Pre-travel notes - The Nigeria Embassy

Embassies are notorious at the best of times. Places where an unopposed, extra-legal form of power has chosen to reside, and flourish. Embassies run like mini dictatorships, accountable to no-one, feared by all. Those required to extract a service from an Embassy must beg, grovel and generally demean themselves.

But if this is the state of nature of a regular embassy, imagine what an embassy of a post-colonial, developing, newly democratic country is like.

The Nigerian High Commission in London at first sight represents an unexpected beacon of hope. You enter a spacious, uncluttered, high-ceilinged room on Northumberland Avenue - dotted with large comfortable black leather black sofas. There is a ticketed queuing system - similar to that at the deli in supermarkets - and when your number is called the first time you pay at a desk, and when it is called for the second time you submit your forms at a second desk.

Then, all things being fair, two days later you collect your passport with a Nigeria Visa.

Easy. Especially compared to the chaos of the Indian embassy - swarming masses of people crowding round each little booth pushing, bullying and sweating.

First impressions can be deceptive.

First there is the inexplicable wait. There were only about 25 people to be seen before me on Friday 26 August, but it took an hour for me to get to the payment booth and only took about 1 minute to pay. Then a two-hour wait ensued to get to the second booth.

This is where the real effects of the dictatorship emerged. Just as my number was coming close, a regally dressed man arrived wearing a knee length green buba (shirt) with matching fila (hat) and sokoto (trousers) and characteristically intimidating dark sunglasses worn by Nigeria's last and dictator, General Abacha. This man only occasionally emerges from a room to call out people's name for an interview, but as I proceeded to move to the second booth he was cornered by a Nigeria-British woman who complained about people pushing in. Her triumphant statement was:

"This is the reason why Nigeria is in such a terrible state!"

Our 'General', attempting to provide solace to this woman and to the 40 others in the embassy bellowed, "everyday I try to please everyone and most of the time I please most of the people." I.e. I'm doing the best I can, considering I don't really give a shit. And furthermore, I could, if I wanted, screw you all over!

Whilst at the second desk with the row continuing in my left ear, I am told the papers I have got are insufficient. I am irritated, to put it mildly - I've been hanging around on a working day for 3 hours and I rang the embassy previously to confirm what papers I needed to bring in.

I had confirmed that for a 30-day tourist visa you need a completed visa form, a passport photo, an valid passport and either travellers cheques to indicate you can sustain yourself for the holiday or an letter of invitation from Nigeria with a photocopy of the inviter's passport. But no, they now need both of the above and a letter from my employer confirming that I am doing the job notified on the visa application form. What do they want that for? I protest - "I am just going on holiday". I even shout, joining the emerging chorus of voices that are arguing with the 'General' at the incredulity of the situation.

But in this erratic argument there is no doubt of the absolute power held by the General. I have no argument. I simply need to do what they say.

"Come back on Tuesday morning, you will not have to queue, and hand in all your papers" says the General as he retreats into his interview den. As I walk away from the second booth the women behind what looks like bullet-proof glass remarks, "the Nigerian visa process is the easiest around". There was simply no need for that.

So I returned on Tuesday 30 August 2005 to find a ferocious woman conducting affairs. As promised, I was seen immediately and my papers received. However, in the rush to get all the papers done the letter of invitation from Nigeria was not signed. Whilst muttering "my boss does not accept papers that are not signed", she took my papers and asked for a signed copy to be faxed straight to the embassy.

Of course, however, the Embassy's fax machine didn't work. When I rang up to find out about the fax machine I was simply told "I am too far away from the fax machine to check it, please try again". In Gabriel Garcia Marquez's wonderful book, The Autumn of the Patriarch - about a dictatorship in an unspecified Caribbean country - he writes about the farcical nature of absolute power. I was descending into that farcical situation.

But finally, at 4pm on the Tuesday, the fax got through. On Thursday I went to collect my Passport and Visa from the embassy.

I was nervous. Getting it is in the lap of the Gods, or at least the power of the omnipotent embassy officials...


...I got it - and it wasn't that painful. Relief washes over me - I am going to have my adventure in Nigeria.