As naive 20 – somethings, my husband Roy and I arrived in Nigeria in October 1961, and lived and taught there until June 1967. Our three small children were our greatest asset in winning the hearts of Nigerians. Children all over the world are the same—curious and trusting in their wide – eyed innocence. They relate to others without regard to race, age or status.
Our oldest son, Ian had just turned three when we began our first tour in the coastal city of Calabar. Painful as it was taking him away from his grandparents, the Nigerians assured us that they would be our family. Ian was a bit of a celebrity among the Nigerians because of his white – blond hair, and they joked that he was “an old man already.”
Despite his age at the time, Ian has no trouble recalling his life in Nigeria. It was a childhood filled with adventure. “I remember how I used to like riding with my Dad in a Volkswagen beetle, touring what seemed to be endless rows of rubber trees and palm oil estates,” said Ian. Exploring endless trails and trees around the compound, watching the cook cut the head off the chicken before school, and running outside naked in the warm rain were highlights. And though mosquitos were everywhere, especially after dinner, around the time the geckos and lizards would run through the house, the bananas were always perfectly yellow and sweet, peanuts were served at every meal, and nothing tasted as good as hibiscus flowers and guavas.
When our daughter, Heather was born in 1962 in the mission hospital in Umuahia, we were happy that Ian had some company. Both children liked being around Nigerians and followed the houseboy and cook everywhere.
Here they learned to speak English in the tonal, West African way known then as “pidgin English.” Our children spoke Canadian English at home and to expatriates. The two worlds collided during the Christmas of 1966 when our nearly five – year – old Heather was to recite a poem at the Union School concert. This was a boarding school for expatriate and well – to – do Nigerians who wanted a “proper” English education for their children. Heather was selected to recite because she could speak impeccable English, but when she got on stage and saw a sea of black faces she immediately switched to pidgin. We expected the audience to be offended but they knew what had happened and gave her a standing ovation.
The children were oblivious to our simple lifestyle. They didn’t miss electricity or toys because they spent their days outdoors making their own fun. Our third child, Kevin was so irrepressibly curious that we had to hire a Nigerian teen to follow him around.
Kevin was born in Scotland and was very young in Nigeria. Still, he has three distinct memories; one was seeing a screaming playmate covered in biting army ants seeking relief in a tub of water. The second was being privileged to view our cook’s secret but serious burn received from our outdoor cooking fire. The last was the scolding he received from his nursemaid after she discovered she had bathed him with his shoes and socks on.
Our diet, which we called “Menu 365” was always the same—fruit salad, fresh bread, jollof rice (rice with pieces of tough meat, tomato paste and onion), fried plantain and scrambled eggs. Milk was made from tinned powder and for dessert our cook occasionally made what the English call “shape”— a yellow pudding which was not a favourite.
Our youngest son, Duncan, born in Canada after we returned home, would listen with envy to his siblings’ stories. For years he thought he was adopted because he had no Nigeria stories of his own.
As parents we were constantly concerned for our children’s safety. We did not have access to good medical care so we had to protect the children from snakes, army ants, scorpions, and mosquito – borne diseases, and all water had to be boiled and filtered. But our biggest worry was the increasingly dangerous political situation, which erupted in the Biafran civil war in 1967 and signalled the end of our ministry there. Our little family was caught in the heart of the conflict and we were airlifted out by a British rescue mission.
Despite our worries as parents, our children loved their adopted land. When on furlough in Canada in 1965, our daughter was sitting on her grandmother’s lap and said, “I love you grandma, but it’s too cold here. I want to go home.”
Did our time abroad change us as a family? It has certainly given us a profound appreciation for Canada and also a deep concern for all our planet’s citizens. It taught us self – reliance and the courage to risk while daily relying on God to get us through the day. On reflection we received more than we could ever have hoped to give.
