Musings Begin

My second abaya -- a bit more decorative than my first one. Now I'll always have one clean abaya. That's the plan, at least. I have a matching scarf which I carry with me but do not wear. Opinions on scarf-wearing are very mixed among the expat women. How do we show respect for the country in which we live without in any way implying that we agree with their beliefs and customs? That is the dilemma. At this point, I've determined that I will not wear the scarf unless forced to do so.

We did some painting on Thursday, wanting to get such things done prior to the arrival of our shipment.

I've been here for more than two weeks, now. You could best describe my state of mind as "in adjustment" as each day has it's ups and it's downs. I am reminded of our time in Port Harcourt, in the days when we could get out of the compound. Somedays I'd be so anxious to get out and then after being out for a short time, I'd wonder why I ever wanted to do such a thing -- the headaches came on quickly from the air pollution, loud and crazy traffic, trash, and basic madness.

Here, the headaches seem to come just as quickly as they did in Nigeria and they come from basic madness. Very little trash (except along the water's edge in places where workers aren't paid to constantly pick up what comes in with the waves). Very little pollution (but the air is filled with sand and grit). The traffic is not loud (though the drivers are still incredibly aggressive, a topic worthy of it's own blog entry very soon). None of those issues are the problem. And it's not the lack of access to food items. (I'll blog sometime soon about the shopping because that deserves it's own entry.) The madness is more within me and it's more mental, spiritual, and emotional.

My headaches come from trying to process the thinking behind what I see -- the complete segregation of men from women, the required abaya and hijab (head covering), the extreme versions of coverings that go beyond just eye-slits and include black gloves, the screens that some men require to be placed around their family's table when they eat in a restaurant that has expats present, the men who are free to frolic in the ocean or ocean-side pool with their children while their black-tented-wives hide in the shade of the 110+ sun or walk into the water and come back out wearing a now-thirty-pound-soaking-wet black tent,...

For the next few days I'll try to post some photos as well as some thoughts. I'll try to not gripe and whine but rather give you the straight truth of life as I see it. Keep in mind that those who embrace this place see it quite differently.