Potato soup and (more) rice-- A long post, but a good one ;)

Yesterday around 10:30am I sucked it up and climbed over to yet another introduction for the MA- at first I was happy I'd made it there in time to squeeze inside the way too small room, but then I realized there was some disease-ridden chick hacking it up right behind me, and that it was also about 90 degrees (Farenheit) in there. Fortunately, after a dose of British voices telling me what would happen if I failed any courses, this uneventful event was over pretty quickly. I limped over to the bookstore, picked up some reading material, and started back to my room.

On the way though, I got a hankering for suddenly just really felt like having potato soup, so I ducked into Sainsbury's, grabbed the stuff, and when I got back I commenced making it as slowly as possible, assuming that was going to be it for the day. However! I was sadly mistaken! Tracy returned about as bored as I was, so we both decided to yank adventure out of the day by learning how to use the bus system by going to IKEA. I can happily say we successfully made it, that IKEA is just as massive in Europe as it is here, and that there is now ANOTHER entire shopping center I know how to access! 

When we got back, my Nigerian flatmate and her Nigerian friend from the 8th floor (Jewel? Sounded almost like Jo-el) were in the kitchen eating another delicious rice and chicken dish. At first I said no thanks, but eventually had to cave- however, instead of letting her put a bowl together for me, I just took half the rice from Tracy's large portion (they are always incredibly generous). About ten minutes later though, Jewel suddenly looked with concern at my bowl and quickly got Adeshowa's attention-- she saw it, and after trying to get me to take a chicken leg, explained that at home it was considered very, very rude not to give meat with the meal. 

What followed was about three, maybe four hours of the most intense "cultural differences" discussions I've ever taken part in. They told Tracy and I about their home, about the terrifying violence they've seen and experienced, and their frustration with their leaders. By my understanding (which is likely subpar, but I did my best), the religious violence from the Middle East trickles down to them, because the North of Africa speaks the same languages. However, it isn't necessarily a relief even when their own military shows up- when the soldiers come, they said, the police run away.

They also expressed how shocking it was to see elderly people here out alone, trying to do things by themselves-- at home, the elderly are always accompanied and always taken care of, moving in with the families or living right next door in house built specifically for them. They also explained how they respect their parents, and how weird it is seeing what parents will let their kids get away with here- at home, Adeshowa said if her mother just gave her "the look" (she demonstrated) she would know immediately to apologize. It was "yes, mama" and "yes, sir," always.

Hahaha, on a brighter note, they also told us how different the parties are over here- at home, parties are massive, thrown for anything from weddings to naming children, and there is plenty of dancing. Also, depending on how much money the host has, the party gifts can be incredible- Jewel said once everyone who attended walked out with a new cell phone! He also said that it is almost unbearably quiet here compared to the school he went to at home. We even got a lesson on dating differences- to them, it seems you just ask an American girl out for coffee and you're "dating." However, at home it takes months and months before a Nigerian girl will finally agree to date. Their arguing on other details was just hilarious!

At the end of the night, both confessed a little homesickness, and I can't blame them at all- living here must be a huge adjustment. Hopefully friends in the flat will help!

Highlights:

In the grocery shop by the butters: "Brittania's Finest Beef Drippings." I am glad your beef drips the finest, Brittania, but no thank you.

I talked one of my flatmates from China into trying the potato soup. After tentatively eating a little bit, she responds, "It... tastes like ice cream?" Hahaha, think we use more butter/milk than they're used to?

British IKEA, as we're walking through I pick up these weird looking wooden tong looking things. The label: "No more burnt fingers!" They were to pick your toast out of the toaster.

Adeshowa, it seems, is not impressed with white people's dancing over here: "Do they listen to the music? I thought it was epilepsy!" I wish she could see my roommate krump!