naje soki
on Fantastic Voyage (Nigeria), 03/Aug/2010 19:27, 34 days ago
Now, I was anticipating the two worst things about volunteering in Nigeria (as me, this is, not as an abstract concept.  It wouldn’t be the same for you) to be me sweating, and working alongside my wife.We arrived at precisely the right juncture, sweat-wise: just as the rainy season commenced.  Of course, when these balmy months of cloud and moisture are finished I (and those around me) will have to endure months and months and months of me oozing continually.  Our bed won’t be dry until I leave, probably.  I’ve never known anyone who sweats as much as me (though I’m sure they exist: that chap on Ally McBeal who Ling painted and whose hair repulsed Georgia, for one.  I could have been friends with him).  Even at my fittest and most athletic, I could play swampy home to a number of wetland birds by simply standing up, or raising a fork to my mouth.  But– for the moment – I haven’t been any soggier than I would have been in England.So that’s been ok.Most of you will know my rather splendid other half.  (She has herown, no doubt superlative, blog, by the way.  We’re not reading each others’ until we return – to ensure maximum freedom of expression – and are gently competing for readers.  She’ll win.)  It’s not that I don’t like the woman: she’s inspiring, extraordinary, creative, talented, patient, determined, the finest thing in my or indeed any world and so on and so forth.  Yadda yadda.  But we don’t work well together.  Outside of work, we handle on another’s foibles rather well.  I’m not saying we don’t argue, or get drunk, or fantasise about thrusting socks in one another’s gullet just for some peace.  But we do ok.  The one time we were employed by the same organisation, though, we spent most of each day wondering if someone else might– just might – want to take them home instead.So, when we we offered these placements by VSO, the number one concern in our minds was just how closely we’d have to work together.  We were reassured by the initial answer– not very.  We were less reassured by the reality– in one another’s pockets.  And so it was that we spent (more or less: we didn’t have poos at the same time) six weeks together for twenty four hours at a time.  That’d be a long honeymoon.  And I’d’ve expected it to be full of ennui and tedium: pressing hands upon lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.  (I’ve adapted that, by the way.  I think it’s got a stronger rhythm than the original.  So there.)Bizarrely, though (and this isn’t intended as some manner of backhanded paean to earn me some brownie points in two years’ time – just a musing on something that’s managed the extraordinary feat of holding my attention  for a few minutes) it’s been fine.  More than fine.  Last week, she (yes, her: the cat’s mother.  Whatever that means) was travelling around some schools and communities.  I was looking forward to a bit of space and I did get some great reading done.  Women take up a lot of time.  Largely, though, the world felt a bit drab and shadowy.But on her return– well.  This may be an unusual thing, but every so often I see or hear or read something that suddenly makes some muscles just beneath my belly relax.  They’re tense all the time: I don’t even notice them.  Seeing penguins– that makes them suddenly drop and I can breathe and see and walk with more ease than Neil Armstrong on the moon.  When I saw a couple of piglets in the road a week ago– that made them relax.  And so did my wife coming home.  It wasn’t one of those wonderful moments – sudden in a shaft of sunlight, a moment in and out of time – that people write about, and fight wars over.  It was just peace and contentment: full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.Next week, I’ll probably have to post a photo of my fists splotched with gore and holding bits of her eyeballs.  But for now– and for the last 10 weeks – I think I’m experiencing, not being young and giddy and crazy and breathless, but being happy.  And that’s a Good Thing.