Life as I Knew it

In Recollection of my First Bicycle - Part 1                     

Written by John David Magee, the son of missionaries John and Doris Magee who served in Nigeria from 1945 – 1978.

 

Around the summer of 1950, my family was into our first tour at Igede, Ekiti, which was a big adjustment from the previous tour at the Baptist College campus at Iwo. At Iwo, my mode of transportation around the compound between our house and my buddies' residences (Conrad Roberson; Roger Congdon; John Whirley) was on a hobby horse, or similar foot travel. It's just amazing that none of us kids ever encountered the big cobra and mamba snakes that would easily have done us in.

When my folks hauled my brother, Sidney, and me to Igede, we learned what real bush was. I recall our first trip to the old fourteen-acre compound, to the big house that Missionary Donath had built. Nearly two thousand feet above sea level in the hills and rain forest of Ekiti country. This was to be my home for the rest of my days in Nigeria, until I returned home to the States in 1957 at the age of fourteen.

The Humphreys traveled with us that first trip. Rachael Humphreys was my mother's sister. She and her husband, Ed, had arrived in Nigeria after we had returned to the States from Tour number one, so my folks had never met Ed until our return to Nigeria in 1949, soon after; they accompanied us to our new mission station. I recall the first night, mainly because of the tree dogs that barked all over the place, which I had never heard before. They made an incredible sound; one that always sent me under the covers, with chills down my back. From what appeared to be a great distance away, they would begin their routine with a series of snapping-clacking sounds, punctuated at the end by a single bark. This was repeated maybe a dozen times, each time with the snapping sounds getting louder and more and more slow, like a clock winding down, with the bark at the end getting louder each time too. Suddenly, they would break out into this fast, extended series of barks, which would get slower towards the end. This, they repeated seven or eight times, each time slower, and louder, until finally there was a loud single bark, then silence. In all my years in Nigeria I never saw one of these critters, so I always imagined the worst.

My folks managed to provide Sidney and me with basic kid transportation for us to use around the yard, including a pretty nice, red tricycle from Sears; the standard red wagon; and, a little peddle scooter. My mom had a bike, and some of our Nigerian help pushed me around the yard on this adult-sized bike until I gradually gained the sense of balance required for two wheels. Because it was a bike designed for women, I learned how to stand on one of the pedals, and push myself along somewhat like a scooter, thereby learning to coast by myself for short distances. Finally, I was ready for my own bicycle.

I don't remember where my folks got the bike, but probably the city of Ibadan or some similar large shopping place. But I do remember that the bicycle was a black Hercules, just my size, and man, was I excited! 

 

 

Life as I Knew It

Mr. Paul

Mr. Paul was a talking parrot that hung in a cage on our front porch in Ogbomosho. He was a gift from some other missionaries who were leaving the country. Mr. Paul was loads of fun! He was quite good at talking and had a very large vocabulary. I have so many funny stories from our time with him!

There was the day two Nigerian seminary students came to visit with my dad. Daddy was busy finishing a letter in the breezeway adjacent to the living room. He greeted the men at the front door, invited them in asking them to sit on the couch and wait for a few minutes while he finished typing the letter. My father could see the living room and the two men from his desk in the breezeway through a screened window that served as a partition between the two. But the two men were not aware of my father’s whereabouts as they sat quietly waiting. The room was silent until suddenly Mr. Paul whose cage was just on the other side of the screened living room window, said in a loud, deep voice that sounded like my father, “Let us pray!” The two men stood to attention immediately first bowing their heads and then slowly looking around.

And many, many times, Mr. Paul caused someone to make an unnecessary trip to the front door. He knew how to make the sound of a person’s feet walking, then scuffing on the mat as if they were being wiped, then the sound of someone knocking on the door, finished by the word, “Ago?” This was the Yoruba word for “Is anyone home?”  It was the customary call we made when approaching a door. Back in those days, we did not have doorbells and no one kept their homes locked so we simply yelled our inquiry as we approached the door in order to let someone know they had a visitor. Day after day after day, some member of my family went to our front door to find no one there. Often it was me who made this useless trip.

But the opposite of this happened when Mr. Paul called our gardener in what sounded like my mother’s voice. Many times, “Baba” stopped his work to come ask my mother what she needed. For a while my mother was very confused by this development but then finally, it dawned on her; Baba was not going crazy and neither was she – it was the parrot.

One of the phrases we taught Mr. Paul was, “Read your Bible, Mr. Paul” along with the usual, “Hello” “How are you?”, “I’m fine, thank you”, and others. My dad tried to teach Mr. Paul to say “Super cala fragi listic expe alla docious” But all he managed to learn was “Superca” - which he said often.

“Superca! Read your Bible Mr. Paul, superca!”

Our windows were usually open with only a screen between him & us. We could hear his constant talk all over the house… If I close my eyes, I can still hear him talking!

When we came back to the states we left Mr. Paul safely in the hands of another missionary family who kept him for many years. A few years ago I saw one of the members of that family and he told me that they had brought Mr. Paul back to the states with them when they returned. Mr. Paul lived for about 30 more years with this family. But he also told me a little secret about Mr. Paul. At one point in his life…he laid an egg.  So I guess he was not MR Paul after all!  I suppose MS Paul would have been more appropriate.

 “And God made the beasts of the earth after their kind…and everything that creeps on the ground after its kind; and God saw that it was good.” Genesis 1:25

Life as I Knew It

The Weekend President Kennedy was Shot –Part 1

They say anyone who was alive at the time President Kennedy was shot will always remember where they were when they heard the news. Though I was a half a world away, I remember it too! The weekend he was killed was one of the strangest of my life.

My family had been on “local leave” - the missionaries’ term for vacation. Every year, each missionary family had a week or two of local leave. Usually, it was spent somewhere away from a missionary’s home base; to get away so to speak. My family was no exception. That year we spent the week in another city, miles away from our home city of Ogbomosho.

On the day we were to return, our car broke down a couple of hours down the road. We were stranded. Back then there were no cell phones to call for help, no AAA to provide roadside service, and gas stations were few and far between…so we waited by the side of the road hoping another vehicle would come along.

After a while, a “lori” came by. A “lori” was a stripped down version of a truck. The lori driver stopped and offered to take us back to the city we had just left. Our plan was to go back to the missionary family whom we had been visiting and get them to drive us back to our car the next day. After some repairs, we hoped to set out for home again.

The only place to ride in this lori was the open bed in the back. My entire family climbed in and sat down among others who were hitching a ride that night. A few miles down the road, it began to rain. It was cold. We huddled beside each other in the dark of the night, in the pouring rain. The rain pelted down directly on us. It stung as it hit my face and arms – and I was very cold! My mother took a sweater she had and held it over the heads of my siblings and me as best as she could. It was a miserable ride that seemed to last forever.

Finally, at long last, we arrived back at our friend’s home only to be met at the door with the news that President Kennedy had been shot! I was not sure how this news impacted me personally but by the looks on the adult’s faces, I could tell it was very grave news indeed!

The next day, with the help of our friends we resumed our trip home. We finally arrived back in Ogbomosho; I was so glad to be home! But to my dismay, we were met by local police with the news that our home had been broken into and we could not return to it just yet.

A day or two later, we moved back in and took inventory of our loss. The burglar had stolen some of my parent’s possessions and my sibling’s money. (We kids received a shilling a week as allowance. This was usually spent fairly quickly in the local market on peppermint candy called Trebors or peanuts sold by the peanut lady who sat outside of the hospital gates.) But the burglar had not stolen my money (all 1 or 2 shillings of it). I had kept my money in a match box which he passed over presumably thinking it was matches. I felt so clever for having hidden my money so well.