#4 - Moving to Lagos

#4 - January 26th thru February 24th.

Greetings from You Know Who! (Whom?)
(Of course you do - how many of your regular correspondents come through with fifteen page letters every couple of weeks?)

Life in Nigeria continues - in avenues unexpected and ways unimagined. In the last pages you will read how my life was threatened by a large angry black man - and that has been the least of my latest.

As the iris of the old inner imagination closed slowly to black, in our last communication, Reverend Father John (a.k.a. John the Good, a.k.a. John the Bearded, a.k.a. the wandering Jesuit) was about to board a J-5 for the trek to Lagos, leaving behind him the dust and degradation that was Kaduna. (An aside for those who worried about my safety in Kaduna, a city known primarily for periodic Moslem-christian riots that go back many years - it looks rather like a major episode is brewing in Kaduna. Has to do with the death sentences passed on several people from the last riots. The panel of judges was clearly rigged, and if some way is not found to save their lives, there will be massive rioting and probably severe bloodshed in the northern part of Nigeria in the not too distant future. The trials were held about a half mile from where we lived, and the Papal altar was used for rallies against the government on several occasions. A friend of ours who runs an airline here says that traffic out of Kaduna the last several weeks has been very heavy. Lots of empty seats going in, though.)

The morning of January 26th dawned chilly, as it is wont to do in Kaduna. The Jesuits celebrated an early Mass together, and Cyril went off to lead the J-5 driver to our place. A J-5? It's the model designation for a large van for Peugeot, and so any van has become known as a J-5. They run like taxis, with 4 rows of seats, and people crammed in. They usually carry 15-20 people. We had hired one, and somehow in my head there were no seats. Unfortunately, in this van, there were seats, which made the problems of fitting seven trunks, a full-size file cabinet and assorted other luggage more than a little interesting. We did actually get everything in, but Cyril and I rode crammed into one bench, with luggage and the fold-down seat crammed around us. (If you think I am simply being redundant using the word "crammed" with great frequency, you ain't seen nothing yet. We was crammed, packed, jammed, squashed, squished, bent, folded and mutilated.)

While we were loading, we offered the driver breakfast in the kitchen. (This is one of those little narrative details that not only adds color to the ongoing events but has greater significance further down the road.) He ate, we loaded, and by 8am, we were ready to take off. The J-5 itself was dusty, the seats were old and hard and the whole adventure was looking less exciting by the second. This was not going to be a pleasure trip.

A trip that lasted 10 1/2 hours. We left at 8 almost on the dot, and pulled into Surulere at 6:30. Even in Nigeria, that's 10 1/2 hours. During which time I never left the vehicle - I wasn't sure that if I got out, I would be able to get back in. Cyril got out once, and that was it for him as well. Packy - in deference to his age, and his inability to climb over a trunk in order to get to the seat - had the front seat.

The driver was very good - very fast - slightly crazy. We had to stop twice during the first hour or so. When he accepted our offer of breakfast, he did so with a vengeance. So he needed to pull over and visit the bushes en route. I think he was slightly surprised that in the long trek, none of the Jesuits needed to visit the bushes. (Of course, two of us couldn't get out!) The roads went through the full variation of Nigerian quality, from quite good, but barely two lanes wide, to dreadful, and in places, only one lane wide. I don't remember how emphatic I was about that in earlier letters, but when I say the road is bad, I mean destruction similar to what happens when a small landmine goes off. At 10mph, your car would be destroyed. There are holes in the road that will eat your car, smash your suspension, explode your tires, and do generally bad things to the arrangement of your inner organs. So one pays great attention to the road, as well as to the traffic and the pedestrians and the animals that decide to cross the road. Some you can scare away. Some you can hit with impunity. And a herd of cows always has the right of the way.

The scenery along the way varied too, as did the climate. It gradually got warmer and stickier as we headed south. The harmattan (ie, dust in the air) decreased, but the humidity went rapidly up. This is not what you want to have happen when you are crammed into the back of a heavily laden vehicle with all the windows closed. Another lesson in the graceful art of sweating. We stopped at one place for gas, and there was a line about twenty cars deep waiting for a place at the pumps. Our driver (may Allah bless him and send him many children, all males!) pulled right up to the side of the pump, and accompanied by the yells and complaints of all those waiting, went inside the gas station.

From whence, several minutes later, he emerged, went over to the attendant and was handed the pump. He filled the car, paid the man, and away we went. Accompanied by the yells and complaints, etc. etc. He had simply gone into the head man, bribed him 50Naira, got the gas and off we went. (50N = around $2.50) Now that's an extravagant bribe, because filling the tank probably didn't take that much money, but in terms of time and comfort, we all agreed that it was well worth it.

I won't go into long geographic details about the differences in the styles of the villages and the ways of life, but a long drive like that gives you a wonderful opportunity to see the differences in some of the parts of this diverse land. I had said before I left the States that I was not going into mud huts and grass roofs - but that was largely what we saw on the way. Given the cost of building materials and the climate, those are not choices, either. The first time you walk into a small house here with a tin roof, or a metal roof, you begin to appreciate the virtue of a good thatched roof.

6:30, we pulled into Surulere. I had the least amount of baggage, so I got dropped first, and the other two went on to Christ the King parish. (Ain't that amazing - I was finally in a group where I had the least amount of baggage.) My first act - open a beer and sit down on something that is padded (other than my own natural provision thereunto) and isn't moving. Now beers in Nigeria come in one size only - super king - so drinking a beer is a serious commitment. It was a commitment, however, that I was more than willing to undertake. And on sober reflection, I have to say that while I am a good Jesuit, and I take my vow of obedience very seriously, and I certainly do not feel that my own personal comfort or convenience are very often major factors in my life - having said that, I also know that if any Superior ever suggests to me a move that involves a long trip in a J-5, we're gonna have a talk.

Fr. Bill Scanlon, who is Socius to the Regional Superior, was out of the house when we arrived, so when he returned, he found a mostly empty bottle of beer, and a contented smile surrounded by an exceedingly grimy body. And odd bits of luggage scattered around the downstairs. We visited for a bit, and had dinner. As we were finishing, Timothy, one of the Scholastics from Ibadan, came in, and joined us. He had come to Lagos for a few days to visit some family. He would be staying with us. Bart stopped by, the agent who is handling our shipment for us. They have found the shipment! (Apparently it docked on December 8, and no one bothered to notify us. So I signed some release forms, and this man disappeared into the night with my passport. Later in the evening, Theo, a young man who works at St. Joseph's Parish in Benin City, also arrived. Full house. Well, almost. The room of the Regional Superior was still empty, and he was/is in the States. I think I mentioned that visiting in Nigeria is very casual - folks just drop in. That's the theme of life in Surulere, folks just dropping in.

The next morning, Bill and Timothy and I went to Mass at the Pacelli School for the Blind. The kids weren't back yet, so it was just the Sisters. Mass is at 7, and when the kids aren't there, they include Morning Prayer as part of the service. Bill had me drive, so I could start to learn my way around, and get used to driving in Lagos. We had breakfast afterwards with the
Sisters, and back to the house.

I had noticed when I got into what is now to be "my room" - about 1/3 the size of the room in Kaduna - that besides its size, it was FILTHY. Now I admit there was/is a harmattan, and it is very difficult to keep things from getting dusty. But this room had not been touched in donkey's years, and apparently the Regional Superior is not overly concerned with dirt. (You should see his room.) So I spent Wednesday cleaning. From around 9:30 until around 5. Great therapy. I cleaned the fan, I cleaned the bookcases, I cleaned the furniture, I even cleaned the telephone and the cords for the electrical appliances. (Now the fact that phone went out the next day and remained that way for three weeks can in NO WAY be attributed to my cleaning. I hope.) Then I started on the floor. I swept it twice. I mopped it, and rinsed, and mopped again. I mopped again with bleach, and again with a stain remover, and one last time with more soap and bleach. The floor still looks awful, but I know it is clean. I debated painting, but once the container stuff arrives, (so think I to my sweaty self), there will be enough to put on the walls to cover up the grunge. And there isn't a lot of wall space. I have a door into the hall, and a door into a smaller passageway and my bathroom. The passageway connects with the upstairs community room, and there are two closets in the passage, one for me, one for house linens and supplies. There are windows at each end of the room, so there is really only about a wall and a half, and a chunk of that either is or will be taken up by bookcases. Anyway, the room was somewhat closer to being livable, and I moved in the luggage I had with me.

The next day (we're up to Thursday in Lagos for those of you who are marking this off on a large wall calendar) was the day the phone died, and trying to get it turned back on would be one of our ongoing adventures the next several weeks. The NEPA was off for part of the day, and this too has proved to be a regularly irregular part of Lagosian living. One never knows when the NEPA will go off, but one knows it will. We, of course, don't have a generator. I re-phrase that. We do have a generator, and when one fires it up, the noise from the engine makes conversation completely impossible within a radius of about 120 feet. That, unfortunately, encompasses all the house. All this noise, however, only manages to create enough power to light perhaps two light bulbs. It does not do anything to the fridge, or the fluorescent light, or even the fans. And let us not even dream about an air conditioner. This was bought used - to save money - and it has certainly accomplished that, because since we never run it, it costs us nothing to run. Since it never runs, it never needs maintenance. And since the light bulbs never get turned on, we replace them much less frequently. There is another side to this, of course, but I'll save for the moment when I describe the meat rotting in the freezer. (I always like to give you little hints of things to look forward to.)

One of the weekly rituals is that every Thursday, all the Jesuits gather for lunch at CKC (Christ the King Church). Since this was Thursday (see above), we gathered. And lunched. In the afternoon, Bart (the shipping agent - I keep thinking I should put out a little program, photos of the principal players, maybe sell a few small ads...) came by to say that he needed more money. (This is apparently the second thing a Nigerian baby learns to say. Right after "Mama" comes "More Naira.") Bill and I looked at the paper he was waving, and determined that we were being charged storage for the container by the company that neglected to tell us it was here. We decided we would go to the place ourselves. This was not a decision with which the agent was overjoyed, but we indicated that we had not opened the matter up for discussion, and so the next day, down we went, all dressed in our white soutanes, to do battle. We were very polite (actually there were three of us - Fr. Steve Astill, an Australian Jesuit priest working in Benin City had just returned from Ghana, and he was staying with us) and stood very obviously in people's offices, making everyone uncomfortable. By the 3rd office, we got to a man who had the power to waive the charges, and he did. Saved ourselves something around 12,000 Naira on that trip.

Thursday night (the night before the trip to the docks) was a typical Nigerian evening. After the CKC lunch I DHL'd the packet with the last of these massive missives (#3) and we went home. Jerry Menkhaus and John came in from the Novitiate to pick up the freezer (which has been rather dominating the living room) and spent the night. Theo was still visiting from St. Joseph's, so we had people in both guest rooms and in Peter's room. NEPA was on when we came back in the afternoon, but then went out at dinner time. I went to bed around 10:30, and woke to discover that Steve Astill had arrived during the night.

Friday, Jan. 29 (Note from John's diary)"My first solo to Pacelli. Got in the car all by myself, and found my way through the twists and turns that we laughingly call streets around here, and found my way to the school for the blind. (Now even the slowest among you ought to be able to make something out of that.) Hard to remember that I have only been back since Tuesday. With all the guests, and the activities, and the power outages, it seems a lot longer."

See - I talk like that even when I'm only talking to myself.

After we left the Apapa docks, we went over to the Eko Meridien Hotel to meet with Keith and Christine Gale. He is Australian, sells high grade coal for making steel to the Nigerians, and is a great friend of the Jesuits. Not only was he Jesuit educated (which is not always in itself enough to make someone a friend - sometimes, just the contrary) but a Jesuit who left the priesthood married his first wife. I think he's grateful. His second wife is from Jakarta, Indonesia, and is a marvel. Petite (he's fairly formidable) and capable in several languages, she functions as his assistant qua secretary qua everything else. She's a doll, and the two of them are great fun. They have two rooms, one as a bedroom, one as an office, with a magnificent view overlooking the bay and the swimming pool. Room service thinks they are wonderful, and everyone in the place knows them instantly.

We had a drink and a bit of lunch and a lovely visit. Keith was a little distracted, for which he kept apologising, but he had just discovered that the port rates at the Nigerian Port Authority were going to be going up on Monday from between 5 and 15 dollars per ton. That's a whole lot of money and he and his people were having a major fit. At the time, we were filled with great sympathy. The next week, our sympathy factor would increase a great deal, as we found ourselves the potential victims - and I choose that word with care - of the same situation. We were so relaxed by the visit that we all went home and had a nap - dinner - I smoked a quiet pipe and read a little, and then joined Bill and Steve to watch the end of a video I had already seen several times. Ah, the sacrifices we make in the name of community. The weather has become really humid and quite hot, and it is not at all like Kaduna.

Saturday, Jan 30
Today was Environmental. The last Saturday of every month, no one is allowed to go out until 10AM. For anything. You are supposed to stay home and clean your environment. Taking that very personally, Bill and I decided that the most immediate environment in which we lived was our very own bodies, so we slept late.

Once arisen - so to speak - I ran some errands, and then the three Jesuits went back to the Eko Meridien, for Chris and Keith had asked us to join them for lunch. We said Mass in the room, had a drink, and then went down to the restaurant in the hotel.

The restaurant was having an "Alsation Festival", and so all the dishes were supposed to be from Alsace-Lorraine. I had a wonderful cold rabbit salad, and perhaps the best veal I have ever had in my life, accompanied by a great light white wine. And a blueberry whipped something to die for. Not sweet, with all the real tartness you find in blueberries - it was a magnificent meal. After which we all went home and had a nap. (Now does this sound like material for a tourist brochure, or what?)

During the conversation, we mentioned that our tv set was giving us a major headache and we were going to have to get it fixed. The next thing we knew, Keith had decided he would take the set, have it fixed and give it to his driver, and he would get us a new one. Boom, just like that, would Tuesday be all right to deliver it because he thought, what with the port fees business, he would probably be a little busy on Monday. Wow! We were, to put it mildly, delighted. (Now if we could just get someone to donate a connection for the cable tv. Or a generator, so we can watch it when the NEPA goes off.) Steve's driver from Benin was waiting when we returned so he took off, some people came to visit (in Nigeria, you can almost assume people came to visit), and the night progressed into unconsciousness. (I can only remember one dinner since I've been here where we did not have guests, usually unanticipated ones.)

Sunday - the day when priests go out to various parishes and outstations to help out. Bill said Mass at Pacelli, and I went over to Our Lady of Fatima at Aguda, where my first big Mass here in Nigeria was said. It was - I learned when I arrived - Family Harvest Day, which meant a big celebration. After the first collection, then all the families in the church were called up alphabetically to put in their special donations for the Harvest. Not one by one, but rather - "Now everybody whose name begins with "A" come up." And the choir would sing, and people danced and clapped, and I stood in front of the basket and sprinkled them with holy water. The altar boys kept running in with new sprinklers, and by the time the process was finished, the front of the church was awash with blessed H2O. Wash and wear is definitely in order if you want to sit in the front three rows on Family Harvest Sunday. The whole Mass took a little over 2 1/2 hours, and I was not at all sure I'd be able to move my right arm come Monday morning. I went home and - guess what? - took a rest. We do that a lot here.

Every Sunday evening, all the Jesuits gather at our place for dinner and to visit. I sliced tomatoes, sprinkled some ground pepper on them, and floated them in vinegar and stuck them in the fridge to chill. Started a stew - marinated some beef (I discovered meat tenderizer in the cupboard, something the cook has obviously never heard of) and started on the vegetables before our cook came in. Our cook. Anthony. He is a liar and a thief, so much that we have to keep the pantry locked when he is around. He's not a great cook, and washing and cleanliness have no relation in his mind. His idea of sanitation, if he thinks about it, is wiping his hands on his pants before he touches the food. As long as an article of clothing has been through the water and hung on the line, he thinks it has been washed. Whether or not it has actually gotten clean does not seem to enter into the equation. Some people are color blind, have difficulty distinguishing between colors. Anthony sees no difference whatsoever between white and grey, in its infinite shades. Why, then, you ask yourself, is this man not sent packing and someone else engaged? That's the same question I have been asking, and by the end of this narrative, you will get to read even more about Anthony. But ignoring Anthony, it was a fun night - at least one of our Fathers was well in his cups by the time he left - a moderate triumph. Perle would be proud.

February 1 - Monday
Mass at Pacelli means leaving the house by 6:45 at the latest. I went today, so that Bill could work on the mission newsletter, one of his monthly responsibilities. The children are due to be coming back to Pacelli starting today. The reason they are coming back is that they were away - the reason they were away is because of a nationwide teacher's strike that has been shut down. Teachers' salaries haven't moved in years, and they are demanding something like a 45% pay raise, retroactive to last June, and most thinking folk are saying that this is a just demand about which something should be done. At least one person has suggested that there has been, over the past several years, an organized attempt to destroy the Nigerian educational system. New administrators bring in new requirements, pay is low, frequent strikes shut classrooms and schools, changing curricula mean that teachers are always trying to teach new courses and students never get a coherent series of classes. Why? Well, some have suggested that in the continuing pull between the Moslem fundamentalists, who want Nigeria to have a Moslem government, and everybody else, that an uneducated population is easier to manipulate. If all the direction comes from the Imam or the Mosque, and the average street guy doesn't read well or much, control is a lot easier to achieve. Sounds a little fantastic, like a premise for a bad novel. But the quality of education and the history of the last years here makes one stop and wonder.

NEPA went out this morning, phone still dead. A friend of Keith's is going to try to pull some NITEL strings for us, and Bill went over again today to talk to the people at the NITEL office, but we still have no phone. Tony Okure, with whom I was ordained and who joined me at my First Mass, came in the late morning. He had been home for his father's funeral, and was about to return to the States. (Funerals here are major events, and scheduling them can get very complicated. Tony's father died in early December, and the funeral was the middle of January. There is a Christian wake-keeping, and then a traditional wake-keeping. There is a Christian burial, and then a traditional service at the graveside, and then the mourning will go on for a week, with people coming to visit and eating, and many times the celebrating qua mourning will go on all night. It can bankrupt a family. If the head of a house dies, and the wife was not married under the Nigerian Marriage Act, but only under traditional ceremony, she has no rights. The house, the furniture, everything all belongs to the deceased's brothers and sisters, and in some tribes, they can even take away the eldest son. Women are advised, the minute the husband dies, or even is seriously ill, start hiding the furniture before the relatives gather.)

Tony wanted to do some visiting and run errands, so I took him over to visit the Handmaids of the Holy Child Jesus, the religious order to which his sister belongs, and who also run the Pacelli School, about which you have already read a little. Cyril Afiawari (whose brother is a Jesuit) and his wife came for dinner, where we were joined by two of the Pacelli sisters who came to see Tony. Fun dinner - lots of talk, especially about the impending civil servant's strike, which will also take out most of the teachers. (What? You say. Didn't he just write above that the teacher's strike was ending? Yup, the strike by the teacher's was closed down by a court order. But, and I confess I am not completely sure what is going on here, in the process, the teachers got put under civil service, and they are now going to go out, along with the doctors. It promises to be a most interesting several weeks, depending on which sections of which unions decide to go where.) Mrs. Chibbeway, one of our neighbors, also stopped in, and visited, and shared with us some of her dreams, including when she visited heaven. An average Nigerian evening with friends. And strangers who happened to be walking by. At the Seder table, the Passover meal, a place is always set for Elijah, and the door is left open so he can walk in. Believe me, in Nigeria, one place would never be enough. 2 February, TuesdayToday was the Feast of the Presentation of the Lord, and the Blessing of Candles. (It was also Ground Hog Day, but I discovered to my absolute amazement that they don't celebrate Ground Hog Day here. I guess in a place where the temperature seldom seems to fall below 75, six more weeks of winter is not exactly a vital prognostication.) It was also the first day for the children to be back at Pacelli, which really changes the whole tone of the Mass. And one prepares a different homily for children who are all blind. ("I am the light of the world." Or my favorite Scripture quote for this group, "There are none so blind as those who will not see." About that point, I start telling stories and pretend I never heard the Gospel.) Tony Okure came with me, Bill trying to finish the newsletter so that Tony can take with him the copy for the States. (Because of plane connections, he is going in to New York rather than to Boston, where he lives and studies. We discovered that to go to Boston, he would have a 36 hour layover in Rome. Seemed a little excessive. One of those "You can't get there from here" moments.)

Keith and Chris (the Australian and his wife?) stopped by to visit, and to drop off the new TV set. (We got the bill, so we could have it in case of warranty problems - this was a MOST generous gift.) We had the usual spate of visitors, including Mrs. Chibeway (to get her candles blessed) and Cyril Afiawari (who stayed for dinner). We took Tony to the airport around 9 - members of his family were there.

When I arrived in the country, the exchange rate was around 22 Naira to the U.S. dollar. That night Naira rates were 25.30 selling and 25.70 buying. (As I write this, on Ash Wednesday itself, published rates are just below and just above 28, which suggests that the street rates are higher still, and the foreign exchange bids this past week were between 35 and 40. The market was closed and the bids voided.) A couple of weeks ago at the Embassy, one of the staff was saying that they expect it to hit 40, unless there is some intervention. This is not just idle interest on our part; we are in the process of building a retreat center in Benin, and are bringing in the money in dollars for those costs, and we are projecting several million dollars for the new school in Abuja, and playing the exchange rates correctly and getting good value can mean a terrific difference.

NEPA was out most of the morning. Bart, our greedy little shipping agent person, had stopped by in the afternoon, looking for more money. This time it was the increased Port Charges - again, he simply accepted it and never checked the figures or the dates, and I think he was a little startled when again, the Reverend Fathers announced they would come down to the docks themselves. Again, he was not pleased - and again, we let him know fairly clearly that we didn't much care whether he was pleased or not, we were coming.

Wednesday, February 3
Mass at Pacelli. Bill came, and we did blessing of the throats for all the children. And me. We went home, fortified ourselves, and spent the day at the docks. The whole day. And such a day. The underbelly of Nigeria. About two miles from the entrance to the docks, the traffic started to slow. And stop. An hour or so later, we got near enough to the gate to see what was going on. About seven lanes of cars were converging into one gate. A car would pull up - and there would be a lengthy argument. Eventually that car would pull away, the next car would pull up - and again, there would be a lengthy argument. The entrance fee to the port, which for years has been 5 Naira, was suddenly, overnight, and without any warning, raised to 50 Naira. 25 for pedestrians. So each driver wanted to be sure that his feelings about this were aired. Bill got out and walked around a bit, and found a former parishioner of his from Benin who was working as a guard at the gate. Once we got near enough, he halted other cars and let the lane I was in move, and when I got to the gate there was no charge. That, I note, was about the last good thing that happened. Except for the Muslim.What had happened to bring us down to the docks was that the storage charges at the ports had been similarly, arbitrarily and exorbitantly raised. Can't much fight that; but the agent at the docks then applied those new charges retroactively starting on December 8th when the shipment was off-loaded. The old daily rate was 55 naira, the new one was 375. Worth going down and talking about. Our original bill was just over 17,000 Naira. What we ended up paying (not to kill the suspense, but it does save time) was 4,230. Plus bribes.

We arrived loaded for the proverbial bruin, and the first man we talked with told us that everybody was complaining about exactly the same thing, and that they had been given a new set of directives that very morning, and that the bill would be re-written. God bless you, my son. Small offices, lots and lots of noisy and pushing people - but two priests standing around in white cassocks tend to slow the normal give and take in these places, so no one much objected when our paperwork always seemed to hit the top of the pile very quickly.

New bill in hand, off to the Treasurer's office to get it stamped. Whoops - seems the treasurer's office won't stamp it. "But there were new directives this morning.." Ah, but those were directives for the Sales office. They make out the bill. But there was no directive for the Treasury office, which stamps the bill. Of course what ultimately happens is that our agent and the woman who runs the office go off in a corner, a little of the blue folding stuff changes hands, and suddenly, we have a stamped form. Then off to another office - outside the port - to get permission to pay the bill in cash. We had brought a bank draft for the original amount - 17,000 and whatever - but because we were successful, we had to try to get a waiver on the have to pay by draft rule. Going outside the port means that if we are able to sweet talk this guy, we then have to back inside the port. We work our way through three offices, and finally get bounced up to the head man. He huddles with our agent for a while, and then calls us in. He is a Muslim, and tells us he is going to waive the rule for us, since we are priests. Normally, he says, "we would get some money out of this man for this" (pointing at our agent) "but because you are priests, we are doing this for free.

But I wanted to tell you this so that this man" (again pointing at our agent) "does not tell you he paid us something and try to charge you for it."

For the record - all the Christians on the docks had their hands out and were pushing for bribes whenever they could get them. The one man we worked with who did not demand some extra payment was the Muslim gentleman outside the port. Praise Allah.

Back to the port. I drove about three hundred yards down the exit lane to get close to the gate, and then Bill's friend snuck us through. And back to the offices for one final go round.

Believe me, it reads a lot faster than it lived. We got through the gate a little after 11, and we left just before 5pm. Bill went back the next morning, and literally rode through with the truck, again saving us several thousand Naira in bribes. He said that they had to bribe something like 20 people to get out load, with absolutely impeccable paperwork, out of the docks and onto the road. Had we not gone down ourselves, it would have cost us a whole lot more, and would have easily taken another week.

The day the truck was liberated from the port was a Thursday. By the time I went over to CKC, the truck had come and they were just finishing unloading. And a tired, dirty bunch they were, too. We loaded both cards with boxes, and went home. NEPA went out around 7, so Bill and I went visiting - people with NEPA and air conditioning and cable tv.

Friday Bill went off to Benin City, and I made like a little ant and did several trips to CKC to gather boxes and bring them to Surulere. I also started carrying them upstairs and unloading them and settling in. I have no idea if I will be staying here - here including Surulere, Lagos, Nigeria or Africa. Until the Superior gets back, I just wait. Worked all day Friday carrying and unpacking boxes, really looking forward to an absolutely quiet and relaxing evening. 5pm - NEPA goes off. So I had a quick shower, and went out in the yard to read and smoke. When it got too dark to read, and the pipe went out, I went to bed. Some time during the night, the NEPA came back. So I got up, turned off all the lights and fans that were on, and went back to sleep.

Launching - a Nigerian term meaning "Fund Drive". The launching itself is the first major gathering for the drive, at which there are many speeches and people stand up and read aloud how much they are giving, and it is a major social and financial event. Saturday night there was a dinner that was part of the 10 year anniversary of the school attached to the Aguda parish, and so Bill and I went. (Please note - this was a 200 Naira a plate dinner.) We arrived at 6pm - the invitation had said the event would take place from 6 to 9 - and we were not only the first guests, we were more ready than were the food, the servers, the hostesses or the rental firm that was supplying the tables and chairs. We were taken to the Sisters' rec room, where we had a mineral (in American, that means a soft drink) and waited. A little after 8, word came that we were ready to start. Bill was asked to say the grace, and later in the evening, was also asked to give the toast to the Archbishop. I sang - made a very nice pitch for how important education is, and talked about my parents and encouraged folks to cough up their Naira. Then while I sang Schubert's Ave, a collection was taken up. It was still going on when I finished, so I did a quick rendition of Pollution, the old Tom Lehrer song. I blush to report that Tom Lehrer raised more money than Franz Schubert. It was a fun night, though, and the Sisters were very pleased that "the Reverend Fathers" not only came but took part.

The next several weeks were varied in terms of routine, but many elements remain the same. There are always unexpected guests, the NEPA often goes out at strange and unwelcome moments, and since I am so new, I am almost always doing something for the first time.

One of the adventures that did occupy us for a while was the saga of the two refrigerators. NEPA was going and coming, and often when it returned, it was not at full power. In the course of two days, the off again, on again NEPA managed to blow the compressors on both the fridges. Naturally, we had just put 500 Naira worth of meat into the freezer,plus other food that was in there - we were not thrilled.

In North America, something breaks, you call the repair man. Here - first the phone doesn't work, so if you know someone, you can send someone. They come when they want, and examine the problem, and give an estimate and then you haggle and argue and settle on a price, and then they tell you they'll be back in three days to get one of the fridges. You mumble something about rotten meat, and they shrug and look apologetic.

Now the people we called live in our neighborhood. Bad idea. When our NEPA is out, so is theirs. And without NEPA, you don't run an electrical repair shop. Plus, Anthony (our erstwhile ersatz cook) was the one who contacted them, and we're pretty sure there is some sort of a kickback scheme going on there as well. It took them almost two weeks to get both fridges back and working, to something over 7,000 worth of parts and labor. We bought a large voltage regulators to handle both units so this doesn't happen again. We tried to save the meat by taking over to a friend's house - but his NEPA went, and finally the smell convinced us to accept our losses gracefully and bury the evidence. Strangely enough, once we stopped worrying about the meat, life became strangely peaceful. We had Jesuit visitors from Benin - we went out to dinner. We have a gas stove so we could boil water and filter it. We ate breakfast with the Pacelli sisters after Mass, and life went on its less than usually merry way.

One of our Jesuits got a new VCR, and I went over one afternoon to help him hook it up. Worked fine. He called the next day in great excitement. Seems his kitchen boy had taken a frying pan and rigged it up as an antenna. Looked a little like a satellite dish - and he was getting CNN! He was amazed and delighted. Turned out that CNN is being made available at no charge for several weeks, as a teaser to get people to sign up for cable. That kitchen boy almost got the biggest raise he'd ever seen. Almost.

Odd chores included getting a new U.S. passport - I confess to feeling a little peculiar when I saw that my new one expires in the year 2003.

Samuel arrived one day (when the NEPA was, of course) from Ibadan for a wedding the following day which no one was sure would take place. The girl and her father have not been together for years, so she went ahead with the wedding plans without consulting him. Ie, church wedding, but no traditional ceremony. Now he is threatening to have the boy thrown in jail. Jack Ryan is supposed to perform the ceremony, so it should be an interesting day for all involved.

Miscellaneous Thoughts:
Traffic and Terms:
Go Slow - a traffic delay, a traffic jam, heavy congestion. This is a regular, and often predictable, occurrence on many of the roads around Lagos. Street hawkers move in between the cars selling everything from food to cold drinks, wrenches to telephones, exercise equipment to towels, birds in cages to clothes.
Flyover - an elevated section of roadway. Many of the larger highways are built like roller coasters. They descend so that people can get off and on and then rise again to "fly" over congested areas. Thus - "flyover". Eliminates the need for special exit or entrance ramps.
Roundabout - Circle, traffic facilitators. In the north, cars on the left have the right of way. In the south, the car with the most nerve, highest speed, clearest Karma, least to lose - this is the car with the right of way.
Right of way - a concept unknown to Nigerians.
Accident - the other car's fault. In most cases, you get out of your car, survey the damage with emotions ranging from quiet disdain to loud shouting (depending on the extent of the damage), exchange pleasantries with the other driver and then drive away. Only in extreme cases would you bother to exchange particulars or call the police.
Molue bus - a very old and rickety bus with two doors (well, two holes) on one side, small windows, usually carrying over 100 people. Very eccentric vehicles. Last week one crashed and burned, and because it landed with one side against a wall, most of the people in the bus died. The windows are too small to get out, and the only two exits are on the same side of the bus.

How would you react if you saw a priest hit someone who had come up to receive communion? I didn't, but apparently, this priest was distributing communion, and a young lady came up without a veil or head covering, and not only did he not give her communion, he actually slapped her face. One of our Nigerian Scholastics asked me what I would have done, and I think I suggested that a quiet talk with the priest afterwards would have been in order, coupled with the idea that if I ever heard of him doing such a thing again I would break his ordained digits. There are some priests here who, once they have been ordained, proceed to act like little tin gods in little personal kingdoms. There are also, obviously, some great men doing wonderful work - but the excesses and the extremes are right off the scale over here. Unfortunately, as models, many of these priests have bishops who, were they to exhibit similar behavior in the States, would be quietly locked up in some nice institution with lots of trees, high fences, and considerate doctors with lots of medications.

Saturday, 13 February
(A day just to keep you vaguely in touch with the calendar and let you meet some people.) Marty Neylon's birthday. He collects birthday's of people born on the 13th. He has mine. (He is the bishop who ordained me a priest.)

When I got back from Mass, Bill was back from another Benin trip, with Keffi and Newton and Abednego. Yup, Abednego. All are from Benin, orphans or cripples. Keffi was the first one they found and took in, sort of the one who was responsible for the home being started. They found him, literally, in a gutter. He was naked, and had crawled in the sewer line under the street to get out of the rain. He had been there about three weeks. He is mentally retarded, and is crippled. His father had taken him and left him in front of the hospital, and apparently he had been robbed of his clothes. One of the Jesuits wrapped him in a sheet of plastic, and took him to one of the convents, where the sisters cared for him for several weeks, and then the Jesuits took him in. He was about 17 years old at that point. He is very affectionate, moves around quite well with a cane - a piece of what looks like part of a brass bed. Apparently he destroys wooden canes faster than they can bring them in, but this metal one has lasted for over a year. He came to see his brother.

The Jesuits had had Keffi with them for around three years, and they were on a trip to somewhere when they blew a tire. (Soft music, please, the hand of God is at work here.) They had to go into the town to get the tire fixed so they could continue their trip, and while the man at the garage was working on the tire, he kept looking at Keffi, and finally he said, "I know that boy. I know his family - his father and his sister and his brother." The Jesuits had been unable to find the family, so they left the address, and asked the garage man to have someone contact them. After around six months, one brother came and visited, and gave the Jesuits the father's address. (The priests helped the brother to get into the Navy.) But there was still no word from the father, so after some more time with no action, they went to call on the father.

There is a tradition here that when a child gets his or her first job, they take the first month's salary and give it to the father. Keffi had been employed by someone near the parish, and was making 120 Naira a month. So he took that with him to see his father. The father was in shock when he came to the door. He kept repeating over and over in his native tongue, "You will never forget what I did to you." And then Keffi went over and gave him the 120 Naira. None of his other ("normal") children had done that; he was absolutely speechless.

Keffi came to visit with his brother, the Navy one, who is currently stationed at Lagos. We waited for him all morning, and then we went shopping. Prince, one of the local boys, around 8, also came, so we had quite a tribe going into stores. When we got back, Keffi's brother was waiting, and Keffi's joy was verbal, physical, and apparent. He kept making happy noises, and reaching over to touch his brother, and announcing at regular intervals, "This is my brother!".

Newton is around 14, and an orphan. He looks after Keffi and Abednego when they travel. Abednego (no one gives him a nickname because the name is such fun to say) is crippled on one side, perhaps polio. But he is very bright, and gets around very well.

So the rest of the day was entertaining them, and others who dropped in. Dinner, and then they all went visiting, leaving me to cook. Five minutes after they left, the NEPA went out, so I prepared French dressing and boiled eggs by candlelight. Two sisters from Aguda came by to drop off four mugs and a piece of cake, to say Thank You for the help we had given them last week at their dinner. Samuel was out at the wedding, so I sat in the dark and prayed and relaxed until someone came back. He was first, followed shortly thereafter by the car with the others. They all slept in the chapel. A typical Nigerian day.

Sunday, 14 February - Valentine's Day

The weekly Jesuit gathering had somewhat expanded, and before we knew it, we were expecting 15 people for dinner that night. I was the cook. I cut up four chickens into frying pieces, made devilled eggs, peeled and boiled potatoes, and added the French dressing. Cut tomatoes and made a vinegar dressing for them. Then made the seasoned flour and fried the chicken. At some point Bill came back, and we also swept and cleaned and decorated. A quick shower, and I was ready when the first car pulled up. It was Sammy and Keith and Chris, and not only did they bring a box with wine and booze in it, they brought a box with hot hors d'oeuvres from the Chinese restaurant - spring rolls, sausage in a soft dough, chicken, and those wonderful fried prawn. The Jesuits had never seen anything like this, and if I do say so myself, the dinner was ok as well. We had the devilled eggs and some wonderful fresh bread, the tomatoes, Anthony made some gelaf rice (spiced with a light tomato sauce), and fried chicken, according to the recipe from my Great Aunt Mary's old cook, Flossie. The cholesterol people would have died, but it was terrific. The potato salad, recipe courtesy of my mother, was a great hit. And dessert was fruit cocktail, fresh pineapple pieces, banana ice cream and mango ice cream. Any combination or some of each. And after everyone had done that, we had mini frozen Snickers bars. (Well, it was Valentine's Day, there had to be some candy.)

It was, by anybody's standards, a great party. Lots of interesting people who mixed well together and who all seemed to have a good time. In the middle of it all, Albert and Ethelbert from Kaduna came by with a whole load of mail. So they stayed and ate and seemed to have a good time. They were going to go over to CKC and take back the boxes of bibles and rosaries and whatever else was there for Kaduna. The Jesuits are noted for leaving the weekly gathering by 9pm. This week, it was after ten before the first move was made to the door.

And life proceeds - visiting and being visited, cooking and cleaning and learning about Lagos and Nigerians and people every day a little bit. Anthony was sat down one Monday by Fr. Bill and yours truly, and given two options - quit now, or prepare himself for a whole new world. We went over his work, his problems, his attitudes, and spelled it all out in some detail. The week was not without its tension, culminating in a great shouting and throwing of things and threatening - him to us. So, for the last week, Anthony has not been let in the house. The Superior is back, and we are waiting to see what he does. My sense would be he should quietly say that Bill was put in charge of the kitchen, whatever Bill says goes. Since I have been taking care of most of the cooking and cleaning in the interim, I have a particular interest in some decision. At the moment, however, I can say that 4 L Agusto Close probably has the most expensive houseboy in all of Lagos.

Other news? Well, we have finally been granted the land in Abuja on which we hope to build a school. Granted is a technical term meaning we got the permission from the government to buy the land. Which is itself a technical term meaning we own it, except that we pay rent on it every year for a 100 year lease, the payment schedule for which can be re-set after 5 years. But we have 20 hectares, that are ours, all ours - once we figure out what to do about the two villages that we have discovered exist on the land the government assures us is ours all ours.

I did get to visit Ibadan, and I have had my first bout with whatever kind of internal bug it was that drained me of fluids. The good news is I lost about ten pounds. The bad news is that I did it in 36 hours. There is an electrolyte solution that is (too close to literally to be entirely comfortable) a life-saver, and that helped replenish salts and fluids. It rather diminished the joy in visiting Ibadan, but I did get to see something of the town, and celebrated Mass on Saturday morning at the Jesuit house.

Water - That strike I mentioned earlier of civil workers went on as planned, and one of the areas hit in several states was electrical and water. When the electrical went out, the pumps went out, and while Lagos was not touched (because it used to be the capital city, the workers are federal), Benin has been virtually without water for several weeks. For a while, you could not get into the city by the river road - there were thousands of people crowding down to get water from the river. The river water is not safe by any stretch of the imagination - but neither is dehydration. The novitiate well and system of selling water to the residents was the scene of great fights and disturbances - until they doubled the price, and immediately order was restored. Ibadan was suffering too. One of the Jesuits houses has a well, the other is now completely dry, and they buy tanker trucks of water to fill their well.

Miscellaneous thoughts. Food. Cashew fruit. I had never seen cashew fruit before, much less tasted one. Fascinating. A very sweet and yet dry taste. Looks a little like a yellow pepper with this strange stem. Of course, when you crack the stem, inside you discover the cashew nut. But the yellow fruit is also quite edible. Do NOT get the juice on anything you care about - apparently the stain is ferocious. It permanently stains hands with repeated exposure, so they are shipped to India for processing. Exploitation is such an overused word; pretty heavily overused concept too.

(Hang on, my children, almost done. Two items and a conclusion.)
Item #1 - Fr. John, interior decorator. It is, I suppose, not a far jump from cleaning to painting and from painting to decorating. And I did take a course in interior decorating. (I really did - when I was preparing to buy my house in South Bend, I took a course, complete with sample books and color wheels and videos and tours - great fun. I was the only male in the class, and found it very helpful.) So I suppose it is logical that in my first couple of weeks I have re-designed the chapel, and am in the process of re-doing the living room. Went out the other day to get the material for the drapes, and the people should be in next week to see about re-upholstering the furniture. Painting is an absolute necessity, of course. Tell the Superior? Oh, why bother him with details? Let him be surprised when he comes back. (Ghana - he's going to take one look at the house and send me to Ghana. Or Liberia. Apparently we are seriously starting to look at the pressing needs in Liberia. Hmmm - who was it wanted to give me a gun.) Anyway, I am learning about shopping in Nigeria. When they want to charge you 135 a yard, you know you can get it for 80. And I did.

Item #2 - You never know. In one of my earlier letters - I think #3 - I made a passing remark about sacraments, and that unless the Church were desperate enough to make me a bishop, I would not be administering the sacrament of confirmation. Well, canon lawyers would immediately call me to task on that, since there is one provision under which a priest may administer the sacrament, and indeed, must. If an adult is being baptized, unless there is "serious and pressing cause", that adult should also be confirmed in the same ceremony, and the priest has both the authority and the responsibility to do it. Son of a gun, I was asked to baptize an adult, with the full permission of the Parish Priest, so –

TARA - I have done my first confirmation.

So - letter #4 draws to a close. The eagle-eyed among you may have noted that at no time in this long and meandering message have I mentioned anything about what it is I am or ought to be or will be doing in terms of an actual assignment. Real work. ("My God, George, it sounds like all he is doing is going shopping, saying Mass occasionally and doing a lot of housework and cooking!") Right on. If the Regional Superior of the Nigeria Ghana Region of the New York Province of the Society of Jesus has the least inclination as to what he would like me to do here, he has given me no hint whatsoever. My own suspicion is that he truly has no idea - my reading is that he tends to find making decisions very difficult, and so involves his consultors and a host of others in any decision. The next meeting of the consultors is not until March 12, so I'm thinking of trying some cold soups, and maybe a nice quiche.... It's a little frustrating because I can't even start working on learning a language until I have a sense of where I will be. Or if.

("If?" Did he say "if?")

Well, when I said I would come to Nigeria, it was for a specific assignment at a specific place in a particular field. I made it very clear that I was not volunteering generally for the missions. What I have seen of Nigeria, I love, and could easily see staying here for a long period of time. I think there is important and necessary work here I could do. However, there is also a lot of work (admittedly important as well) that I am not especially interested in doing, and I know the signs of desperate Superiors with more positions to fill than men to fill them. I may be anticipating something that will never happen. And I will try to be open to whatever is put before me. But the minute I hear the words "work in a parish.." I think there may be a conversation in the offing. Of course, I was surprised by coming here at all, so I may be surprised at how I stay. But in my mind at least, there is certainly an "if".

Take care of your respective selves, and who knows - there may yet be another change of address card coming forth? (Smart money is betting on it - I put the hex on my staying here by going out last week and ordering 200 new business cards with the Surulere address on them.) A couple of folk have faxed, and three have even called - one from Germany and two from New York. The one from Germany is my wandering god-child, and she is threatening to come and visit in April. My first visitor! She said that since she was so close, it would be a shame not to come and say hello.

Map? Anybody got a map for this lost soul? Actually, she will be in Amsterdam, and (as you remember from Letter #1 - boy that seems long ago, doesn't it?) KLM has a direct Amsterdam to Lagos flight. So those of you who were planning on winning the special prize for being the first one to come and visit John in Lagos now have a deadline to work against - either Tiffany Shea's projected arrival in April, or John's scheduled deportation some time in late March. (Did I mention that in all this moving around, no one seems at all interested in the fact that unless some action is taken my visa expires on March 23rd? I keep reminding folk, but no one seems to think that this poses any problem. Except me. And maybe those police officers in the black outfits and the loaded automatic weapons at the ready.)

Enough already. Again - goodbye for now, and know that you are prayed for and remembered even more than you are written to. Which is saying something. Until the whenever that long overdue hugs can be delivered in person...peace.