Kano and the Emir's Palace

Going to Kano is seeing Nigeria in a much rawer state than the palatial environs of Lekki, Lagos.

Kano, West Africa's oldest city, is a 1000-year old walled city that is ceremonially ruled by an Emir and an Emirate Council. The old architecture that dominates the city is of smooth, thick red-mud walled exteriors, with intricately and vibrantly decorated interiors.

Kano is also Nigeria's second largest city with around 10 million residents. It is also very poor. Indicative of its poverty is the lack of modern urban buildings, lack of international flight connections (only KLM fly here) and the incredible number of achabas (motorcycle taxis, which all seem to be Jincheng AX100's), which outnumber car taxis by about 100 to 1. One of the things that stikes you about Kano, however, is its pollution fuelled, dusty heat, which actually burns the back of your throat!

Kano is also an incredibly friendly city and I found warm welcoming people everywhere, from the hotel owner to the black-market money changer. The latter first warned me to take of my shoes to sit on his Muslim prayer mat and then promptly and with a smile dropped a brick of Naira (Nigerian currency) in exchange for my five, 20 pound, notes.

In the two and half days I was in Kano I saw much with my appointed guide, a Rotary Club member who is a friend of Modupe's dad. However, the hassle and final glory of getting to see the Emir's palace stands out.

There should be a travellers' maxim:

"Through frustration comes complete experience"

...well perhaps not... but when travelling, you sometimes only see a new place from the eye of a local when you have overcome a point of unbearable frustration. My frustration came with my brush with Kano's Emirate Council. But, as there is no pleasure without pain, there are no great travelling moments without frustration.

I was strolling down the well kept road into the grounds of the Emir's palace with my Rotarian guide, Olusegun, when at the palace gates we get a hiss (the Nigerian way of getting your attention) from the security guard sitting low in his plastic garden chair (which are everywhere in Nigeria - I am sitting on one as I write this now!) who tells me that I need permission from the Emir's office to go into the palace grounds.

Olusegun, a quiet, determined character, suggested we go to the office, which is just across the road and speak to the Emir's Secretary.

Opposite the Palace are the administration buildings for the Emir and the appointed Council. The old building forms a square, with the offices along the edges, a covered walkway along the inner edge of the square and a open central courtyard with a big tree in the centre.

The central courtyard is dominated with Mercedes, BMWs and Mitsubishi 4x4s, which are haphazardly crammed in the centre of the square to remain cool under the tree cover. The shaded walkways are crowded with regally dressed men (wearing elaborate robes and complex, colourful headdresses that cover much of their face) who are part of the Emirate Council and their associates, friends and sycophants. There are young boys and girls selling drinks and food from trays delicately balanced on their heads and there are queues of female beggars with their young babies attached to them by their drapes.

Despite the ceremonial role of the Emir (Kano state has a democratically elected governor), I was arrested by the vision of an old world where the total power and discretion of the Emir and the Council holds sway. Incredible deference was shown to the "titled people", as Olusegun called them. Whilst a handful of people talked to them as equals, most looked down, often crouching down at their feet, before addressing them - and the exchange was fleeting.

We approached an old man dressed in a shabby green and red uniform looking a little like a medieval jester. He was a palace guard, but with the Emir in London currently he was guarding the door of Secretary's office. Speaking in Hausa, he told Olusegun and I to wait for the Secretary to call us in. On a weak, wobbly bench we waited, and waited, and waited.

I watched this interesting world within the courtyard, trying to decipher the rules of engagement between the various people - from the queue of beggars coming in and out of a nearby office (only some successfully receiving a donation as a result of highlighting a particularly worthy crisis they are facing), to the titled people being whisked in and out of the courtyard in their expensive cars, surrounded by tens of people yearning for a verbal exchange.

After about an hour and half we were called into an office. Not the office of the Secretary, however. We were gestured in with the universal Nigerian greeting "you're welcome", invited to sit down and tell our story. An administrative officer deliberated for about 5 minutes quietly, and then said "you need to see the Emir's Secretary". What a novel idea.

So we went back to the bench outside the Secretary's office and was told by the palace guard that the Secretary had just called us, but because we weren't there we were now at the back of the queue. Our protestations were futile - it felt like the Nigerian Embassy all over again.

Finally, after about another hour and half, we saw the Secretary who casually informed us that I needed a letter from the Rotary club inviting me to Kano and detailing the purpose of my visit. I just wanted to have a look around the grounds of the Emir's palace - something that locals can do effortlessly!

We decided to come back the next day (Tuesday 10th) to complete this.

So on Tuesday morning, we got a hand written letter and a blank headed paper from Kano's Rotary club Assistant Governor. We had to get the letter typed and printed in a local computer shop. More frustration. Because of the temperamental power (no-NEPA) and the old computers we struggled to complete the task. But, an hour later we had a letter to present to the Secretary.

He called us into his office after only one hour, took the letter and said that an Emirate Councillor needed to approve my visit. We sat patiently in his office as people came in an out to undertake fleeting and seemingly inconsequential business, set to the backdrop of mobile phones going off every few minutes - a pleasant antidote to the old customs of the place.

Then as I was about to completely give up - our letter was now buried under a pile of other letters - the Secretary disappeared for half an hour. On his return he announced in a calm manner, with no recognition of the length of time we had waited, that a guide will show us around the palace.

Result! And what a result it was. The guides (two led us) were knowledgeable and interesting and not only took me around the palace grounds, but into the heart of the building. They also encouraged me to take as many "snaps" as possible.

The outside of the palace buildings, which includes a school, living quarters for the guards and staff, a private mosque, a palace reception area and the Emir's living quarters, were recently refurbished are adorned with detailed Islamic patterns. The interior of the buildings varied - if they were modern they were whitewashed with occasional pictures or simple decorations. If they were old they were elaborately decorated with patterns along the wall and up the high ceiling.

The highlight of the tour - the moment of glory through all this frustration - was seeing the reception room, where the Emir receives national and international dignitaries. I was walked through the 1st waiting room (where the guests and their staff could wait), the 2nd waiting room (where the guests and only a couple of their staff could wait and where journalists are invited too) and the main reception room (which only the guests, the Emir and Councillors could enter).
On entering this fabulously decorated room, I was told that only about 20 British people have ever entered this room - one m being the British Queen!

And, of course, I have a snap to preserve the moment.