human condition - greed and selfishness and a desire to be important, and the latter often gets in the way of the desires to learn I mentioned above. Which ain't so very different from New York or South Bend or Toronto or anywhere I've been, I guess. I suppose part of me will always wonder what might have happened here in other circumstances.

Sunday I will say Mass for the students at the local Polytechnic College, and for the patients and staff at St. Gerard's Hopspital, and the Archbishop will have to figure out how those get covered after that. It looks like we will hire a truck, move everything in, and while the driver drives, one of us may go with him (to protect the contents) and the others of us will either bus or plane it down to Lagos.

I rather expect my next massive missive may not come forth until Easter time. I am asking the Bureau to do a postcard mailing to everyone on my BIG list about the address change - since the local postal service has never heard about forwarding mail and the local Director here is less than reliable, mail sent here after our departure may disappear. I am going to leave several stamped and addressed envelopes so that mail can be sent on, but my expectations are limited. If it turns out that I get sent back to the States, that word should spread fairly quickly. But feel free to share the news that Sheehan and Kaduna are no longer synonymous. (There was a piece in the paper the other day about a huge new crocodile farm just opening up, breeding the cute little guys for both food and for their hides. There is a thought to give one pause - a crocodile farm.)

My suitcases call. Continued prayers to you all, and until the whenever from wherever, greetings to whomever, whatever the occasion. Why? Because we love you..