Giant of Africa : Experiencing Nigeria

I dey for house-o!

2006-11-12T18:16:00.000+01:00

All things come to an end. I am back in Blighty, having finished, and handed-over my placement in Nigeria. Things at home are becoming more normal, but I've still got a lot to get straight in my head about what I've experienced and what it means now.

I am happy to be back, but also very happy to have spent a year in such an intriguing country. When and if I lose my current writers block I may try and do some 'summing-up' posts here. Until then...

Bye-bye-o!

UTC Market

2006-09-30T11:04:00.000+01:00

Imagine a large warehouse, remove the walls but leave the high roof above. Turn your mind to the floor. What do you see? Smooth, level concrete? Hell no – picture it uneven and stony, with muddy puddles and broken storm drains. Add a few pits of varying depths, reached by uneven, eroded staircases.

Begin to fill (and I mean FILL to every last inch) the vast space with crooked stalls and ramshackle shops. Stock these with any and many of the following: stationery items, CDs, DVDs, phones, electronics, pedal powered sewing machines, material, tailoring supplies, computers, picture frames, printers, mugs, crockery, printing presses from the 12th century.

Once you have finished stocking, double it, and fill any remaining space with debris – paper, cloth and packaging.

Now you are almost set with your mental model of UTC covered market, Abuja. Just a couple more things remain.

Power. NEPA, as usual, is scanty, so each and every stall needs its own generator, pumping black fumes and filling the vast space with a thrumming background din. The melody to this constant noise is contributed by the TVs that are played full volume in every stall, and the giant rasping sound systems of music vendors. The cables between appliances and generators and lights are about as organized as a plate of spaghetti.

People: Bring in human resource, predominantly male and put them to work. Each task (no matter how small) must be broken down sufficiently enough so that three men and a small boy are required to do it. Add roaming hawkers of small snacks, drinks, watches and underpants. The children of workers play among the stalls, making toys out of the waste.

UTC is dark, noisy and hard on the lungs. Health and safety officers could have a field day. But you can get a lot done inside; as long as you are patient and have the assurance of a shower and a sweet drink when you reach home.

Okada Ban

2006-09-30T11:01:00.000+01:00

There are plans to ban okadas from Abuja. This is a disastrous bit of city management. The ban is due to be imposed as of the beginning of October. That’s next week! It’s craziness.

Number one: there is no provision made for alternative employment for the thousands of okada drivers.
Number two: there is no alternative transport system to carry passengers about the town.

The repercussions from this, if it indeed goes ahead, could be huge. Both for individuals and the community. There may be less traffic accidents, and less pollution, but the loss of livelihoods for a mass of predominantly young single men could lead to all manner of troubles.

There is cynicism around everything in this country. Someone has suggested that maybe this is as a result of some ‘Big Man’ needing a few extra Naira. He spends public money on ‘cleaning up’ Abuja making it ‘safer’; the okada union ask all their members to pay a fee of N100, they dash the Big Man and all will be able to continue. I wonder. It will be interesting to see what happens these next two weeks.

If the Shoe fits...

2006-09-29T11:03:00.000+01:00

There is something about shoes here. They just never seem to fit. On women I think it is really a matter of fashion comes first; if they like the shoe, they’ll cram their foot in any way they can. Toes are often bulging off the side of sandals, and covered shoes are totally misshapen.

With men it’s another story and I’m starting to wonder if importance is measured in shoe size. Men here like big, long shoes. You can see the creases of their toes six inches before the tapering point of the shoe (and it must be pointy). A man of 5’5” may wear shoes that you’d struggle to measure with a 30cm ruler.

I followed such a man up some stairs. The steps were posing quite a challenge. The depth of the step, the length of the shoe and the length of the foot inside the shoe simply did not combine to allow a suave stair-climb; it was very cloppity clop.

Mmm Mmm! This is a tasty burger!

2006-09-28T10:57:00.000+01:00

Oh we had to laugh! Nigeria Nigeria! Kai, na-wow!

A group of us VSOs met up in Abuja and needed to chop. It was decided we would go to SFC for some cheap(ish) and cheerful fast food. One of our group was vegetarian so we were pleased to see ‘Veggie Burger’ on the menu. I decided to join Esme in ordering one.

We were most curious – what would a Nigerian veggie burger be like? They actually had them in stock, which was a good sign. I had some confidence that it couldn’t be that bad, how wrong could it go?

Esme unwrapped hers first. Lifting the bun she looked, and prodded; ‘I think they forgot the burger!’

Oh dear – poor Esme I thought. Let me tuck into mine!

I peeked at mine and saw the same splodge of mayo, 1 lettuce leaf, 2 weedy tomato slices and 3 rings of raw onion pressed between the bun. She was right! I saw no succulent burger there.

A conversation with the manager ensued. It went something like this, although a little more convoluted:
Esme: ‘Did they forget the burger?’
Manager: ‘No. That is how it is now.’
Esme: ‘Sir, this is not a burger’
Manager: ‘Yes it is. It’s a Veggie Burger.’
Esme: ‘There is no burger! Where is the burger?!’
Manager: ‘It is vegetables in a burger bun. That is our concept of a Veggie Burger.’
Me: ‘…Vegetables???!! It doesn’t even reach one tomato between us!’
Manager: ‘That is how it is now’
Esme: ‘Can’t you at least give us some cheese?’
Manager: ‘Cheese? You want cheese? That will be extra money.’
Esme: ‘Oh no it won’t’

The conversation went round again, probably a couple of times, before they reluctantly squidged in one slice of cheese. We gave in, sat down and chuckled. The others tucked into buns filled with hash browns, salad, and more significantly – actual chunky chicken fillet burgers!

But for Esme and me it was 270Naira for a funny story and an empty belly.

Malta Guinness

2006-09-27T10:59:00.000+01:00

Which of these ingredients are addictive? Maize, sorghum, malt, sucrose or hops? Malta Guinness is quite a disgusting thick brown non-alcoholic drink of which I now require a daily slurp to keep me lively. It tastes like something half way between guinness and under-six Calpol medicine.

My name is Kate and I am a Maltaholic.

The mad leading the mad.

2006-09-25T12:59:00.000+01:00

Here in Abuja I’ve seen a madman directing the traffic. Initially I was surprised to see that divers adhered to his directions, but actually it’s quite sensible; without his input a busy junction could quickly become a car park. He does a good job, saves people money by preventing bumps and scrapes, allows Road-Safety officers more nap-time and even earns a few tips during the day. Everyone’s a winner! It’s just a shame that drivers in Kubwa don’t observe the Road-Safety people with such diligence.

Ooh I could have a BIG rant about the traffic situation in Kubwa; 1 million people all fighting for space on the road, each with complete contempt for anyone else trying to do the same….BARG! But I won’t continue.
…
…
Well…

Only to say that the whole thing is exacerbated by shoddy roads, clapped out vehicles, quick tempers and each person’s own belief that it is his/her right to drive where and how they please and that everyone else must respect that and should bloody well get out of the way…

It’s probably not that much different in London actually. It’s just that it’s always nice to have a good old transport moan. I think it must be a British thing. Weather observations and transport moans. Cracking.

PS. Today the weather is mostly hot, getting hotter and turning out hot. As usual.

Relief!

2006-09-22T11:09:00.000+01:00

And there I was worrying about how completely out of touch I am and how I will return to England wearing all the wrong clothes, smelling bad and appearing invisible when looked at sideways; it is not to be! Huzzah!

Two packages have just equipped me with all I need to stage a magnificent comeback into London life: Copies of Glamour and Marie Claire will ensure I know how to wear my new skirt with style; a make-your-own-perfume kit will keep me smelling sweet as a rose (or will get me arrested on the plane – small vials of liquid all in a row are not something for hand baggage); and a load of high-protein energy bars will get me fattened up nicely.

Wahoo! Thanks v. muchly!

2006-09-22T11:05:00.000+01:00

A nurse just very politely enquired, ‘Kate! How are you? How is your end?’

Erm?

Wake Up!

2006-09-21T11:06:00.000+01:00

The fridge is giving out free electric shocks.

Just what you need to wake yourself up when you’ve had to forgo your usual morning cuppa cos your milk refuses to dissolve in the tea and just makes cosmic patterns instead.

Kiss of Life

2006-09-20T11:07:00.000+01:00

On the way back from a weekend trip to Jos the car I was in broke down several miles before our destination. We’d just dropped some passengers (a lady and her two children – one of whom I hadn’t realized belonged to her as the little girl was just passed from passenger to passenger and perched on complete strangers’ laps) and the car decided it had had enough. Not too surprising really – none of the gages on the dashboard were working and we had been traveling the whole journey with the fuel warning light shining brightly.

So, back to the side of the express way. Cars screaming past wildly as our engine coughed and spluttered from sheer exhaustion. The bonnet was lifted, bits were prodded. Then the driver pulled out a tube from some part of the engine and gave it a good suck. His mouth sufficiently filled he found another tube (or something) and spat. This was repeated.

Unfortunately this road-side kiss of life was not enough to revive the car, and we unceremoniously emptied ourselves onto the road to wait for another vehicle.

Nigerianisms

2006-09-20T09:15:00.000+01:00

There are many but here are a few of my faves:

Help me to…. Actually means ‘do it for me’

A Leather is a thin plastic bag, usually with very weak seams and the handles fused together. Often used to decorate the countryside. In huge quantities.

9 o’clock = 10.15

I beg-oooo = pretty pretty please

‘Na wow’= ‘Golly Gosh! How outrageous.'

‘Ssssssssss!’= ‘Excuse me!’ (to get attention) Seriously hope I get that out of my system before returning home.

‘Used to ….’ Means something that is currently happening e.g. ‘That woman who used to sell biscuit’ means ‘that woman who sells biscuits’.

A Mineral is a soft drink – Sprite etc.

This thing. It’s never good to be too specific, so ‘this thing’ is a handy tool to use to keep your audience guessing.

'Somehow' is used to explain something is not quite right. Most effective when use with “this thing”– eg, ‘Kai! This thing eh? It’s really …somehow!You know?’

The Village. This is not a thatch-roof affair – but just a reference to home-town – eg –He’s gone back to the village does not mean he is now residing in a mud-hut, but probably a sprawling town of over 1 million people.

Public Speaking: Nigerian Style

2006-09-17T11:34:00.000+01:00

The #1 Rule in Nigerian Oration is: Brevity is not admired; the more you talk the more seriously everyone will take you.

Use these little pointers to help.

‘In my own little understanding, from what little knowledge I have’ is a sound opener to a long, meandering speech.

‘In short’
This is not literal. This is a good reiteration tool. Use it so that you can repeat everything you just said over the last hour and add a few totally new points.

‘What I mean to say is’.
This phrase-linker has the same function as ‘In short’. They are not mutually exclusive.Use them both to add valuable length to the speech.

Be vague.
Give many hazy clues as to what you are hinting at, so that people can either interpret it as they like, and therefore think you are a good speaker, or get so confused that they think you really must be an expert in some pretty complicated stuff.

‘In conclusion…’
Do not be misled by this phrase. It is not a wrap up of what has been discussed but an opportunity to open up a few more points.

‘Are there any questions?’
Time for questions is viewed by the audience as a chance to air their own views on the subject. Those that want to say their piece can often begin, ‘In my own little understanding, from what knowledge I have gained through your explanation, it is my belief that….’. After thirty minutes the next person will stand, ‘As he has just stated…..’.
No questions will be asked of the original speaker in order to avoid showing that the speech was unclear or the message misunderstood.

New Pups

2006-09-09T17:29:00.001+01:00

One of the clinic dogs has decided that the space underneath my container is a good place to deliver and accommodate her puppies. She is patrolling around looking a bit sorry for herself with sore swollen nipples. I wasn’t sure what the noise was until I crouched down to look underneath and saw her there, waiting patiently with a look of motherly endurance, as her new family squeaked and nuzzled against her belly.

The male dog of the compound is walking around looking pleased with himself. Or maybe that is just my imagination. He probably doesn't care.

Pooh!

2006-09-08T13:40:00.000+01:00

Here is a virtual workout for your nostrils:

Imagine the smell of a burnt-out fire.
Add a waft of rotten damp wood.
Let a drift of stale sweat vapour tickle the nosehairs.
A tinge of kerosene.
Cheesy feet.
Public toilets.
Mix these pungent perfumes together with something altogether more murky, mouldy, and sinister.

How’s your nose feeling? Is it at least trying to pull on the old wretching strings?

Good. Now you know what we go through every time we want to pay for something here in Nigeria. The Naira STINKS! The problem is that it is all notes; so much more porous surface area than the coin = so much more scope for drinking up strange dark smells and depositing them in my purse, in my pocket, on my fingers. POOOOOEEEEY! I’ve never come across a more smelly currency.

You couldn't make this up!

2006-09-08T13:18:00.000+01:00

This FRONT PAGE article is copied word for word, punctuation mark for punctuation mark, from ‘The Atlantic Express – Braving the Waves to Break the News!’ (a quality breakfast table read in Calabar).

MAN LOSES SEX ORGAN – For refusing sex to three ladies

A good looking young man (name withheld) is reported to have lost his sex organ for refusing to make love to three ladies.
The incident which occurred at Nembe Creek in the Nembe Local Government Area of Bayelsa State, was brought before a witch-doctor at Ogbia Town for verification of the culpability of the three ladies who were accused of being responsible for the sudden disappearance of the mans organ.
Our sources revealed that the young man, on returning from his routine work at the oil rich Nembe Creek, was approached by three ladies who demanded sex from him but the man turned down their request.
Angered by the man’s refusal, the ladies were reported to have made some abracadabra incantation , which lead to the disappearance of the man’s organ.
On realizing the sudden change in him, the man who hails from Nembe raised an alarm which attracted a lot of people to the scene.
The ladies, our source revealed, incurred the wrath of the youth when they denied the allegation and they were later bundled into a speed boat with only pants on their bodies and brought to a witch-doctor for verification and confirmation.
The development, Atlantic Express gathered, caused pandemonium at Ogbia Town as people scampered to catch a glimpse of the ladies and their victim.
The witch-doctor, we learnt, worked on the three ladies who later confessed that they were really the cause and promised, to restore the man’s organ, when they return home, which they said was tied to a tree.

EEEEEEEEEEE hehehehehehehehehe

"We Break Up! We Break Down!"

2006-08-13T15:38:00.000+01:00

“We break up! We break down!
We don’t care if the school falls down…”

We used to sing this at my primary school on the last day of term. Not hugely applicable to a quaint little school in Oxfordshire, but definitely appropriate to some of the schools I’ve encountered here.

Saturday was International Youth Day, and I hosted a competition between local schools. The schools were delighted to be involved and promised full cooperation and participation. What follows is my experience with one of the schools on the morning of the event.

I passed through the dramatic red gates of the school. There was a woman in the centre of the marshy playground. She called to a skinny man wandering around wearing only a hand towel, all I picked up was ‘onyotsha’ (white person in Yoruba). She then turned her glare in my direction and beckoned. I squelched across the ground, was this wild hair and low swinging boobs the same fiery Proprietress I had met a few months ago? ‘Do you remember me?’ she barked. I breathed deep. We sat down. To my alarm the man in the handtowel approached, interested in our conversation. ‘What did that other teacher say to you?’….. ‘er……’

I had zoomed in to rectify my situation (that of looming event start time and absent students) and was not about to be drawn into the management-staff battles going on behind the scenes. The issues however were rather interlinked. It appears that staff have not been paid for a while, and while the school administrator has been there for 13years (the proprietress refers to her as ‘my daughter because she is a nice person’) she remains totally incompetent.

So now, at the school site – instead of meeting with the agreed 40 students complete with banners, placards and songs of HIV messages, I met with an angry braless proprietress, a half naked teacher, no students in sight and my contact teacher quivering outside after being banished by the proprietress.

I managed to hold it together somehow, despite wanting to rip all their heads off, and eventually, around 2 hours later, the students from the school were arriving to the event complete with songs banners and placards, and ended up coming 3rd overall.

Out of 3.

Mace

2006-08-09T16:57:00.000+01:00

The other day I left Wuse Market – the main market in Abuja – and needed to get a bike. There were two on the pavement so, after the usual haggle over the fair, I jumped on one of them and we set off. Heading up the pavement we came across a man of the uniformed services (not sure which one). He was not best pleased at seeing two okadas on the pavement and started yelling and waving his fists. He stepped towards my bike, but (I presume) saw me and decided to go for the other. He charged. There was a scuffle. The okada tried to escape, but was foiled, pushed into the wall by the uniformed man who was whipping out a can of pepper spray from his belt…. I sped away not wanting to be around any longer.

Forest Life

2006-08-08T09:52:00.000+01:00

Hmm. This is the week of discovery. I’ve found that it is not only forgotten lunch that attracts raging forests of mould, but also anything that is left untouched for more than a day. My flip-flops, for example, my rucksack, even the plastic arms of my chair.

I’m keeping myself on the move lest I start sprouting furry spores

2006-08-08T09:49:00.000+01:00

Today I discovered a lady in a zebra-print dress cooking her breakfast underneath the back of the container.

Things to Bring

2006-08-07T16:29:00.000+01:00

A comprehensive guide of things to bring to a VSO placement in Nigeria……

1) Earplugs
2) A sharp knife (it’s easier to slice a tomato with the sharp edge of a ruler than use a local knife)
3) An electrical multi-socket (purchases made here usually lead to sparks and singed plastic)
4) Spare earplugs (you’ll get through them fast)
5) Tea towels (while you can get almost anything imaginable in some markets [see previous blog on shopping….] the tea-towel remains elusive. Requests for such items at local markets result in all sorts of profferings from the tender – a flannel, a sponge, a bed sheet, just never the right ‘I Love Scarborough’ type of tea-towel)
6) Mobile phone
7) Extra spare earplugs (in case you live next to church / mosque / both)
8) A flash disk
9) Patience (at least 70% of your baggage allowance must be made up of application form attributes such as patience, flexibility and endurance. A lot of people discover they packed insufficient amounts to cope with Nigerian demand, or, at critical moments, can’t remember which pocket they stored them in).
10) A headtorch
11) Ready-prepared answers to the following questions / comments: Are you married? What job can I get in your country? Can you get me a visa? Give me your number. Can you marry a Nigerian? I want us to know each other very well. I will follow you to your country. What did you bring for me?
12) A laptop with anti-virus/spy/missile software
13) Marmite.
14) Earplugs

Remembering the time….

2006-08-07T13:44:00.000+01:00

...... ahh… time for reminiscing…. School sports day…. The bus on the way home…. Or rather the smell on the bus after sports day…..

Eh?

I have some visitors in my container. Funny how teenage boys smell the same the world over…..

Preaching

2006-08-07T10:06:00.000+01:00

Yesterday, while waiting for Marebec, I found myself listening to a nearby church service. The preacher was busy addressing his flock, peppering his sermon with token attempts at encouraging participation; ‘Am I getting to somebody?........ Is somebody hearing me?.....’.

He was warning them about change in relationships; ‘She who walks like a cat today, walks bent and crooked tomorrow…’, and, urging the congregation not to choose looks as the basis of a relationship, he decided to further illustrate his point; ‘An eighteen year old may have pointed breasts today, but when she reach 45 years, the things have sagged….’

I didn’t get to hear if he continued beyond physical change, my attention-span stamina couldn’t hold me to his lecture for long enough.

Icicles

2006-08-05T11:55:00.000+01:00

A gale blows around my head. My teeth chatter. My arms are all goosebumps and bristling hairs. My bare toes are purpley-blue. My fingers are stiff with cold and can only thump numbly at the keyboard.

I'm not actually typing epic tales from a mountain top in Siberia, but simply trying to send a few emails from the British Council, and my efforts are being severely hampered by the sub-zero temperature.

Can somebody please turn up the A/C? There's ICICLES hanging from it for gods sake.....

Don't Forget Your Lunch!

2006-08-04T09:38:00.000+01:00

It’s never good to forget your lunch – that sinking feeling as you realise your error, the pangs of loss as you picture your cheese roll, wrapped, but forgotten, lonely on the sideboard, the childlike vulnerability as you wish your mum could be there to right your sorry plight…

No, it’s never good to forget your lunch – especially when you forget the same lunch for three whole days when it was already left-overs from the night before. It looked pretty suspect in the beginning, but now, three hot humid tropical days later, it takes a brave man to lift the lid of the Tupperware….

My! If ants had botanists they would surely marvel at the complex eco-systems growing inside! Their very own Eden Project! In fact, I think even an Oxford Master of Botany would be impressed at the rampant plant life that can be cultivated in a lunch box.

10 Things That...

2006-07-20T00:45:00.000+01:00

... Could have been on an okada before you:

1) Four school children.
2) A family.
3) A man with a ladder on his head.
4) A man with a double mattress on his head.
5) One woman and fifteen chickens
6) Two jerry cans of kerosene
7) One man and three live goats.
8) One man and a cow
9) Three cow carcasses.
10) A woman with a cupboard on her head

The Average Nigerian phone call

2006-07-18T11:35:00.000+01:00

(Normal decibel level - approximately 50 more than in Europe) ‘Hello?...... hello?’

(Increase by 20 decibels) – ‘Hello? … I’m not hearing you….. Hello?

(Another 20 decibels) – ‘Yes I’m hearing you…. Are you hearing me? Hello?

(BELLOW) – 'YES YES I AM HEARING YOU….. FINE THANK YOU… Fine thank you ….WE THANK GOD……. Hello?..... Are you hearing me? …… WHO IS ON THE LINE???'

Snails

2006-07-10T12:57:00.000+01:00

If you venture to the market in Nigeria, you may come across a basket full of huge snails, squelching and sliming all over each other. For 250 naira you can purchase four of the giant mollusks to serve as a tasty snack to an unsuspecting friend.

If preferred the market lady will kindly give them a whack, and remove the shells. Once home, you will need to wash them in both cold and boiling water to remove all the goo. Parboil with a stock cube for flavouring, then fry in plenty oil (guts and all) and hey presto!

This is, of course, exactly what we did for Alex’s birthday treat; except we spent 500 naira so he could savour the flavour 8 times over.

NB: If you decide to follow this course of action don’t feign interest in tasting the food. I did, to my demise. After helping me cook, my neighbour sliced one up. I could hardly refuse after all her effort….

Chew chew chew chew chew chew…….. gulp.

Testing Times

2006-07-04T17:49:00.000+01:00

‘It’s negative’ confirmed the nurse. I peered over her shoulder; yes, she was right, I could see no white dots of HIV antibodies in the blood. The other kit on the table proudly showed only one red line, just as the one in my office had – negative.

Our client was quiet. She began to smile as the news sunk in. As we parted company she was so happy she dashed me half her transport money home so I could buy a mineral. As she left she was singing to herself and walking with a new lightness of step.

Why am I recording this? What is special about this one lady?

Eleven months ago the same lady conducted some blood tests at another hospital. She was told she had tested positive for HIV. Since that time, almost one year ago, our lady had not conducted any further tests until she arrived in my office clutching her crumpled paper stating her positive status.

She told me she wanted to do the test again. I was reluctant and explained that we are unlikely to see a different result. But in the end I went ahead.

Thank god I did.

Her test was negative! Times three! This lady was told she was HIV positive after a mix up of blood samples. After receiving no counselling she was too scared to go for other tests that would have detected the error sooner. At least now her situation has been resolved. But what about the person who received our lady’s negative result in error?

Signs

2006-07-01T14:47:00.000+01:00

The Chicken that Lays the Golden Egg must be respected. (lorry)

Jesus Loves Fashion (Ghana)

Jesus Saves! No Brian is Idle (sic)

Earoplane on the Ground (pic above)

Millennium Car Wash, Rug & Carpet & Relaxation Centre. Your Satisfaction is our concern.

Thanks God Electricals

The Delicacies of Nigerian Society

2006-06-23T14:44:00.000+01:00

Boss: ‘I need to go somewhere. Are you free now?’
Driver: ‘No sir. I’m going to sh*t’

Greetings

2006-06-20T16:34:00.000+01:00

You know how in England people keep themselves to themselves? How two people passing in an empty corridor pretend not to see each other? How when someone is in the middle of something they might not look up to say hello to someone passing by?

Nigeria is not like that. Greeting is essential. No matter what the situation.

Yesterday, on my way through the clinic I passed a lady in labour; ‘Good Morning! How today?’ she called to me through only slightly gritted teeth.

"Sannu!"

2006-06-20T15:53:00.000+01:00

‘Sannu’ is by far the best word in the Hausa language. Not only is it a hello-like greeting, but also a very useful tool for filling (commonly frequent) gaps in conversation; indeed, combined with a few deep bellied noises, it could almost comprise the entire conversation:

Me: Sannu!
You: Eaa. Sannu!
Me: Yauwaaa….

(pause)

You: Sannu… Sannu?
Me: Eeee, sannu.
You: oooorrrr.

(pause)

Me: Sannu?
You: eaaaa. Yauwaaaa….
Me: Sannu
You: Sannu.

Communication

2006-06-15T14:35:00.000+01:00

No landline. (strike)
No mobile. (no excuse)
No internet. (or at least abominably slow)
But hurrah for snail mail! I just received two letters posted 2 weeks ago – not bad!

White Monster

2006-06-13T14:34:00.000+01:00

I’m wondering how I should feel when I repeatedly hear parents threaten their misbehaving children as I pass by; ‘See oyibo, she go give you injection-o’.

I’m not sure I like being portrayed as a raving white beast that patrols around injecting small innocent children for fun….

‘Quickly! There’s a storm brewing!’

2006-06-12T14:30:00.000+01:00

We’d survived one crossing of the lake in a borrowed fishing canoe (with a few long minutes of going nowhere fast, in circles) and enjoyed a nice picnic, this time with quality home-made hamburgers AND mayonnaise (mmmmm); now, with rumbles of thunder approaching, it was time to make a hasty retreat back across to safety.

Slight problem. Our boats have sunk. Instead of bobbing gently at the shore, our boats now nestled onto the bilharzia filled, sandy lake bottom.

Fifteen minutes of baling later, the boats were more-or-less floating, and the storm was a km or two closer. The air was tense as we set off. One boat, nervous of the crossing, over-rode the amateur paddler and headed bang back into the shore. With the assistance of a local fisherman, the boat was coaxed back in the right direction, and our little fleet began to glide to the centre of the lake.

Paddle paddle paddle. Bale bale bale bale. Paddle bale bale BALE!

Despite the fountains that had sprung up in the sides of the boats, threatening to out-speed the baler (me) we made it across.

Think the British Clinic will experience a mini-rush on requests for bilharzia tests once the wormies get a chance to develop….

Roadworks 2

2006-06-07T16:59:00.000+01:00

The roadworks on the express-way to Abuja have resumed. Evidently they got more money for the project; as pipes are now on display at the roadside, and, they've updated their signs....

To replace the previous 'Men at Work' signs written in dripping paint on scrap wood, they now have brand new, spangling, bright yellow, glossy signs that, in vibrant bold red, proudly state........

"Men At Working"

!!!!!!

Gurara Falls

2006-06-05T14:24:00.000+01:00

Yesterday Alex (Argentinean), Marebec (Filipino), Dave (Irish), Aurelie (French), Eva (Spanish) and I (English) - oh what a multicultural bunch! - went to Gurara Falls again. It was lovely – much more water than last time I went during dry season, and actually a rather more opaque brown colour too! But it was still refreshing to paddle around in the shores, minding the current that could whip you down stream rather too rapidly.

We ate hamburgers, made by Alex, and barbecued by Alex. Only problem was that apart from egg, he forgot to add any tasty ingredients so it was a little like eating mashed cow.

It was a really lovely day. The only upsetting part was seeing a chameleon get run over on the road on the way there.

Back in Abuja we went to a life camp for some French construction company, to enjoy a drink and watch a drunk Frenchman throw a dog into the swimming pool.

'We are sailing! We are saaaaiiiling!!'

2006-05-30T12:49:00.000+01:00

Last weekend I went sailing. In a tent. Quite why four of us waited until rainy season to go camping I don’t know, but sometime last week the seed of thought began to sprout, and that was that. Public Holiday weekend of adventure.

A complete void of any sort of advance preparation (been here tooooo long!) meant we were several hours late heading to the bush. Threatening clouds began to build and growl right over the very hill we planned to pitch on. ‘Why are we heading towards the storm?’ someone enquired…. We continued. We wanted to go camping.

The car crawled closer to the hills, past burning electricity wires (yes really), manic shouts of ‘OYIBO!’, and teeming roads full of people dashing to get their jobs done before the downpour. ‘Er…. Do we really want to trek an hour up a hill and set up camp during a tropical storm?’… the collective decision was no. We decided to head for drier skies.

We were actually extremely fortunate. We set up camp under some trees, built a fire, cooked some meat, drank some wine, enjoyed the company of a fine English potter, and listened intrigued as he told us of the Abuja he knew in the early 70’s.

Then finally, it was time to hit-the-hay. No sooner had the last zip been zipped, than the patter of rain began to drum on the tents. The patter soon swelled to a deafening roar, lashing the tents as the heavens opened with rumbles and cracks. A tent pole was felled; ventilation flaps flapped and leaked; boys went to the rescue, bravely battling the elements for the protection of their fellow female campers.

Tentatively I felt the bottom of the tent. It was dry, but a strange sensation came to my hands. I pressed again and my sleeping mat undulated; ah hah! My very own water bed! The tent had apparently transformed into an anchored raft as a torrent of water swished right underneath.

In the warm light of morning it was apparent that we had decided to pitch our tents precisely in the centre of the flow of drainage from a cassava field. Nice one! The ground surrounding, and under our tents had been cut into deep groves by the enormous quantities of water swooshing downhill. No wonder I spent the night feeling I was riding the high seas in a life-raft!

Rollercoaster Ride

2006-05-24T12:44:00.000+01:00

An emotion graph charting the ups and downs of a single day as a volunteer in Nigeria might be analysed thus:

8am: quietly determined
9.30am: quietly frustrated
10am: calm
11am: bored
11.45am: think am going mad.
12noon: want to get on the next plane home
1pm: Am I going backwards?
2pm: Glimmer of hope
4pm: Calm & determined.
4.30pm: Right. Lots to do. Might have to extend. Or come back.
5pm: Oh this is great!
6pm: EXTEND? WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WAS I THINKING?
7pm: Resolve.
9.30pm: Tomorrow’s a new day, will definately get something done then!

Babies

2006-05-23T12:41:00.000+01:00

People keep handing me their babies to hold while they go and pee. Aside from the hazard of baby puke I don’t mind, but I was intrigued by the level of trust these ladies were bestowing on me. One lady explained that the reason they are choosing me for this responsible task is that in Ibadan, one lady gave her baby to another, went to ease herself, but when she returned the baby had been snatched, the woman no-where to be seen. I told my new teacher that maybe I wanted to have a Braaaaawwwn Bayby, and would run away myself. She laughed her socks off.

A Trip to Town in 16 Simple Steps

2006-05-12T16:57:00.000+01:00

Money? Id? Keys?
Check

Sunglasses? Umbrella?
Check

Door double locked? Iron gate chunky padlocked? Times two?
Check

Ok, now you are ready to follow my simple steps for a hassle free trip to town.

1. Follow dirt track 10mins to tar road. Avoid new fountain from burst water pipe. Greet everyone you pass.
2. Once at tar road scrutinise okada (motorbike, machine) drivers to spot one that looks vaguely sensible.
3. Lifting arm 30°, waggle fingers to attract attention.
4. Step back to avoid collision.
5. Greet okada man. Haggle price.
6. Climb onto bike from left side to avoid an unpleasant singe on the exhaust.
NB: Do NOT touch the driver. You can hold the wrack behind you to prevent embarrassing body slams when braking. This is not always effective and depends on urgency of brake.
7. Arriving at bus stop only put legs down when 100% sure the okada has finished weaving through the crowd of guys calling “Wuse! Berger! WuseBergerWuseBergaaaah! Climb inside! Climb insideclimbinsiiiide!”
8. Grit teeth and stand strong. Search (with your eyes) for a bus that is almost full.
NB: You will not be able to move freely due to the 20 guys fighting, pushing and shoving around you, trying pay for your okada to ensure your custom.
NB2: Do not be fooled into jumping on a bus that is just pulling away. They are all just pulling away, and once they gain another passenger will roll back to wait for more.
9. Scramble on to bus. Mind your head. Wriggle bum into 5” space.
10. Wait for bus to fill.
11. Wait for 4 more people to fit in before being ready to set off.
12. When the conductor feels like asking, pay him. Be prepared to wait for change, it will come.
13. Do not think about speed or driving quality, or wonder what that cranking noise is underneath the bus.
14. With destination in sight, signal to conductor (if he’s awake), “Conductor? Conductor! Nicon dey”
15. Wait for 10 people to shift so you alone can alight. Mind the sliding door as the driver impatiently starts to leave before your back half is out of the bus.
16. Signal another okada using steps 2-6 above.

A Cry for Help

2006-05-11T16:50:00.000+01:00

You know you are in need of help when:

A baby pukes all down the front of your smartest (ahem) black shirt two hours into the working day and you send six messages home to tell your friends.

You write a blog entry about de-worming AND confess disappointment at discovering nothing.

You re-send the baby puke message when it bounces back.

De-worming

2006-05-09T14:41:00.000+01:00

My six month anniversary passed a couple of weeks ago. A full six months of eating suya, meat-pies, meat stews and other delights from various chop-houses and street stalls. I’ve lost a little weight recently, and been having mild tummy-aches. So I decided to de-worm.

I had visions of teams of spaghetti-like snakes writhing around my intestines, wriggling about Medusa-stylee, thrashing wildly as de-worming chemicals take effect before passing out in their millions to be flushed away.

I took the pill yesterday.

There is nothing to report.

Most unexciting.

A Friend Indeed….

2006-05-08T15:37:00.000+01:00

I just had a wonderful flying visit from a friend. She brought me the most recent Marie Clare, the June issue of Glamour, a new bag, and a giant packet of Twix’s. I got a night in the Sheraton, and she let me take the free soaps and hot-chocolate sachets. We went for dinner, we chatted, she filled me in with news from home. I couldn’t have asked for more.

And how did I entertain her?

What did I do?

Took her to work, paraded her around, made her walk to my house at midday, made her assist me in a workshop (holding up posters of the female reproductive system), marched her up a bushy mountain in the steaming afternoon heat, dragged her to a bush-bar, then finished her off with the noisiest smokiest fish bar in Abuja.

All in one day.

I am a true beast.

But I think she enjoyed herself! (??!?!?!?!?!)

Singing

2006-04-21T16:46:00.000+01:00

Every Friday the ante-natal staff choose the concrete outside my office window as a place to collect urine samples from the pregnant women. So I’m usually serenaded by a gaggle of women chatting and laughing, and often a few children crying.

Today, as the women had their protein and glucose levels checked, the two staff with the dipping-sticks began to sing. In harmony. It was like a gentle lullaby, and while the child they were trying to placate still winged and griped, I felt myself being soothed and relaxed.

Now, as I type, the same expectant mothers have gathered in the hall, and their singing voices and clapping are rising above the grumble of the generator.

Musical moments in Africa.

Litter

2006-04-19T20:17:00.000+01:00

Nigeria has a serious infestation of litter-bugs. Seemingly 130million of them. It simply does not enter people’s consciousness not to throw litter, where ever the place. Excess packaging in de moto? Fly it out the window. Finished with your egg-roll wrapper? Lob it on the floor in the hospital. Sucked your pure-water bag dry? Drop it to the ground. On safari in Yankari? Chuck your empty bottles off the side of the truck. Enjoying the pure-water springs in Wikki Camp? Chuck your bottle tops and plastics into the river.

Yankari Game Reserve

2006-04-17T20:10:00.000+01:00

Visitor Suggestions

Stop selling safari tickets when you know the truck is full. (This would have averted my almost overwhelming desire to shout ‘BUNDLE’ and charge through the hoards of people all trying to fit on a twenty seater truck. Of course I didn’t do that – I just watched the scrum and decided to join others in a jeep instead.)

Clear up the litter! Don’t allow guests to throw plastics down from the safari truck or into the spring please!

Educate visitors that a safari truck is not a party-bus. If they shout and yell during the safari they will not see any animals.

Train restaurant staff to know that when people enter, perhaps they want to place an order. If people order drinks, they just might be incredibly thirsty and will need their water now now not 45minutes later. This should be a nationwide training, not only restricted for Yankari.

Train all guides to know the environment so when asked questions like ‘ooh, what’s that?’ they have more to offer than just ‘That is a bird’.

I’m sure these few inexpensive changes would make it nicer for everyone. I have a few more suggestions that perhaps my Nigerian friends would not agree with. I ask:

Wall-to-wall carpets: Luxury or, in the absence of hoovers, impossible to clean?

Dimsy restaurant with closed curtains and no view or an outside terrace from which to enjoy the surroundings?

Wikki Camp in Yankari is a tad run-down. There is room for improvement. A little bit of thought and organization would go a long way. But, it certainly has its own charm and is a cheap and popular spot for ex-pats and Nigerians alike.

Wikki Springs

2006-04-17T20:01:00.000+01:00

I’ve just spent a beautiful Easter in Yankari – a 200km/squared game reserve near Bauchi, heading north-east from Abuja.

The highlight of Yankari is hands-down the Wikki spring. At the foot of a limestone cliff is a cave, and at the bottom of the cave is a spring. The spring pumps out over 4million litres of crystal clear, pure, silky water a day. For visitors delight, there is a 400 meter long river to swim in. You can almost see more clearly under the water than above!

At night, floating on my back, massaged by the current, I gazed up past palm trees to see the brilliance of the stars twinkling above. A perfect anecdote to the sweaty dusty safari trips spent spotting elephant, hartebeest, bush-buck, water-buck, red monkeys, baboons, hippos, and beautiful birds.

Dry Heat

2006-04-11T17:52:00.000+01:00

I am English, so you’ll forgive the incessant reference to the weather. But it is simply and absolutely necessary to convey to you in Blighty just how roasted I am feeling. Actually, roasted is not the right word – roasted conjures images of juicy meats and succulent vegetables. I do not feel juicy and succulent. I feel shriveled and dried. Crisp. Parched.

I am a forgotten pottery in an overheated kiln. I am a neglected piece of dough in a smoldering pizza oven.

Shrivel.

'Men At Work'

2006-04-04T15:30:00.000+01:00

This sign means it.

They are laying a pipe along the express-way leading to Abuja. But this is not like at home where hard-hatted, steel-toed, yellow vest wearing tea-drinkers push a few buttons on a digger, trundle in with a crane and lay a pipe.

This is a six-kilometer line of bare-chested, flip-flop wearing, pick-axe wielding men at work in the thick, heavy, relentless 40degree heat. At the end of the line, a handful more of men at work (still bare-chested and flip-flop wearing) pour molten tar onto the road from buckets in their un-gloved hands.

“It seems you have traveled?”…

2006-04-03T16:47:00.000+01:00

Yes, I have traveled! A beautiful holiday in Ghana! Ghana! Oh sweet Ghana! Land of peace, smiles, tree-top canopy walkways, palm lined golden beaches, butterflies the size of small birds, waterfalls, litter-bins, queuing systems, calabash trees, strange sticky fruits that make water taste like syrup even twenty minutes after eating.

…“So what did you bring for us?”

Hum…?….. My smile?….. My new sense of inner peace?….. My renewed motivation to try to get something done in this place?

Oh, and some icky Ghanaian chocolate with in-built no-melting mechanism that removes all flavour of chocolate and replaces it with that of soap. That’ll teach you to ask for something every time I so much as leave the hospital compound!!!

Ain't it got dark quick?!

2006-03-29T19:36:00.000+01:00

Gazing to the heavens, silly spectacles, sand between my toes, banana pancake in my belly, crash of waves tickling my ear drums, temperature already topping 30C at 8am…… can you guess where I am yet?

Ghana of course! Watching the total solar eclipse! What was it like? Incredible, strong, eerie, fantastic, moving, exciting, inspiring, humbling. And the light! It was as if the light was being sucked from earth, gradually at first, but then with a sudden final gulp it was gone - swallowed by the moon. With the moon in seemingly suspended animation for over 3 minutes we were left with a halo of sun rays and stars twinkling. Oooohs, aaaaahhs, and wows filled the air as we viewed this natural spectacle of giant proportions.

Considering I was even a bit spooked by the eclipse, I’d be interested to see what people thought in the villages around us. If you have no understanding of the workings of the solar system whatsoever, and little or no exposure to the media, how would you behold the event?

KerrrRUNCH

2006-03-28T19:40:00.000+01:00

Keerrunch…..Kerplang…….screech…. went the exhaust as is released its hold on the underside of the car. And so we were stranded on a zillion mile-long dirt track, sun setting, and no-idea of how far remained of our journey.

Obviously, during the 7 hour maintenance session prior to our significantly delayed departure, no-one thought to look under the car – concentrating primarily on fixing the electric windows. That, and rearranging the engine so that when we came to top up the oil, it took 6 mechanics to find where to pour it into, and one poor guy to spend 20 minutes blowing the oil in through a pipe.

Even with bits falling off the car and our constant fretting over the time, our driver Eric managed to keep cheery and still professed to like his friend who had sold him the car the day before! Once we arrived and there was semi-cool beer awaiting us, all was fine. Eric still had to make the return journey, and, after a coke and a piece of wire to secure the exhaust, he was off - still with a smile on his face.

Why do African journeys make such funny tales? You don’t hear people sniggering about the trials and tribulations of traveling on the Northern Line, the difficulties of finding the connecting train on platform 500 at Birmingham New Street when the first train arrives late on platform 1. But somehow, here, there is always a way to laugh at traveling hiccups (albeit usually after the event).

The Dust! The Dust!

2006-03-13T15:38:00.000+01:00

It's all gone topsy-turvy!

Last week we had two storms; big, fat satisfying raindrops with flashy displays of lightening and rumbling thunder. It seemed the dry season was drawing to an early close. Oh what fools we were! Harmattan is back, and this time it means business.

Dusty to the extreme, the air is a thick Sahara soup. Rocky outcrops that usually dominate the skyline are invisible until you practically squish your nose on their surface. Every night-time photo is littered with pin pricks of light as the flash reflects off the dust. Every surface wiped, every floor that is swept is inch thick in seconds (grrrrrrr). Even the strong African sun is pastel and cool, unable to penetrate the thick sand blanket over Nigeria.

Every breath I take is creating a sand-pit in my lungs. Every pore in my skin is an inverted sand-castle. It seemed my tan had reached a darker shade and my eyelashes were thicker, but a shower and a bunged up plug hole later revealed the grimy truth.

It's all topsy-turvy I tell you! This was how it was supposed to be before not now! Now it's supposed to be starting to rain, not to have rained before!

The Cat & the Lizard

2006-03-09T15:17:00.000+01:00

Once upon a time there was a lizard. He was big and strong, royal blue with a yellow head and tail. This lizard, Lenny, had a good life. He grew up in Maitama, the posh area of Abuja, and was free to roam the walls of a lovely human life-camp.

Living in the very same area as Lenny, was a cat. She was small and agile, white with a custard splash. She too had a good life. There were plenty of games to be had and playing in the shrubbery provided her with lots of cover for ambushing small passers by.

Time passed and poor Lenny grew sick. He began to grey, and mobility became an issue. He had to rest often. Sometimes even appearing not to breathe. He began to confuse the humans, who thought him dead each time they spotted him on the concrete.

One day, inevitably, the cat and Lenny came face to face. There was a tense moment, but the cat was fooled by Lenny, and thought he was dead. Sensing no promise of play the cat left Lenny to himself.

OH! But not for human intervention, maybe Lenny would be crawling the walls today. Those horrible humans arrived home one day to find Lenny looking most dead on the doorstep. They looked and stared. Not a single breath appeared to raise Lenny's ribcage. He was on the doorstep. Someone fetched a broom.

Attracted by the outdoors activity the cat approached.

Lenny felt a prod from the broom. He twitched his leg and found himself pushed, speeding across the concrete. The cat pricked up her ears. Her whiskers quivered. She sensed another twitch from Lenny's limbs. She crouched, tense, alert. Then, suddenly, she pounced.

A bit of a nauseating crunch crunch later and poor Lenny was half the lizard he once was. The bottom half to be precise.

I wanted to vom. Bleeeuuuurrrggghhhh.

Dikko Market

2006-03-06T17:47:00.000+01:00

Move over Tesco! And forget anything that I said about Nigerian supermarkets. The prestigious 'King of Variety' title goes to Dikko Market - a giant Fulani market on the way to Minna. (That said, I didn't see any chandeliers or two foot high plastic hippos; a bit of a let down, but that's by-the-by for now...)

After browsing the goat and ram arena (decided against buying as I was disturbed by the giant testicles), we moved on to view the artwork of giant calabash bowls (I've never seen a calabash actually growing ever). From there we passed piles of tomatoes and onions (a market is not a market if it doesn't have onions and tomatoes), fresh cashew fruits, chickens and ducks, then through to cloth and second-hand clothing. You can: buy walking sticks, get your plastic shoes melted back together, your knife sharpened, sample a plastic rug, collect a pile of yams, purchase some strange green powder, pray in the prayer ground (men only), buy a basket, get a suit made, sit under a tree, procure some chickens..... The list is endless. Hours of fun!

The most intriguing stalls are those selling items for traditional medicine, or perhaps even juju. You can acquire some nice snake skins, a dried chameleon or two, rat heads, animal fur, sticks, bits of crumbly rock, and testicles. What more could you want? Oddly, I've never seen a transaction taking place at one of these stalls. In fact the biggest crowd was attracted not by the stall, but by us trying to identify which animal had donated precious body parts to the stall.

You can shop til you drop and never worry about a heavy load, as small boys follow you around, clipping your heels with wheelbarrows at the ready.

If you were so inclined, after the shopping spree, you could follow your nose to the palm wine section. Here the air is full of palm wine fumes as it's sloshed from jerry can to calabash to mouth and dribbled to ground. Indeed it must have been those very fumes pushing people from tipsy to drunk. A policeman's motorbike sat rider-less at the periphery, waiting for a dignified journey home later - nee naw, nee naw HICCUP nee naw ssssssshhhhhttttop theifffff HICCUP nee naw.

Census

2006-03-06T17:27:00.000+01:00

This month there is going to be a census here in Nigeria. We are currently waiting on el presidente to decide on the details of the curfew. It won't just a 'be at home after 10pm' affair, but a full 'three day no-one is allowed from their home' sentence.

Are they counting heads? "Right, no-one move...1, 2, 3..." Then, sometime later: "SIT STILL Jeremiah! Oh damn, were you number 275,097 or 275,098? Doh! Where was I? I'll have to start again. 1, 2, 3....."

No, more likely it will be "1, 2.. skip a few.... one hundred and fifty million! Ah, good, glad that's done, see - we really are incredibly populous and need lots of money."

Cynical? Moi?

“Good Evening Sister” 2

2006-02-20T13:08:00.000+01:00

Among the boys who live near my own compound is an even smaller boy called Sunday. He has copied the older boys’ greeting of ‘Good evening sister!’, but his version sounds like this:

“Gu eeeyee si ta!”

I want to eat him he’s so cute!

What a package!

2006-02-18T10:36:00.000+01:00

I am truly privileged! First my 4 incredible xmas parcels from most excellent of friends and family, and now this – an inbetween xmas & easter bumper parcel!
Giant pants, long fluffy monkey socks, exploded cream eggs, chocolate chocolate and more chocolate (mini-eggs - oh sweet heaven!), a Frisbee, hand cream, rocket balloons (I always seem to succeed only in blowing up my own head rather than the balloon)…….. what a package!

Most amusing was the customs officer’s face when I opened it for his perusal at the post office. ‘But what is this?” he asked, handling the Frisbee. I wondered – are Frisbees forbidden items? I didn’t think so, but how to explain? ‘It’s a game. You throw it’. ‘Crazy odd oyibo’ said custom man’s eyebrows as they rose to meet his hairline.

One glimpse of the giant pants and he’d seen enough. ‘It’s ok, it’s ok. Close it now….’

Yet Another Pest...

2006-02-16T10:44:00.000+01:00

It was the usual morning shouting waking me out of my zzzzz, nothing out of the ordinary, but all of a sudden my mind was alert. Someone was running. Two people were running. There was a scrabbling and a bash at my door, and I could see a small shadow scurrying back and forth.

“Aunty Kate! Don’t open your door-o!”
“Ah! Why what’s happening?” I was thinking the recent rain brought back the frogs and my neighbours were kindly trying to stop it coming in.
“Don’t open your door!” scrabble bash scrabble
“Auntie Kate! Open your door, open your door, it’s entered inside!”
“What has?!”
“It’s a RAT!”
“EEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Why these things insist on happening when I’m semi dressed I don’t know, but it was an interesting start to the day: me jumping from bed to chair and back wearing big yellow pants with a donkey on the front and my two neigbours, bums in the air, bashing around my room with brooms!

Na Wow! Rain fall-o!

2006-02-14T16:01:00.000+01:00

Na wow! Plenty rain fall for Kubwa today-o!

The sky looked thunderous, but I didn’t believe it would actually break on our heads. Rita and I were on the way home, when suddenly she looked behind, yelled and started to run. I dared a glimpse backwards and saw the rain literally hammering along the path towards us. I don't think I've ever been chased down a path by rain before!

Big fat juicy rain.

It were brill! A real tropical downpour: turning the path into a swirling torrent in seconds. Afterwards the air was so cool and refreshing. The place actually looked beautiful. With all the harmattan dust washed away I even saw rocks and hills I never knew existed!

The weather here is behaving oddly. It’s not supposed to rain until April, but it has. It’s not supposed to be this hot yet, but it is (40degrees in Abuja recently).

Curiouser and curiouser....

And now someone has informed me that the real hot spell is still to come. Oh wilt...

Fire! Fire!

2006-02-10T15:28:00.000+01:00

Yesterday I decided to make a stew. I had the usual wide range of ingredients: tomato, onion and a big red pepper. With little else to do in the afternoon I meticulously chopped and sliced each item into small small pieces. After cooking, I set my stew to the side, not yet hungry enough to enjoy such a rich feast.

It was about 20minutes later that the burning started. In my nose! Not far up, but just round the edge. “What’s this?” I thought to myself. I wasn’t sure but I did know that I needed to do something. I snorted some water, but to no avail, the flames licked my nostrils. Soon, I noticed a tingling in my thumb, spreading from underneath my fingernail. I licked it and my tongue fizzed.

I set my mind to work. It could only be one culprit. The shiny red pepper was in fact a GIANT PEPPE! The scoundrel is the African equivalent of a chili and I had been chopping it with gay abandon, its juices sliding freely under my nails.

I managed to douse the fire before my nose turned to cinders but my thumbs are still burning!

Some Days.....

2006-02-09T13:47:00.000+01:00

You feel a bit blue.

The Zero 7 album you listen to brings a tear to your eye. The smell of the Shield soap that you brought from home makes you blub. There's a dying cockroach wriggling upside down in your shower. You've heard great news from home but MTN is not letting you get in touch. A picture of your favourite people has fallen off the wall, and it's fallen in gecko poo. You miss your friends and just want a hug.

Today is one of those days.

Poo Bum.

Goliath had a brother

2006-02-02T10:48:00.000+01:00

Goliath's brother, Hercules, came to visit my bathroom. With no male neighbours around I rolled up my sleeves and prepared for mortal combat. Armed with my can of Raid Insect Spray I arranged myself in the standing sprint start position, arm out straight behind me. I took aim, and I fired. Almost as if he pre-empted the attack Hercules took flight - straight at my head. Not being made of strong fighting fibre I fled from the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. There followed a thud then a scrabbling as the Hercules hit the door. "Lucky escape" I thought, "Phewf! He'll be gassed inside and I'll just have to collect the body".

Alas, Hercules is a member of a species that has not been affected by evolution, has not changed for millions of years. He was not going to give up easily. He was hunting. Smelling my fear he made light work of defeating my door barrier, crawling through a gap I never knew existed (he'd obviously been casing the joint), and I swear he gave me an exceedingly menacing look. I squealed, more loudly than I had intended, for my neighbours heard me - "Auntie Kate! Wetin happen?!" They tried to enter my room, but it was locked. I was only in my underwear so was reluctant to open.

I hopped from foot to foot: get dressed? let them in? get the cockroach? OH GOD WHERE IS IT?? I needed back up, and fast.

Thank goodness for no-nonsense African women who can calmly broom-bash an angry flying tank without squealing and squirming in panic.

Fish n Chips

2006-02-01T14:37:00.000+01:00

There is a great place here for fantastic fish and chips. Mogadishu Barracks nestles at the side of a crowded road leading out of Abuja.

Upon finally succeeding to find a parking space inside the soldiered gates of the barracks you have to squeeze through a gap in a ring of shops, minding the humming generators, overhead wires and holes in the floor. Once inside, in the soft yellow light made murky from the dust and smoke, you can make out a giant circle of bush bars. In the centre are many BBQ's with whole fish sizzling on top. The atmosphere is relaxed and jovial, with people just chilling out and catching up at the end of a busy day.

When you've selected the best fish, and bartered the price, you can sit at any of the plastic tables and enjoy a cool drink. A bowl of water will be brought to you with some washing up liquid to wash your hands. Using your hands is the best way to eat fish I think - at least you can filter out most of the bones before they impale your throat.

Without fail, every time I've been, we've been serenaded by a guy with a guitar. His repertoire consists of classics such as 'Welcome to the Hotel California' and a couple of Bob Marley hits. With some kind of trilby/cowboy hat perched on his head, he's so cheery that he provides great entertainment even if his singing is phenomenally bad.

Last time we were at the barracks Nigeria was playing Ghana in the African Cup of Nations. The celebrations at each goal were great to see - one style I particularly favoured was a man dancing in circles like a chicken with his plastic chair still attached to his arse. Great stuff.

Always a jolly good evening to be had at Mogadishu Barracks!

Karaoke

2006-01-30T15:35:00.000+01:00

It was Marebec's birthday last week, so Dave had arranged a surprise party for her on Saturday night. It was to be held at the Filipino (no idea how to spell that) residence in Abuja, so really I should have been prepared. I've heard about Filipino parties before, hell, I've even seen video evidence of what is expected of everyone who attends. But I was so consumed with shame after nearly giving the game away to Marebec, that I simply hadn't thought it through. It was only as we walked through the door that the bomb dropped - the telly was on, words up on screen, microphone, someone warbling from the sofa....... NOOOOOOOoooooooooo! Karaoke!!!!

I feebly tried to delay the inevitable, taking a plate of food even though my belly was already bursting, planning strategic bathroom visits, and engaging in deep and meaningful conversations (or at least seeming to). Finally though there was no escape and really, after Kevin and Indar's valiant efforts I couldn't really refuse. So nowt for it but to down a bottle of Star and a fat glass of gin. Confidence thus enhanced I took the mic and gave the vocal chords a good stretch.

Really though, it's a wonder I'm not fighting off the hoard of record producers that must be trying to reach me after my grand show. I know for a fact that my rendition of Madonna's 'American Pie' would certainly set a few tongues wagging: "But who is that girl?"... "I've never heard such a voice" ... "She's certainly got a special something..."

The Filipino community will never be the same again.

Think of a shopping list, any shopping list...

2006-01-28T11:30:00.000+01:00

Going to a big name supermarket here is simply not like popping in to your average Tesco, Sainsbury's or Waitrose. In the UK, if you're lucky, perhaps you'll find some clothing or CDs in addition to the usual grocery items and household cleaning products. Very meagre offerings by Nigerian standards. Here, if you entered one of the larger supermarkets with the following shopping list you wouldn't be disappointed.

To Buy
eggs
milk
stationery
walk in fridge
deoderant
drinking fountain
heavy duty knee pads
hammock
chandalier
generator
ice-cream in a cone
rubber dingy
pony bridle
cheese
two foot high plastic hippo

Zzzzzz

2006-01-28T10:50:00.000+01:00

I'm someone who really values my zzzz time. In fact I consider it almost sacred. Certainly if I get any less than 6 hours kip a night I live the following day with a head full of cotton-wool and eye-bags to my jaw. So maybe that's why I'm struggling to get to grips with the Nigerian attitude to sleep. I just can't comprehend it at all. Every single night there is something that jolts me from my slumber. It could be any of the following:

* Night vigil at one or three of the churches that surround my compound. This generally takes place between 1-3am, with loud speakers facing out of the church.
* The clangitty-clang of the night watchman every hour. (see previous post)
* A neighbour playing warbly love ballards at 2am.
* A neighbour sweeping and beating carpets at 4am.
* Call to prayer at the mosque at 5am.
* Shouting and singing at 5.30am.

You might guess that this is a nation of heavy sleepers, and it's just my super-sensitive night-time bat ears that allow me to be disturbed by this racket. But investigation proves that while there are thundering snorers (renowned worldwide for falling asleep first and not missing a snort until daybreak), there are also many many people who are similarly woken throughout the night.

That being the case, I simply don't understand how people can justify being the perpetrators of such a din when they know people are trying to get some shut-eye. Surely it's obvious that if you start beating carpets at 4am your neighbours won't be getting the luxury of sleeping til six. More to the point - what on earth possesses you to take on such a task at that hour?

No-one ever complains. They just get on with the day as normal, sleep or no sleep. I just can't fathom it. I really can't.

Fact for Free

2006-01-27T11:20:00.000+01:00

Sitting in a converted shipping container (my office) while someone drills and bangs metal studs through the metal walls (for curtain rails) is really rather unpleasant.

To recreate the experience at home just place a metal bucket over your head and give it a whack with a piece of led piping.

Roads

2006-01-16T13:17:00.000+01:00

I read this in a Margaret Atwood novel I wormed through last week:

"People don't think in terms of roads, but in terms of where they want to go: a road was where someone else wanted you to go. A road was an insult."

She wrote this of the Italians but I thought it sounded quite a lot like here. I would also add that anyone else on the road is also an insult. It seems imperative to be the first and fastest on the road, weaving through obnoxious slower traffic, breaking at the last possible moment and of course beeping as much as possible. Vehicles too are regarded with contempt, pushed to all the limits and poorly maintained. Apart from the horn. Everything else can be faulty, but a car must have a good hooter.

"My pillow smells of King!"

2006-01-10T12:52:00.000+01:00

And other tales of Nigerian beds I have known.

The Lung-Puncturer: The slightest roll or, heaven forbid, a bounce results in bruising and yelps of pain as thinning, moth-eaten material fails to protect delicate bodies from the rusting springs.

The Kings Bed: I shared this bed with another VSO the night after it had been vacated by a King. A very comfy night, but in the morning my slumber chum exclaimed, 'My pillow smells of King!' Mine did too and for those of you who want to know what King smells like it's rather like fusty old man.

The Foam Dipper: My own. The first night was comfy enough, but ever since I have been unable to escape my own me-dent that has cratered the left-hand side.

The Hundred Pound Pillow: What looks like a breeze block, has the texture and density of a vacuum packed sack of new potatoes and smells rather damp? My pillow in Port Harcourt.

The Slumbering Giant: (or Porn King). A colossus bed enjoyed by one lucky Lagos VSO. Huge and big and round, with satin-feel throws. Big enough to fit approximately seventy million people. Or maybe around 7.

2005: The Final Journey

2006-01-01T12:24:00.000+01:00

Surviving a dull afternoon in PH was one thing, but surviving the following journey to Opobo was quite another!

First we needed to get a car to take us 2hours to Ikot Abasi where we would hopefully manage to meet the Cameroon lot. By the time we got the go ahead from them (reassurance that they had passed immigration and were on their way) it was late. Add to this the fact we had been traipsing back and forth through the motor park with our goody bags from Park 'n' Rob and you get a bunch of drivers very unwilling to negotiate a fair price. Battle ensued, with Tammie bravely taking the lead as the rest of us slowly melted into puddles under our rucksacks. By the time a price had been fixed and a car allocated, it was half full of other hopeful passengers. They were unceremoniously offloaded as we stood, embarrassed, trying to avoid slipping on the dead rats at our feet (really, a very choice motor park!). Finally set off with four of us in the back seat as usual - numb-bum-tastic!

Next leg of the journey was a night-time okada ride from our meeting point to the riverside at Ikot Abasi. We wobbled by the roadside with fireflies for company as we waited for someone, anyone to pass. Finally an okada was hailed and sent to fetch more. They whizzed out of the gloom, revving and belching out their two-stroke fumes. Another price battle was soon ended when again Tammie led us in strike - threatening to just walk the whole damn way. The road was loooong and daaark and potholed and my okada man was particularly chatty, resulting in a faint showering for me. Nice.

Third: A speed-boat ride across the waters to the merry little town of Opobo. The boats go fast. They are noisy. There is a lot of spray and they bounce and jiggle on the open water. The 'path' was lit, occasionally, by a zero watt torch that was lazily pointed in almost the direction we were headed. I gripped my seat and enjoyed the breeze.

Finally, and almost the most killing, was a trek up to Mary and Peters house. 15 minutes uphill through Opobo, with a big, slightly soggy rucksack, and the heavy humid air was a real test of stamina. But we made it! And were soon back down to the water front to enjoy some chop and a few beers and wait for 2006.

Poker in Port Harcourt

2005-12-31T11:58:00.000+01:00

Poor old Port Harcourt does not have the best reputation as a fun and vibrant city, and poor old us for being semi-stranded there for the day on New Year's Eve. We arrived the night before after rattling along 10 hours from Lagos with Cross Country bus line. Their logo looks just like the London underground, but my bones told me that this journey was most definitely over ground! So did my eyes as I watched the lush squigdyness of the Niger Delta pass by.

Anyhoo, we spent the day anxiously waiting for our fellow VSO chums to hotfoot it over from Cameroon, and desperately hoping we weren't going to have a New Year for five in Port Harcourt. With very little to do we entertained ourselves with a supermarket tour. A trip to Park 'n' Shop (Nigeria's most poshest supermarket, aka Park 'n' Rob by skint VSOs) was wildly exciting - mmm cheese, mmmmm nice bread... I'll have that, and that and that andthatnthatnthatnthatn...... Back in our hotel we happily munched and crunched through our feast, oggling MTV and enjoying a/c until NEPA 'took the light'.

Time for poker we thought, so we moved to the rooftop terrace for our first lesson. While the view was very..... um, something (concrete flyovers, tattered bill boards, hotchpotch shambled market, pot-holed p*ss smelling motor parks) it was just too hot, and the air sat on us damp and heavy.

Inside the bar the lesson commenced and soon bets were ever increasingly ferocious (but not me - far too conservative!). Our audience (there is ALWAYS an audience in Nigeria) were keenly eyeing our $50 & $100 bills that we were waving around until I equally keenly assured them they were fakes. Port Harcourt probably not the best place for a group of white people to be waving around convincing looking dollar bills.

(There is a lizard looking at me from my doorway as I write this - maybe it wants to come in and learn about HIV? I'll ask it...) Um, I digress, maybe because this isn't so interesting after all?
I was rubbish at poker too.
Boo.

Christmas on the beach

2005-12-29T09:01:00.000+01:00

Tarkwa Bay is a 15min boat ride from Victoria Island (or VI as it's known locally). Lined with palm trees the pale sands dip into the lapping Atlantic. Sticks of bamboo hold shades of patterned cloth over blue deck-chairs. From these deck-chairs we didn't have to budge an inch. Drinks and fruit platters were served to us as we sat. Even suya delivery could be arranged from one of the numerous cooking shacks behind us. A craft market appeared at our feet as traders displayed their wares; "Madam, you wan' buy? I give you fair price, what price you want? I need to get to Kano tomorrow. Oooh that's very bad price, you no get anything for that price madam. Give me better price...." and so on. It was very stressful.

The sea was a perfect temperature, but bobbing around brought certain risks with it. From numerous bits of plastic bag wrapping around our legs, causing squeamish squeals and shudders, GIGANTIC containerships on their way in and out of Lagos, sending giant waves crashing onto the beach, and from trying to avoid pesky kids who wanted to play ball everytime we went in the water!

We were often joined by the children of our landlord, Francis, aged 7, and his sister Patricia/Gladys, aged 10. Apparently her mother called her Patricia, but her father thought it a rubbish name so he calls her Gladys. Gladys attached herself to me like a limpet. After seeing me float belly up she excitedly told her friends that "this one go sleep in water like she go fit dead!" I tried to teach her but she kept sinking. So we stuck to piggyback rides and swimming practice.

On Xmas eveing we had a secret santa and feasted on pringles, cake and vodka. We even had champagne, warm and mixed with fruit juice, and drunk from the cut-off bottoms of plastic bottles. It was very festive, especially with tinsel and my flashing santa hat. Even the bats wanted to join in so they flew into our candle-lit 'parlour' and squeaked and flapped around our cowering heads. A few games of cards late into the night made for a jolly jolly evening!

Bottoms up!

"But, what about armed robbers?"

2005-12-29T08:40:00.000+01:00

I asked this question in a futile attempt to reassure myself that, despite being heavily delayed, our journey to Lagos would still be safe. Warnings of the dangers of traveling at night, after dark, especially at Xmas, were resounding around my head. "Oh, we're not expecting to see anything like that" was the reply. Not exactly inspired in confidence it was time to weigh up the alternatives.

A) Try again tomorrow, Xmas Eve, taking a bush-taxi, arriving after dark and having to negotiate ourselves around Lagos and our way to the beach.
B) Xmas for 2 in Abuja, knowing our friends are either on the beach or climbing mountains in Cameroon.

er, no.

Okay, so nowt for it than to board the bus leaving Abuja at 4pm instead of 11am. Expecting a journey from hell, I tried to distract myself with a Times Crossword. Did rather well actually, maybe fear focuses the mind. It gets properly dark here by 7pm. In my mind any journey after 7pm brought with it impending doom, when everyone on the road would be out to get us. My first time check with Chris our friendly driver informed me that we would arrive shortly after 9pm. During a comfort break at 7.30pm he dutifully told me we had about 3.5hours to go. Thank God for the most comfy chairs I have ever sat on in a bus, lolling me into a fitful doze, for we finally rolled into Lagos at 2am. But WE ARRIVED! And in two fully functioning pieces! Hurrah!

At our friends house a Chief's party was in full swing. Unfortunately the guest King (seriously) had already gone to bed, but there was hot food and a shower waiting to revive our travel weary heads. After greeting the Chief, pretending to dance, and a few 'I'M ALIVE' texts later, we were ready for bed. Phewf...

Wish me luck…..

2005-12-21T16:00:00.000+01:00

I’m off to Lagos for Xmas! BARG. Should be very fun actually, lolling around on the beach on Xmas Day wearing my flashing Santa Hat. I wonder if it’s waterproof.

Then New Year should be spent in Opobo, in the South South. There are some other volunteers there who have invited us all for a party. Whoop.

HAPPY CHRIMBO & VERY MERRY NEW YEAR!!

So until next year…………

Pressies Pressies Pressies!

2005-12-18T15:57:00.000+01:00

Santa managed to find me!!!!!! Lots of times, and I don’t even have a chimney.

Tee Hee Hee! Thank you all for making me the happiest girl in Abuja! My twig tree now looks well propa with its stash of goodies underneath! I’m going to ration my opening so I get a prolonged Xmas. Hurrah. You are an incredible bunch and thank you again for another amazing surprise! I’ve been singing along to my xmas minidisk, I’m sure if you listen hard enough you’ll be able to hear me……….

“’tis the season to be JOLLY,
Fa lala la laaaaa, la la la laaaaaa.”

“Good Evening Sister"

2005-12-16T15:56:00.000+01:00

There is a family that lives in a small house just next to the path I take home. I’m not sure how many they are but there are a lot of small boys. When I pass I hear a chorus of ‘Good Evening Sister! Good Evening Sister!’ If I have more than one bag in my hands they will race barefoot to help, pushing each other out of the way. Having secured my bag/s my little helper will then strut proudly at my side for 10 meters until I reach my gate. Then he’ll sprint off back to whatever game/hard manual labour he was involved in.

“Clang Clang Clang Clangitty clangitty clang clang”…..

2005-12-13T15:58:00.000+01:00

…………and repeat: “Clang Clang Clang Clangitty clangitty clang clang” and repeat…

It had been puzzling me for a while. What is this noise that rings out at random intervals through the night? Is it my tinnitus gone a bit skewy in the heat? A bit of research, and I found out that it is the security alarm. It means, ‘Ahoy there potential armed robbers! I’m awake and alert. No need to come here cos I’ll get you’. Throughout the night Potential Armed Robbers are thus warned, by the security clanging an old car wheel chained to the tree about 15 meters from my bedroom! This, together with the local churches, calls for heavy duty earplugs.

Creepy Crawlies

2005-12-12T15:44:00.000+01:00

I really was very brave. I had a shower with Golliath the Cockroach peering down from right above me. I admit I had a bit of a crick in my neck from checking that he wasn’t preparing to launch himself on my head, but I held my composure well. My task of courage completed for the day I went outside to find my neighbour and frequent rescuer from tricky situations.

Me: There is a GIANT cockroach in my bathroom and it doesn’t seem in a hurry to move.
Neighbour: Oh! You want me to catch it?
Me: I don’t think you can. (my ceiling is very high and they move very fast as I found out when I tried to drop a bucket on it’s head)
Neighbour: (Giggle) I can. Let me kill it for you.
He comes into my bathroom
Neighbour: Ok, I see him!
Me: That’s because he’s a giant.
Neighbour: Nooooo. This one is small. You’ll see. They come much bigger than this.

Joy.

I hope my resident geckos hurry up and grow so that they can stop hiding in my towel and start eating cockroaches. Bleurgh.

ICASA

2005-12-09T15:49:00.000+01:00

International Conference on AIDS & STIs in Africa

Plenty of meetings, discussions, roundtables, workshops etc on HIV/AIDS: some very interesting, some mediocre, some awful. It was a great place to network, and was motivating to hear of all the action being taken against HIV/AIDS in Africa. Something that interested/worried me was that I only picked up on one session about homosexuality. It’s referred to as MSM (men sex men), and is simply regarded as something that doesn’t happen here in Africa. But at an international conference, how can sexuality be sidelined in such a way? How are young people expected to understand themselves and others around them if discussions of sex and sexuality remain such a taboo?

Exhibition Hall.

This was a giant marquee type tent where organisations could display info about what they do, and distribute materials and information to participants. Seriously, the fight in that place was incredible, elbows and knees jabbing all around, people sweating and pushing to collect anything being given away, relevant or not. Somebody please explain what a policeman is going to do with armfuls of materials on HIV policy, info on laboratory kits, and samples of inter-uterine devices. Methinks the latter will end up as a Christmas tree decoration. Chortle.

Guara Falls

2005-12-04T15:52:00.000+01:00

A beautiful lazy Sunday at the beach! Guara Falls is about an hours drive from Abuja, and is a stunning location. In typical me fashion I forgot my camera, so let me describe it: there’s water, lots of it and it’s falling over rocks. Not feeling particularly descriptive today so perhaps I should endeavor to go again with my camera. Anyhow, below the falls are little pools, bordered by strong currents that sweep you swiftly downstream if you’re not careful. While they are not to be messed with, the currents did reassure me that the risk of bilharzia was minimal. We spent a lovely chilled couple of hours there, picnicking and floating around, trying to avoid the fishing lines that were being planted by a man floating belly down on a giant calabash.

The Clinic

2005-11-30T15:00:00.000+01:00

Other hospitals in the area are on strike. An already stretched clinic here is now bursting at the seams. Yesterday we were registering over 60 women for the ante-natal clinic. This is no computer-run system either. Each woman must have a health card, detailing weight, BP, pregnancy history (‘how many time you get belle?’), health history, and all sorts of measurements and urine tests requiring private examinations. Records must be kept in separate books for the clinic and for the govt., so effectively each woman’s history is recorded 3 times.

The immunization clinic is even more hectic. Here’s one for an Away Day Team Challenge:

Can you and your team successfully manage the service delivery of the immunization clinic? The following points must be taken into consideration:

Task Details:
· Over 150 mothers and their babies likely to be present to receive different jabs depending on their age. Some are receiving multiple jabs.
· All babies must be weighed and recorded. There is one pair of scales.
· Over 500 needles must be unwrapped and drawn with a variety of fillings: Hep B, BCG, DPT, Measles, Yellow Fever, and Meningitis.
· Vaccinations should be kept cool.
· All mothers must register and should be carrying a health card for their baby. This then needs to be recorded into the book.
· They should also have a number, and should present their baby in turn.
· Payment must be made separately for each vaccination.

Other factors for consideration:
· There is only one table to work from.
· Many mothers are not sure what injection their baby should be having.
· People, bored of waiting, sit outside and chat. They miss their number being called, and try and push in later.
· African time.
· The temperature is somewhere around 34Celcius, and NEPA has taken the light (ie; Fans don’t work).
· 150 babies and small children cry A LOT when having needles puncturing them in many places.
· No-one has had anything to eat or drink since 6am.

You have six hours to complete the task, from scratch.
You may begin.

Alternative health-care for PLWHA

2005-11-28T15:47:00.000+01:00

PWLHA = People living with HIV & AIDS

Another trip to the cool climates of Jos, this time for a ‘Capacitar - Living in Wellness’ workshop. It was very interesting; concentrating our minds on the energies present in our bodies, and channeling those energies to promote physical and mental healing. Techniques varied from breathing awareness, tai chi, acupressure, songs, and particular holds that target different types of physical/emotional pain. What was great about this workshop is that these skills and techniques can easily be passed on; it costs nothing and individuals can practice themselves.

It will be interesting again to see what the response is when I step down the training to some of the staff here in the clinic. People attending the workshop were all working in the field of HIV, some infected some affected, so the motivation to learn and carry out the techniques was high. I wonder what the reception will be in the wider care community.

Do Ants Sleep?

2005-11-23T15:04:00.000+01:00

There is a steady stream of ants scurrying across the wall in my kitchen, from the window to a hole by the sink. They are traveling in the morning when I eat my breakfast, in the afternoon when I return from work, in the evening when I eat my dinner, and during the night when I need to collect more water. Do ants ever sleep? Shift sleeping I suppose, but I can’t find their house. Interesting.

They don’t swim that’s for sure. For some reason, a few of these pesky ants deviate from their creepy-crawlie motorway and head Kettle-bound. Why? I’ve no idea. Maybe they are thirsty and are health conscious enough to only drink boiled water? I’d say though that risk of drowning in boiling water far outweighs any health benefits. Maybe those ants have sinned and it’s their anty version of bubbling hell. Maybe I need to stop thinking about ants.

Star Lager

2005-11-22T15:03:00.000+01:00

Contains formaldehyde
Strength: 5%...... well, could be 12, or 3. Depends on your luck.

Another Journey Up North

2005-11-21T15:01:00.000+01:00

This time to Birnin-Kebbi, in Kebbi State, 9 hours drive away from Abuja. Thankfully, this was in a nice air-conditioned pick-up, so I was saved from the hot blast of dust up the nostrils while sitting on one bum-cheek with 10 people in a car made for 7. A quality hotel unfortunately it was not - dirty sheets and towels, dirty floors and nothing really to speak of in the kitchen to eat. The boasted ‘conference centre’ was a large hall with totally insufficient a/c, toilets from hell and wildly swinging ceiling fans. Despite the ever present risk of decapitation people were able to concentrate and the HIV programme review we were there for seemed to be a success.

The north is quite different from down here in Abuja. It seems more north African than West African, perhaps the influence of the Sahara creeping ever south. One thing I’ve noticed here is the many different tribes that make up Nigeria. Some are as different from each other as I am from them, and it seems to be a popular topic of conversation to discuss what weird things another tribe does, or is famous for.

With some other VSO staff and volunteers, we went to a place called Momi Market. It’s basically a military barracks outside of the town along rough sandy tracks. As it is military land, it is free from the Sharia Law that holds over Bernin-Kebbi, meaning alcohol can be served. We found a shack we liked the look of and sat down on plastic chairs in the sand under a tree. A red lampshade hung from the tree over a table-tennis table, and a furious game was being played. With bets at stake tempers simmer. Music blaring out from somewhere, as men on motors rev, and others wander round selling cigarettes. Girls are there too, earning their few naira the simplest way they can - selling themselves. I was pleased top see a group of young people in matching t-shirts wandering round with small boxes, thinking that they were peer-educators with condoms. Until I realised they were promoting cigarettes. I think tobacco companies are really struggling here; smoking, because of the strength of religion, is considered a really shameful thing to do.

Frogs2: An Update

2005-11-15T15:06:00.000+01:00

Wo ha ha ha haaaa. Harmattan and the carpenter are my new allies in the amphibian battle. Dry dusty air and wooden door blockers are the weapons of choice, holding siege over the frogs wherever their murky pond may be. The journey to my room (aka Toad Twilight Resort) is now perilously dry, and even the most ambitious of amphibians will find no entry upon arrival at the doorstep.

I am slightly concerned that one of the initial invaders has died underneath my wardrobe.

Aso Rock

2005-11-14T14:52:00.000+01:00

Aso Rock is a huge great mound of rock that sits stately at the head of Abuja. A half hour rally-car drive along what is essentially an overgrown, semi-eroded footpath, led us to the beginning of the walk. No Pay-and-Display here! Another half hour of walking through the bush and we came to a small village. People sitting in the shade chopping and preparing garden egg, dogs barking at our oyibo (white person) heels. We greeted the villagers before heading up up up onto the rock. It was very very steep!! Alex asserted that it wasn’t even 45degrees. Dave and I agreed that it was then probably around 44.5…. ish.

The views from the top were wonderful, despite the murky haze of dust and pollution that has settled over the capital. Alex pointed out the landmarks, we could clearly see the central mosque and church - built opposite each other, these buildings are easily the most attractive in Abuja, and we worked out the various districts that comprise the city. Below us was the president’s house, parliament, lots of military barracks and the zoo. The Zoo requires it’s own story…..

The Zoo (Animal Lovers - Read at Own Risk)

2005-11-14T14:51:00.000+01:00

Animal Protection People noticed that rich people in the city were keeping large animals in their gardens. In one heist/ emancipatory effort they saved quite a number of buffalo, and succeeded in loading them on to a truck. Ahah. Where were the keys? A Key Hunt was mounted, and a few hours passed. The driver? Another hunt. A little into the journey, the vehicle suffered a puncture. Another few hours. By the time they got to the Zoo a couple of the buffalo had perished inside the lorry. The others, understandably were getting a bit agitated. When the doors were opened they bolted for freedom, some breaking their legs on the jump down. Was the enclosure ready? No no no. Those still with four working legs continued their dash, straight into something like a cattle grid, only by the sounds of it a little deeper. One survived.

Residential Workshop Menu

2005-11-12T19:57:00.000+01:00

08.30 Breakfast
Fried plantain or chips, 3 egg omlette, stew, tea.

10.30 Elevenses
Tea, apple, piece of solid chicken, meat pie.

12.30 Lunch
Piece of solid chicken, liver stew, rice, beans, slice of pawpaw.

15.00 Afternoon Break
Tea, piece of solid chicken, doughnut.

18.30 Supper
Piece of solid chicken, Egusi soup (made from melonseed, catfish, and pumpkin leaves), semovita (like South African pap, made from maize and shaped into a fat disk).

Frogs & Mothballs

2005-11-11T15:17:00.000+01:00

It's hot and dusty as the harmattan season takes it's grip. It's not rained for 3 weeks now, but that doesn't seem to have affected the frogs. Yet. They'll dry up soon enough. Hopefully not under my cupboard, where they like to hide after a short duel with me on my doorstep. Damn hoppity things.

There's a bunch of us here in Abuja at the moment, for HIV Policy training. We're staying in what seems to be a typical hotel here - friendly staff, neglegted old buildings, with rattling a/c, snowy tv and bucket showers. My room hum-dings of mothballs, I discovered one under the sink, but there must be more.

More to come when I remember....

How can I tell my wife?

2005-11-08T14:59:00.000+01:00

“I have come for HIV test and I’m waiting for result. I’ve been having some illness and the doctor is unsure what it is so he advised the test. I am a married man with 2 small children. I know AIDS kills people, and I know that it can be transmitted through sex. My society holds a lot of stigma about HIV & AIDS. My wife is a strong, educated lady, but she won’t speak of HIV. People who have HIV lose respect, and their family and friends can desert them. They will lose their job. Nobody knows I am having the test. My mind is having torment while I think of what might happen. I will see the doctor and get my result tomorrow and I will hold my secret until then. But if I am positive…. how can I tell my wife?”

Bush Taxis

2005-11-07T14:57:00.000+01:00

A journey from Jos to Abuja. Half way through the engine starts belching out smoke. Drive continues until nearest town, where the Driver assures us he will fix the problem. We coast along in neutral, down through the town, way past the filling station and motor park. Driver remembers the smoke, so we stop. A quick look inside the bonnet confirms that indeed oil is leaking all over the place. The driver hops on a machine back to the motor park to find another car.

We sit under a tree.

Original Driver returns with New Driver (no.1) and car. Drivers argue. New Driver drives off without us. Original Driver hops on another machine back to the motor park.

We eat guava.

Time passes.

New Car arrives. Yes this is the car. We load up. New Driver (no.2) hops on machine to motor park to find Original Driver.

More time passes.

Original Driver, New Driver and Newer Driver return in another car. This is the car. We get in and sit while Drivers and Random-Passer-By argue. Other passengers join in. We sweat, but finally we are off.

We grind to a halt just outside Abuja.

Passengers argue, we get on bus.

While I'm Waiting...

2005-10-13T22:32:00.000+01:00

Some Vital Statistics for Nigeria

Capital: Abuja (Federal Capital Territory).

Population: Estimated at 130million, with around 250 ethnic groups, Nigeria's population truly makes it Africa's Giant. Approximately 45% of the population is under 15.

Religion: I've seen mixed stats, but I think 45% Islam, 38% Christianity, 17% Traditional.

HDI: The UNDP Human Development Index measures a country's acheivements in terms of life expectancy, educational attainment and adjusted real income. In the 2005 Human Development Report Nigeria is ranked 158 out of 177 countries. The UK is 15th.

Languages: English (official), Yoruba, Igbo, Hausa, Edo, Efik, Kanuri.

Politics: 1999 saw the move from a 16 year military dictatorship to a democratically elected government headed by President Olusegun Obasanjo.

Economy: Heavily oil dependent - 80% of govt. revenue, and 90% of foreign exchange earnings. Other major exports are cacao beans and rubber.

Currency: Niara. Current rate 1GBP = 228NGN. I think a beer is around N80, and a meal at a chop house N40-100.

Starting Up, Setting Out? Or not yet...

2005-10-12T01:55:00.000+01:00

I'm supposed to be in Nigeria. As yet I'm not, but I'm hoping that now the visa's are sorted, I should be going on Saturday. An extra week in the 'shire may reduce some to tears, but I'm enjoying a nice bit of R&R in the country before journeying to one of the most hectic countries in Africa (or so I've heard). Trying not to think 'now did I pack......?' as my (two, BIG) bags were packed with extreme squishing and stuffing and there is absolutely no room for poking around.

Just testing out the bloggy thing. Not feeling particularly confident, but will give it a go.....