Abuja, Nigeria October 10, 2008 As I sat in Lufthansa Airlines Flight 330, Aisle 2, Row 24 in Seat A by the window on my last leg of the flight back to Nigeria, I let my legs rest on the empty seat beside me and snoozed most of the way from Frankfurt, Germany to Abuja. Two months had passed from the day I landed in the Big Apple in July, to the day I made my departure from America on September 24 th from John F. Kennedy International. I bid my New York City host adieu, and as I walked through the security gate I started reflecting back on the eight weeks I’d spent travelling cross-country, and as I got closer to Nigeria the thoughts still ran by my mind. From the plummeting economy to the wrath of Hurricanes Hanna and Ike; ill with a severe allergy reaction the first two weeks in America that ended the day before I found myself without a gallbladder; the friendships I’d renewed and created; from New York City to Ottawa to Vermont to San Diego to Portland to Seattle to Seabeck to Washington, DC to New York City. The things that most occupied my thoughts were the inspiring moments of my journey, as well as the culture differences between America and West Africa. I daydreamed into another illusion while “Made of Honor” played on the little touch screen in front of me. The daydreaming brought me back in a time warp, but they were paired with two comparisons side by side. One side of my dreams had the African culture and the lifestyle I’d seen and somewhat adopted; the America that I’d known for twenty-eight years – the fast-paced lifestyle and media-influenced culture on the other side. I could notice the stark contrasts in most of the comparisons, and a few similarities. The education system for the Deaf (and plus) differed in empowerment and availability of resources, the currencies afforded different things for middle class and the poor, exposure of mainstream media and its power, attitudes of strangers and friends, the culture clash between me and America, me and Nigeria. The similiarities lie in the material things that people in America and Nigeria could possess, however, it wasn’t much. America is one of the top leading industrialized countries so therefore their access to modern technologies and craft changed to something better by the week. In Nigeria, cars, computers, TV sets, cell phones could be newer only if the Nigerian had deep pockets full of nairas. Oddly enough, when I was in Nigeria pre-America, my laptop died but I was able to find a replacement loaner easily, yet when I was touring the states I found myself struggling to adapt to the MacBooks of seven hosts and some times, having to settle for none. Internet cafes with computers handy are often seen around cities, but in America most of the cafes had wireless but you had to bring your own laptop. People in Nigeria would ask me for my text number and I’d gladly give them my cellphone number; Americans would ask me if I had a pager whereas I had none so making plans to get together would be a challenge – find a computer, schedule ahead of time or ask someone to page the other person for me. It was not an easy task to go through everyday life of a traveler with lack of technology in America, it made me feel somewhat primitive. In Africa, if you have an updated cell phone with the camera in it, you’re an instant celebrity. (I don’t have that, just a plain Nokia large print cell). The other aspect of mainstream media that I’d compared side by side would be the availability of closed captioning (Nigeria would have Arabic closed captions, American tv’s after 1993 had internal CC devices), the exposure of bare skin on women and men (Flashy music videos with the sex kittens of girlie bands of the UK and America were only featured on satellite tv in Abuja and Lagos; poor quality filmmaking with hilarious or overdramatic Nigerian actors of Nollywood dominated most television sets except in Hausa territory; in Hausa territories they showed the British BBC and Euro-CNN, but mostly it was Arabic-speaking programs from all over the world.), print is also available in all outlets – independent and federally run publications dominate America and Nigeria but in Nigeria, there is scarcely activist publications making its way on news shelves, nor graphic pornography. Nigeria is well known for its blend of strong, Orthodox religions such as Catholicism and Christianity, but a tad more relaxed sect of Islam. So, media is controlled mostly by the Nigerian government whereas in America you’d find everything from gay publications to style, the Playmate Bunnies to anti-government publications. Free speech sometimes come at a cost in both countries, especially when one is exposed to more and more media with their tech possessions. Especially where my feelings about my body was concerned: media in the US favored size 0 models, while in Nigeria big women were celebrated in movies, television and print. I felt myself relaxing to the image of my apple-shaped abdomen in the West African country but that familiar twinge of insecurity returned when the ads featuring Victoria Secret models and the rail-thin teenage girls in television shows appeared on billboards, magazines, flyers, in passing conversations or on the sidewalk once I was back in America. I had to keep reminding myself that media should not be able to alter my increased confidence – anywhere. I should think of myself as a person I’d grow to love regardless if I didn’t own a laptop or pager or a size 5 body. It’s scary to see the stark contrasts in each countries that define how women and girls and boys and men view their bodies. The influence of mainstream media aside, I reflected on my lonely time in the desert of Kebbi with a live-in intervenor that only fingerspelled and a school staff that I went by daily with simple greetings, and how I’d experienced momentary shock when I first tactile with the first ASL-using person I’d encountered by 34 th and Penn Station in the Big Apple in the hazy evening of July 24th. The series of tactile conversations gave me much-needed injection of companionship, intellectual discussions, humourous bantering, soulful and intimate one-on-ones, and most inspiring of all conversations would be with the Deaf Blind people I’d met at Seabeck Camp for the Deaf-Blind. I had sorely missed the freedom of expression, listening, signing, and speech of the mind. I was missing that in Kebbi, sometimes with my VSO volunteer group. As I left for Nigeria, I told my host that he would be the last person I’d really be able to tactile so freely, with a sense of inclusiveness (environmental and emotional information) because in Nigeria, I’d have a long-ways to find people I felt at ease with, in communication and trust. There would be countless comparisons, as I re-settled in my Nigerian roots, with flashbacks of my time in the summer of ’08 when I returned to my Canadian and American roots. In the tiniest things like the smell of a suburban Long Island home after it’d been cleaned with industrial chemicals to the smell of incense and cooked akara, suya and masara wafted through the windows of the flat at 3 Maitama Close where the volunteers visiting Abuja sought a bed. The smells of sewage waste and piling garbage mountains littered in areas of Nigeria wasn’t as pleasant as the salty smell of the Pacific ocean. Sipping coffee at the Transcorp Hilton of Maitama, Abuja, Nigeria, was the closest thing we had to filtered coffee I found at a stand by Prospect Park in Brooklyn. Nigeria does not export nor import coffee beans, we opt for instant coffee (instant poop) and boycott the fancy ideals of Starbucks. In Seattle, there are Starbucks and chain coffee shops grinding and brewing quality coffee beans for caffeineaholics at incredibly ridiculous prices, on every block. The little things like those would invade my mind as I’d trudged through my first three weeks back in Nigeria but strangely enough, the only thing I’d truly missed back home is the tactile love. As I go to sleep in the king-sized hotel bed of the Parkview Hotel, Wuse I, Abuja, I shall dream of hope, personal growth, challenges and new friendships as I begin my second chapter of life in Nigeria. Then by breakfast tomorrow morning before the HIV/AIDS workshop resumes, I shall hope that one day my American and Canadian friends would have the opportunity to sit in Aisle 2, Row 24, Seat A on the way back to America after visiting me and ponder the contrasts and the similarities. Mi casa es tu casa, anywhere in the world. Come and be my guest, experience Africa. You’ll never be the same again. I promise that. Tactile love, Coco Abuja, Nigeria October 10, 2008 As I sat in Lufthansa Airlines Flight 330, Aisle 2, Row 24 in Seat A by the window on my last leg of the flight back to Nigeria, I let my legs rest on the empty seat beside me and snoozed most of the way from Frankfurt, Germany to Abuja. Two months had passed from the day I landed in the Big Apple in July, to the day I made my departure from America on September 24 th from John F. Kennedy International. I bid my New York City host adieu, and as I walked through the security gate I started reflecting back on the eight weeks I’d spent travelling cross-country, and as I got closer to Nigeria the thoughts still ran by my mind. From the plummeting economy to the wrath of Hurricanes Hanna and Ike; ill with a severe allergy reaction the first two weeks in America that ended the day before I found myself without a gallbladder; the friendships I’d renewed and created; from New York City to Ottawa to Vermont to San Diego to Portland to Seattle to Seabeck to Washington, DC to New York City. The things that most occupied my thoughts were the inspiring moments of my journey, as well as the culture differences between America and West Africa. I daydreamed into another illusion while “Made of Honor” played on the little touch screen in front of me. The daydreaming brought me back in a time warp, but they were paired with two comparisons side by side. One side of my dreams had the African culture and the lifestyle I’d seen and somewhat adopted; the America that I’d known for twenty-eight years – the fast-paced lifestyle and media-influenced culture on the other side. I could notice the stark contrasts in most of the comparisons, and a few similarities. The education system for the Deaf (and plus) differed in empowerment and availability of resources, the currencies afforded different things for middle class and the poor, exposure of mainstream media and its power, attitudes of strangers and friends, the culture clash between me and America, me and Nigeria. The similiarities lie in the material things that people in America and Nigeria could possess, however, it wasn’t much. America is one of the top leading industrialized countries so therefore their access to modern technologies and craft changed to something better by the week. In Nigeria, cars, computers, TV sets, cell phones could be newer only if the Nigerian had deep pockets full of nairas. Oddly enough, when I was in Nigeria pre-America, my laptop died but I was able to find a replacement loaner easily, yet when I was touring the states I found myself struggling to adapt to the MacBooks of seven hosts and some times, having to settle for none. Internet cafes with computers handy are often seen around cities, but in America most of the cafes had wireless but you had to bring your own laptop. People in Nigeria would ask me for my text number and I’d gladly give them my cellphone number; Americans would ask me if I had a pager whereas I had none so making plans to get together would be a challenge – find a computer, schedule ahead of time or ask someone to page the other person for me. It was not an easy task to go through everyday life of a traveler with lack of technology in America, it made me feel somewhat primitive. In Africa, if you have an updated cell phone with the camera in it, you’re an instant celebrity. (I don’t have that, just a plain Nokia large print cell). The other aspect of mainstream media that I’d compared side by side would be the availability of closed captioning (Nigeria would have Arabic closed captions, American tv’s after 1993 had internal CC devices), the exposure of bare skin on women and men (Flashy music videos with the sex kittens of girlie bands of the UK and America were only featured on satellite tv in Abuja and Lagos; poor quality filmmaking with hilarious or overdramatic Nigerian actors of Nollywood dominated most television sets except in Hausa territory; in Hausa territories they showed the British BBC and Euro-CNN, but mostly it was Arabic-speaking programs from all over the world.), print is also available in all outlets – independent and federally run publications dominate America and Nigeria but in Nigeria, there is scarcely activist publications making its way on news shelves, nor graphic pornography. Nigeria is well known for its blend of strong, Orthodox religions such as Catholicism and Christianity, but a tad more relaxed sect of Islam. So, media is controlled mostly by the Nigerian government whereas in America you’d find everything from gay publications to style, the Playmate Bunnies to anti-government publications. Free speech sometimes come at a cost in both countries, especially when one is exposed to more and more media with their tech possessions. Especially where my feelings about my body was concerned: media in the US favored size 0 models, while in Nigeria big women were celebrated in movies, television and print. I felt myself relaxing to the image of my apple-shaped abdomen in the West African country but that familiar twinge of insecurity returned when the ads featuring Victoria Secret models and the rail-thin teenage girls in television shows appeared on billboards, magazines, flyers, in passing conversations or on the sidewalk once I was back in America. I had to keep reminding myself that media should not be able to alter my increased confidence – anywhere. I should think of myself as a person I’d grow to love regardless if I didn’t own a laptop or pager or a size 5 body. It’s scary to see the stark contrasts in each countries that define how women and girls and boys and men view their bodies. The influence of mainstream media aside, I reflected on my lonely time in the desert of Kebbi with a live-in intervenor that only fingerspelled and a school staff that I went by daily with simple greetings, and how I’d experienced momentary shock when I first tactile with the first ASL-using person I’d encountered by 34 th and Penn Station in the Big Apple in the hazy evening of July 24th. The series of tactile conversations gave me much-needed injection of companionship, intellectual discussions, humourous bantering, soulful and intimate one-on-ones, and most inspiring of all conversations would be with the Deaf Blind people I’d met at Seabeck Camp for the Deaf-Blind. I had sorely missed the freedom of expression, listening, signing, and speech of the mind. I was missing that in Kebbi, sometimes with my VSO volunteer group. As I left for Nigeria, I told my host that he would be the last person I’d really be able to tactile so freely, with a sense of inclusiveness (environmental and emotional information) because in Nigeria, I’d have a long-ways to find people I felt at ease with, in communication and trust. There would be countless comparisons, as I re-settled in my Nigerian roots, with flashbacks of my time in the summer of ’08 when I returned to my Canadian and American roots. In the tiniest things like the smell of a suburban Long Island home after it’d been cleaned with industrial chemicals to the smell of incense and cooked akara, suya and masara wafted through the windows of the flat at 3 Maitama Close where the volunteers visiting Abuja sought a bed. The smells of sewage waste and piling garbage mountains littered in areas of Nigeria wasn’t as pleasant as the salty smell of the Pacific ocean. Sipping coffee at the Transcorp Hilton of Maitama, Abuja, Nigeria, was the closest thing we had to filtered coffee I found at a stand by Prospect Park in Brooklyn. Nigeria does not export nor import coffee beans, we opt for instant coffee (instant poop) and boycott the fancy ideals of Starbucks. In Seattle, there are Starbucks and chain coffee shops grinding and brewing quality coffee beans for caffeineaholics at incredibly ridiculous prices, on every block. The little things like those would invade my mind as I’d trudged through my first three weeks back in Nigeria but strangely enough, the only thing I’d truly missed back home is the tactile love. As I go to sleep in the king-sized hotel bed of the Parkview Hotel, Wuse I, Abuja, I shall dream of hope, personal growth, challenges and new friendships as I begin my second chapter of life in Nigeria. Then by breakfast tomorrow morning before the HIV/AIDS workshop resumes, I shall hope that one day my American and Canadian friends would have the opportunity to sit in Aisle 2, Row 24, Seat A on the way back to America after visiting me and ponder the contrasts and the similarities. Mi casa es tu casa, anywhere in the world. Come and be my guest, experience Africa. You’ll never be the same again. I promise that. Tactile love, Coco
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Abuja, Nigeria
October 10, 2008
As I sat in Lufthansa Airlines Flight 330, Aisle 2, Row 24 in Seat A by the window on my last leg of the flight back to Nigeria, I let my legs rest on the empty seat beside me and snoozed most of the way from Frankfurt, Germany to Abuja. Two months had passed from the day I landed in the Big Apple in July, to the day I made my departure from America on September 24 th from John F. Kennedy International. I bid my New York City host adieu, and as I walked through the security gate I started reflecting back on the eight weeks I’d spent travelling cross-country, and as I got closer to Nigeria the thoughts still ran by my mind. From the plummeting economy to the wrath of Hurricanes Hanna and Ike; ill with a severe allergy reaction the first two weeks in America that ended the day before I found myself without a gallbladder; the friendships I’d renewed and created; from New York City to Ottawa to Vermont to San Diego to Portland to Seattle to Seabeck to Washington, DC to New York City. The things that most occupied my thoughts were the inspiring moments of my journey, as well as the culture differences between America and West Africa.
I daydreamed into another illusion while “Made of Honor” played on the little touch screen in front of me. The daydreaming brought me back in a time warp, but they were paired with two comparisons side by side. One side of my dreams had the African culture and the lifestyle I’d seen and somewhat adopted; the America that I’d known for twenty-eight years – the fast-paced lifestyle and media-influenced culture on the other side.
I could notice the stark contrasts in most of the comparisons, and a few similarities. The education system for the Deaf (and plus) differed in empowerment and availability of resources, the currencies afforded different things for middle class and the poor, exposure of mainstream media and its power, attitudes of strangers and friends, the culture clash between me and America, me and Nigeria.
The similiarities lie in the material things that people in America and Nigeria could possess, however, it wasn’t much. America is one of the top leading industrialized countries so therefore their access to modern technologies and craft changed to something better by the week. In Nigeria, cars, computers, TV sets, cell phones could be newer only if the Nigerian had deep pockets full of nairas. Oddly enough, when I was in Nigeria pre-America, my laptop died but I was able to find a replacement loaner easily, yet when I was touring the states I found myself struggling to adapt to the MacBooks of seven hosts and some times, having to settle for none. Internet cafes with computers handy are often seen around cities, but in America most of the cafes had wireless but you had to bring your own laptop. People in Nigeria would ask me for my text number and I’d gladly give them my cellphone number; Americans would ask me if I had a pager whereas I had none so making plans to get together would be a challenge – find a computer, schedule ahead of time or ask someone to page the other person for me. It was not an easy task to go through everyday life of a traveler with lack of technology in America, it made me feel somewhat primitive. In Africa, if you have an updated cell phone with the camera in it, you’re an instant celebrity. (I don’t have that, just a plain Nokia large print cell).
The other aspect of mainstream media that I’d compared side by side would be the availability of closed captioning (Nigeria would have Arabic closed captions, American tv’s after 1993 had internal CC devices), the exposure of bare skin on women and men (Flashy music videos with the sex kittens of girlie bands of the UK and America were only featured on satellite tv in Abuja and Lagos; poor quality filmmaking with hilarious or overdramatic Nigerian actors of Nollywood dominated most television sets except in Hausa territory; in Hausa territories they showed the British BBC and Euro-CNN, but mostly it was Arabic-speaking programs from all over the world.), print is also available in all outlets – independent and federally run publications dominate America and Nigeria but in Nigeria, there is scarcely activist publications making its way on news shelves, nor graphic pornography. Nigeria is well known for its blend of strong, Orthodox religions such as Catholicism and Christianity, but a tad more relaxed sect of Islam. So, media is controlled mostly by the Nigerian government whereas in America you’d find everything from gay publications to style, the Playmate Bunnies to anti-government publications. Free speech sometimes come at a cost in both countries, especially when one is exposed to more and more media with their tech possessions. Especially where my feelings about my body was concerned: media in the US favored size 0 models, while in Nigeria big women were celebrated in movies, television and print. I felt myself relaxing to the image of my apple-shaped abdomen in the West African country but that familiar twinge of insecurity returned when the ads featuring Victoria Secret models and the rail-thin teenage girls in television shows appeared on billboards, magazines, flyers, in passing conversations or on the sidewalk once I was back in America. I had to keep reminding myself that media should not be able to alter my increased confidence – anywhere. I should think of myself as a person I’d grow to love regardless if I didn’t own a laptop or pager or a size 5 body. It’s scary to see the stark contrasts in each countries that define how women and girls and boys and men view their bodies.
The influence of mainstream media aside, I reflected on my lonely time in the desert of Kebbi with a live-in intervenor that only fingerspelled and a school staff that I went by daily with simple greetings, and how I’d experienced momentary shock when I first tactile with the first ASL-using person I’d encountered by 34 th and Penn Station in the Big Apple in the hazy evening of July 24th. The series of tactile conversations gave me much-needed injection of companionship, intellectual discussions, humourous bantering, soulful and intimate one-on-ones, and most inspiring of all conversations would be with the Deaf Blind people I’d met at Seabeck Camp for the Deaf-Blind. I had sorely missed the freedom of expression, listening, signing, and speech of the mind. I was missing that in Kebbi, sometimes with my VSO volunteer group. As I left for Nigeria, I told my host that he would be the last person I’d really be able to tactile so freely, with a sense of inclusiveness (environmental and emotional information) because in Nigeria, I’d have a long-ways to find people I felt at ease with, in communication and trust.
There would be countless comparisons, as I re-settled in my Nigerian roots, with flashbacks of my time in the summer of ’08 when I returned to my Canadian and American roots. In the tiniest things like the smell of a suburban Long Island home after it’d been cleaned with industrial chemicals to the smell of incense and cooked akara, suya and masara wafted through the windows of the flat at 3 Maitama Close where the volunteers visiting Abuja sought a bed. The smells of sewage waste and piling garbage mountains littered in areas of Nigeria wasn’t as pleasant as the salty smell of the Pacific ocean. Sipping coffee at the Transcorp Hilton of Maitama, Abuja, Nigeria, was the closest thing we had to filtered coffee I found at a stand by Prospect Park in Brooklyn. Nigeria does not export nor import coffee beans, we opt for instant coffee (instant poop) and boycott the fancy ideals of Starbucks. In Seattle, there are Starbucks and chain coffee shops grinding and brewing quality coffee beans for caffeineaholics at incredibly ridiculous prices, on every block. The little things like those would invade my mind as I’d trudged through my first three weeks back in Nigeria but strangely enough, the only thing I’d truly missed back home is the tactile love.
As I go to sleep in the king-sized hotel bed of the Parkview Hotel, Wuse I, Abuja, I shall dream of hope, personal growth, challenges and new friendships as I begin my second chapter of life in Nigeria. Then by breakfast tomorrow morning before the HIV/AIDS workshop resumes, I shall hope that one day my American and Canadian friends would have the opportunity to sit in Aisle 2, Row 24, Seat A on the way back to America after visiting me and ponder the contrasts and the similarities.
Mi casa es tu casa, anywhere in the world. Come and be my guest, experience Africa. You’ll never be the same again. I promise that.
Tactile love,
Coco
Abuja, Nigeria
October 10, 2008
As I sat in Lufthansa Airlines Flight 330, Aisle 2, Row 24 in Seat A by the window on my last leg of the flight back to Nigeria, I let my legs rest on the empty seat beside me and snoozed most of the way from Frankfurt, Germany to Abuja. Two months had passed from the day I landed in the Big Apple in July, to the day I made my departure from America on September 24 th from John F. Kennedy International. I bid my New York City host adieu, and as I walked through the security gate I started reflecting back on the eight weeks I’d spent travelling cross-country, and as I got closer to Nigeria the thoughts still ran by my mind. From the plummeting economy to the wrath of Hurricanes Hanna and Ike; ill with a severe allergy reaction the first two weeks in America that ended the day before I found myself without a gallbladder; the friendships I’d renewed and created; from New York City to Ottawa to Vermont to San Diego to Portland to Seattle to Seabeck to Washington, DC to New York City. The things that most occupied my thoughts were the inspiring moments of my journey, as well as the culture differences between America and West Africa.
I daydreamed into another illusion while “Made of Honor” played on the little touch screen in front of me. The daydreaming brought me back in a time warp, but they were paired with two comparisons side by side. One side of my dreams had the African culture and the lifestyle I’d seen and somewhat adopted; the America that I’d known for twenty-eight years – the fast-paced lifestyle and media-influenced culture on the other side.
I could notice the stark contrasts in most of the comparisons, and a few similarities. The education system for the Deaf (and plus) differed in empowerment and availability of resources, the currencies afforded different things for middle class and the poor, exposure of mainstream media and its power, attitudes of strangers and friends, the culture clash between me and America, me and Nigeria.
The similiarities lie in the material things that people in America and Nigeria could possess, however, it wasn’t much. America is one of the top leading industrialized countries so therefore their access to modern technologies and craft changed to something better by the week. In Nigeria, cars, computers, TV sets, cell phones could be newer only if the Nigerian had deep pockets full of nairas. Oddly enough, when I was in Nigeria pre-America, my laptop died but I was able to find a replacement loaner easily, yet when I was touring the states I found myself struggling to adapt to the MacBooks of seven hosts and some times, having to settle for none. Internet cafes with computers handy are often seen around cities, but in America most of the cafes had wireless but you had to bring your own laptop. People in Nigeria would ask me for my text number and I’d gladly give them my cellphone number; Americans would ask me if I had a pager whereas I had none so making plans to get together would be a challenge – find a computer, schedule ahead of time or ask someone to page the other person for me. It was not an easy task to go through everyday life of a traveler with lack of technology in America, it made me feel somewhat primitive. In Africa, if you have an updated cell phone with the camera in it, you’re an instant celebrity. (I don’t have that, just a plain Nokia large print cell).
The other aspect of mainstream media that I’d compared side by side would be the availability of closed captioning (Nigeria would have Arabic closed captions, American tv’s after 1993 had internal CC devices), the exposure of bare skin on women and men (Flashy music videos with the sex kittens of girlie bands of the UK and America were only featured on satellite tv in Abuja and Lagos; poor quality filmmaking with hilarious or overdramatic Nigerian actors of Nollywood dominated most television sets except in Hausa territory; in Hausa territories they showed the British BBC and Euro-CNN, but mostly it was Arabic-speaking programs from all over the world.), print is also available in all outlets – independent and federally run publications dominate America and Nigeria but in Nigeria, there is scarcely activist publications making its way on news shelves, nor graphic pornography. Nigeria is well known for its blend of strong, Orthodox religions such as Catholicism and Christianity, but a tad more relaxed sect of Islam. So, media is controlled mostly by the Nigerian government whereas in America you’d find everything from gay publications to style, the Playmate Bunnies to anti-government publications. Free speech sometimes come at a cost in both countries, especially when one is exposed to more and more media with their tech possessions. Especially where my feelings about my body was concerned: media in the US favored size 0 models, while in Nigeria big women were celebrated in movies, television and print. I felt myself relaxing to the image of my apple-shaped abdomen in the West African country but that familiar twinge of insecurity returned when the ads featuring Victoria Secret models and the rail-thin teenage girls in television shows appeared on billboards, magazines, flyers, in passing conversations or on the sidewalk once I was back in America. I had to keep reminding myself that media should not be able to alter my increased confidence – anywhere. I should think of myself as a person I’d grow to love regardless if I didn’t own a laptop or pager or a size 5 body. It’s scary to see the stark contrasts in each countries that define how women and girls and boys and men view their bodies.
The influence of mainstream media aside, I reflected on my lonely time in the desert of Kebbi with a live-in intervenor that only fingerspelled and a school staff that I went by daily with simple greetings, and how I’d experienced momentary shock when I first tactile with the first ASL-using person I’d encountered by 34 th and Penn Station in the Big Apple in the hazy evening of July 24th. The series of tactile conversations gave me much-needed injection of companionship, intellectual discussions, humourous bantering, soulful and intimate one-on-ones, and most inspiring of all conversations would be with the Deaf Blind people I’d met at Seabeck Camp for the Deaf-Blind. I had sorely missed the freedom of expression, listening, signing, and speech of the mind. I was missing that in Kebbi, sometimes with my VSO volunteer group. As I left for Nigeria, I told my host that he would be the last person I’d really be able to tactile so freely, with a sense of inclusiveness (environmental and emotional information) because in Nigeria, I’d have a long-ways to find people I felt at ease with, in communication and trust.
There would be countless comparisons, as I re-settled in my Nigerian roots, with flashbacks of my time in the summer of ’08 when I returned to my Canadian and American roots. In the tiniest things like the smell of a suburban Long Island home after it’d been cleaned with industrial chemicals to the smell of incense and cooked akara, suya and masara wafted through the windows of the flat at 3 Maitama Close where the volunteers visiting Abuja sought a bed. The smells of sewage waste and piling garbage mountains littered in areas of Nigeria wasn’t as pleasant as the salty smell of the Pacific ocean. Sipping coffee at the Transcorp Hilton of Maitama, Abuja, Nigeria, was the closest thing we had to filtered coffee I found at a stand by Prospect Park in Brooklyn. Nigeria does not export nor import coffee beans, we opt for instant coffee (instant poop) and boycott the fancy ideals of Starbucks. In Seattle, there are Starbucks and chain coffee shops grinding and brewing quality coffee beans for caffeineaholics at incredibly ridiculous prices, on every block. The little things like those would invade my mind as I’d trudged through my first three weeks back in Nigeria but strangely enough, the only thing I’d truly missed back home is the tactile love.
As I go to sleep in the king-sized hotel bed of the Parkview Hotel, Wuse I, Abuja, I shall dream of hope, personal growth, challenges and new friendships as I begin my second chapter of life in Nigeria. Then by breakfast tomorrow morning before the HIV/AIDS workshop resumes, I shall hope that one day my American and Canadian friends would have the opportunity to sit in Aisle 2, Row 24, Seat A on the way back to America after visiting me and ponder the contrasts and the similarities.
Mi casa es tu casa, anywhere in the world. Come and be my guest, experience Africa. You’ll never be the same again. I promise that.
Tactile love,
Coco