Waxing Eloquent

   Continuing the posting of scenes from the memoir. This is page 19 of 21 currently written pages of chapter II so we're getting towards the end of what is currently written... though it's the weekend and I hope to finish the chapter over the weekend, hopefully!

Day 10 - Waxing Eloquent
February 22nd, 2012 – “Now back home I have a specially made wax melter to melt wax and can order candle molds, but we’ll have to improvise. I have this manual another development organization put together which describes how you can put beeswax in a sack and submerge it in boiling water to render the wax….” I explain the method described while my audience listens politely.
   “Otunba, ….” one of the trainees addresses me once I’ve finished. He is older, his goatie frayed in grey, deep creases etched in his cheeks where wrinkles form from smiling. He is speaking Yoruba of course so I have to await Dayo’s translation
   “He says 'otunba, we have a better way to do this, let us show you.'” I enthusiastically agree, and the group sets about getting the necessary equipment and setting up just outside our metal awning. Some cauldron-like pots are somehow immediately produced and a campfire style fire of logs is soon burning. A cauldron full of water is set on some cinderblocks to be just above the fire and presently the water inside is at a boil. Chunks of wax are then tossed in, and it’s all stirred with a stick as the wax slowly melts. Presently the whole thing is soupy with what looks like bean casings floating on the surface. One doesn’t think of bees as making cocoons, but they do -- they’re just never seen because they’re embedded within the wax comb but they are separated out during the wax rendering process to become what’s called “slumgum.”
   Once everything in the cauldron that’s going to melt is melted, the contents are carefully poured through a mesh of mosquito netting into another large pot, which separates the slumgum and other debris. From this second pot it’s carefully poured into bowls. Wax being lighter than water we just pour carefully off the top and stop when it appears we’ve poured off all the water. Because the wax will naturally separate from water there’s no real harm in accidentally pouring water in with the wax. We’ve coated the inside of the bowls with soap so if the wax cools and hardens in the bowl we’ll be able to remove it. Some we allow to do this to make wax cakes useful for longterm storage or trading. Some of the wax we put into another pot to make a lotion out of. This is a very simple matter of combining the beeswax with shea butter and the pulpy insides of aloe vera leaves. Another thing we want to do was make candles, but we need a suitable mold.
   The participants and I scrounge around for anything we think might work as a candle mold. I had high hopes for a piece of PVC pipe but once the candle had hardened within it it couldn’t be cracked open without breaking the candle, and the pre-cracked pipe leakes too much. Two long fluorescent light tubes were filled and then shattered to make candles, which was effective though obviously not repeatable and wasteful of resources (though I assume they were already broken), but the two giant candles thus formed are enthusiastically dubbed the “otunba candles” by the class.
   And then we had a true candle-making breakthrough. The papaya plant it turns out consists of a woody trunk a bit taller than a person (the one’s I recall seeing anyway, though I read they can get up to 5 meters / 15 feet) from which green hollow branches emerge. These branches are about the width of a finger and can be cut to a length of about two finger lengths as desired for candles. Because the melted wax will leak out the bottom we firmly plant the bottoms of our molds in the sandy soil, and fill them with wax, with a wick of string suspended down the middle. Being plentiful, once we found it worked we could have as many of these molds in use at a time as we could desire. Once the candle had cooled, the papaya stalk is easily peeled off the finished candle.
   All this was more or less a fun novelty as candles don’t sell well in Africa, people do have electric lights and better things to spend their money on than candles, but everyone enjoyed the project anyway.




The Otunba Candle!

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It's after midnight and regretfully I'm too tired to make substantial changes at this time but I'm thinking this might draw the reader along more if I emphasize more at the beginning a sense of not knowing how to make candles in these conditions. In general I particularly like this section because it illustrates how they sometimes had better ideas than me. In a recent writing workshop thing I participated in (organized through a Melbourne writing Meetup group) two or so of the appx ten-ish participants, after reading the first chapter, were like "this sounds like it's going to be a white saviour thing" or something along those lines, and I want to steer well clear of that by emphasizing that I don't pretend to have all the answers or best ways of doing things and that I often learned valuable things from them.

Closing Ceremonies

   Today I substantially reworkeed the dream/flashback sections, and I'm very happy with it. I diced it up so instead of one block of it it's spread out. Recall it was my goal to integrate and parallel the historical bits with the real life bits and I feel that went very well. For example after the section where I arrive at Ibadan I inserted a longer bit of Yoruba warriors arriving in Ibadan, which leaves off as they're just about to attend a big meeting, which brings us up to the part with the real life opening ceremonies, and after the section I titled "the Chairman's throne" in which I was in the real life local government chairman's office there's a scene in the king's throne room.
   Didn't make much progress expanding the end of it, meaning the below is the last currently completed section, but I think I accomplished the hard part of puzzling out how I'm going to tackle the next few scenes I have in mind so I'm optimistic I can keep up with myself through the end of the Nigeria chapter.

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Day 12 - Closing Ceremonies
February 24th, 2012 – The closing ceremonies are a bit like the opening ceremonies, with the notable difference that while I was an invisible nonperson at opening ceremonies, I have been transformed over the past two weeks into someone who gets to sit at the head dais. I’m also now wearing some elegant flowing robes in a traditional local style that had been specially made and gifted to me that morning. There’s a speech by the state minister of agriculture and local government chairman, and one by one the participants have their names called out and come up to receive a signed certificate and shake hands with those of us up at the dais.
   And then I’m being asked to come stand in the front of the room again and I’m not quite sure why. It’s a good thing I don’t get stage fright because I’m the center of attention of well over a hundred people and have no idea what’s going on. About half a dozen dignified elderly men and women are also coming up and gathering around me.
   Finally Dr Bello, one of the prominent organizers, explains to me that this is the local counsel of traditional elders and they are going to bestow the title of chief on me. A sprig of neem leaves is placed under my traditional hat on my head, and the elders begin chanting. In my memory there were swirls of smoke around me, I don’t know if incents were being burned, it was from the otunba candles which definitely had been lit, or my brain was just overloading.
   “We are bestowing upon you the title of ‘Soyindaro’” Dr Bello announces with a grin, “it means ‘maker of honey into wealth,’” A necklace of large orange clay beads is placed over my head and matching bracelet placed on my wrist. “And we are bestowing upon you the Yoruba name of “Oyoyemi Omawale,’ which means ‘our son has returned.’” Everyone applauds. I grin and shake Dr Bello’s hand, and thank everyone who comes near me, it’s all a bit overwhelming.
   After we’ve said goodbye to everyone, in addition to everything else, Dr Bello gifts me with a bag of yam flour which must weigh thirty pounds The daily flight out of Ibadan is sold out, so I’m driven four hours south to Lagos to fly to Abuja from there.

   “Do you have a gift for me?” the grey haired airport employee says laughingly with a sly wink as I approach the outer doors to enter. In response I laugh like that was a funny joke.
   He stands to block my path and says just a little more forcibly “come on surely you have a present for me?”
   I force a smile and insincerely apologize that I do not. I’m just beginning to wonder how to break this impasse when he notices my orange beads.
   “Are you a chief?”
   “Yes”
   “Where?”
   I give him the details and he switches to respectful tones as he invites me to enter the terminal.

   “What’s in the bag?” asks the security man in the airport, standing swaggeringly in military camo in the corridor.
   “Uh, my luggage?” I venture.
   “I need to inspect it, open it up” This isn’t even an official security checkpoint, but I’d made the mistake of looking uncertain about what direction to go and this guard saw his opportunity to lord it over an oyinbo.
   “Right here?” I don’t terribly want to unpack my luggage in the middle of a busy airport corridor.
   “Yes” he snaps preemptorily, but follows it with “wait, are you a chief?”
   “Yes”
   “Where?”
   I explain, and he welcomes me to immediately continue my journey, pointing the direction I need to go.
   The flight, like a bus, waits an hour until enough tickets are sold before taking off. The short flight has meal service and generally compares entirely favorably to domestic flights in the United States, though the fact that that same flight crashed a few weeks later into the “Mountain of Fire” church with the loss of all aboard somewhat makes me shudder in recollection, as it’s as close as I’d ever like to get to an air disaster.

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   I realize I mention the mountain of fire crash on the flight in as well, I haven't quite decided where to put it. I think it fits better with the flight in to Ibadan, a stage in which thematically "everything is scary" -- but in actual fact this is the flight (Lagos to Abuja) that crashed a month later, not the Abuja to Ibadan one. So it's a choice of what fits better narratively or what is actually correct.