School resumes on Monday. I have not yet confirmed whether classes resume too. If so, then I will use this weekend to plan my class schedule for the year. It’s the hardest (I think) part of the work. When the plans are set, it not so hard to follow through in class, even though there usually occurs along the way some things never before planned, like public holidays, snow storms, and other engagements. But I like to have a plan. It helps to keep me focused. The last time I checked, I will now have sixteen students. That’s a higher number than the last nine who, like they told me on the last day of class, must have told their friends to sign up for that foreign language class where you could get an A (if you work really hard for it) and have fun all at the same time. Talking about As, all my last students but one got As. The person that didn’t get an A got a B, deservedly. She wasn’t as punctual as she should have been. And she did really poorly in the mid-term test. As for my own Linguistics class, I have not yet seen my results. Next week, maybe.

How did I spend my Christmas? I went to the house of my Professor A., originally from Nigeria, who was spending Christmas in town for the last time. He had resigned from this university and was moving into government work in the capital (Springfield). The most memorable part of the very beautiful evening was the “lucky dip” where everyone was asked to pick choice presents from a whole lot gathered in the living room. I got a wall clock. Now I can see what time it is while sitting on my bed without first having to pick up my phone or computer. However, there was not much Nigerian food at the table, surprisingly. There was mostly American foods, which I enjoyed. And there was moi-moi. It was a very memorable and enjoyable evening in company of people of different nationalities, behaviour and beliefs. I met his young children and their friends. One of his children’s young cousins in attendance had attended St. Patrick’s school, Bashorun Ibadan before relocating to the States. Our discussions brought back memories of truancy in secondary school days when we snuck out of our school premises to attend Christmas parades in the compound of the Broadcasting House just across the road…

New year’s eve. This one was a story with a k-leg, because Chris from class who had checked with me many times about our earlier plan to spend the eve together at his house partying, playing, reminiscing and flirting around with American girls suddenly had a work schedule! Oopsie. (Sorry Chris. I know you might not believe it, but not all of us from that side of the world play around with firecrackers around festive periods. ) In any case, I believe(d) him and stayed indoors since Ben also had suddenly disappeared earlier in the day to go to his folks at St. Louis. I fell asleep at nine, and woke up barely at a quarter to twelve, so I slept again, hoping my some miracle to wake up before twelve. The next time I opened those eyes, it was 1pm and I had two messages on my cell phone, from Nigeria. Happy New Year, they said. There were no fireworks like it would have been at New York’s Times Square, or back home in Nigeria (yes, we use fireworks too. Note to Chris: They are festive fireworks, not explosive firecrackers). I went back to sleep a few hours later, consoling myself that in some other parts of the world – in California, for example – they were still in 2009 by a few minutes.

I broke my first and major new year resolution on the third day of the year. I ordered a $24 pizza from Papa John’s! And as guilty as I felt after placing the order, I enjoyed it. It was coming after a few gruesome days of needed abstinence. Thankfully I didn’t have to eat it alone. But on the (not altogether so) bright side of this matter, a freak error/mixup of communication between me and woman at the housing office on Monday when I went to make payments for my housing rent has cleared my bank account/card of ALL available funds. The situation, as she apologetically promised afterwards, is now being rectified. Five days later, it has not, and I’m mad! One week, and perhaps more, is a very long time to wait. This means of course that there would be no more Papa Johns, even if I crave it. And as soon as my supplies of food run out, which they will, very soon, I will be very screwed , not literally. So, sigh, wish me luck people, or send relief, or remember me in your prayers. But whatever you decide to do, when you eat your nice meal of turkey, moi-moi, amala, potato salad, stuffing, egusi, pounded yam, broccoli, jollof/fried rice, ogufe, or whatever else you have on your plate on your side of the world tonight, please remember this American child that is now surviving on less than a dollar a day. Don’t look for any paradoxical punch-lines to this. There are none!

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Here then is a collage of my Christmas greetings and postcards, some received, some given. Merry Christmas to you wherever you are. May the happiness go around.

With love from KTravula

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MARY:

END

Culled from When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops, New York Times Bestseller by George Carlin.

NOTE: Those familiar with the original text will notice that I have changed the last line, the words from Mary, for effect. You may head here where I got the online text from to see the original text and decide which you prefer. I have thought long and hard before deciding on this as the ktravula post of the day. By some luck, somebody somewhere might find it funny without wishing brimstone on my head. Have a Merry Christmas.

(Photo taken at the Nativity play by children at the Episcopalian Church at Edwardsville on Sunday)

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According to legends, he met her in 1969 at a get together where she (while being involved with another man) had attended with a male friend. He approached her and asked her to dance. She looked at him and gave him a look that must have meant nothing but “Hell no! Who do you think you are?” He refused to give up. Rather, he started tapping his shoes right there in front of her with the best of his dance moves. And, after perhaps shaking her head wondering what gave him so much confidence, she got enamoured and agreed to a dance. Three months later, she had left the person to whom she was previously engaged, and got married to Rudy. They’ve been together ever since, and blessed with grown up children.

To celebrate, Papa Rudy, now over seventy-one years old, bought his wife a card with some very nice words, a very nice present that she won’t disclose. In turn, she brought him a card, and a silver bracelet that she was wearing for him in the photo. I asked her what drew her to him, and she says it was his sensitivity, although its first manifestation was never what she quite expected. They had gone out on a first date to watch a movie, and halfway throughout the movie, Papa Rudy had tears gushing from his eyes. He looked towards her and asked her for a tissue, and she didn’t quite know how to react. In her mind were the thoughts:

1. What kind of man is this that cries in a movie?

2. What kind of man is this that cries in a movie on a first date with a woman?

3. What kind of man is this that cries in a movie on a first date with a woman and then asks her for a tissue?

The event must have been memorable for her to recall over and over again with a twinkle in her eyes, and fondness in his. She’s from Mississippi while he’s from South Carolina (but not related, even though he won’t rule it out, to the Senator Joe Wilson of the “You Lie!” fame). They’ve been through many things together, yet they’re still going strong.

The only thing that annoys Papa Rudy these days is not related to his marriage, but his name. It’s the fact that once every hour on radio or on television since winter began, the song “Rudolf the Red-nosed Reindeer” comes on to play. According to him, it reminds him of growing up with class bullies who put a red nose on him in school, and put him in the centre of a circus-like Christmas attention. Apparently, not all songs are politically correct. In any case, I have now been banned from singing that song (which happened to be one of my favourite Christmas songs) whenever I’m within his sight. Sigh.

Happy Anniversary Rudy and Laverne. Thank you for all your love.

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By the way, my body is not the only one with problems adjusting to the new time. The last time I checked, the clock on this blog has also refused to comply. It seemed to have a mind of its own, and when it’s 4.03am here (after the DST adjustment) as it is while I type this post, the blog time says it’s 3.03am. I wonder now what the blog time is saving its own one hour for.

It is a season of new things in America today. As soon as the Halloween celebrations ended, the Christmas seasons started. Yes, I was surprised to learn it too, but in America today, the Christmas season doesn’t wait until December. For a long time, it usually started after Thanksgiving in November, but in recent years, people don’t wait that long anymore. There are already some Christmas-themed commercials on television right now, and a few houses are already beginning to light up in the seasonal lights. Yesterday, I saw a news story on television of about sixty Santa Clauses “launched” at a mall in Illinois, showing that it’s never too early for the great seasonal gift bearer to descend from the north pole. If there’s any consolation in this early showing, for me it is in the chance to take some more nice pictures. The more the merrier.

And here are some new things to look forward to before the end of the year: Thanksgiving, with its attendant turkey dinner; Kwanzaa, an African-American family spiritual festival/holiday that takes place for seven days at the end of the year; and of course Christmas, and the countdown to the year’s end. I can’t believe that 2009 is already less than sixty days away.

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