My travelling photos

See some of my pictures on my new flikr site. Enjoy.

My travelling photos

Post-Travel Notes

Two things:

1. Go to Nigeria. Dig out your Nigerian contacts, buy your flights, give me a call and go and meet some people who will enlighten and inspire you.

2. Take me with you...

Lagos and the Third Mainland Bridge

Imagine New York. In your mind's eye, you might see that classic shot of New York as many immigrants would have seen it – from a boat passing by the Statue of Liberty and seeing a wide and high city. It is enthralling. This great metropolis – what are the people doing in the 40th floor of that building? what are the people doing at the ground level of that building? It is awe-inspiring with its vast, densely packed, tall, modern buildings resting on this large mound of earth called the Manhattan Island.

Entering Lagos from the Third Mainland Bridge conjures up a similar set of emotions. The Third Mainland Bridge is the longest bridge in West Africa. It snakes from the mainland, over lagoons and provides a welcome to this city of 16-17 million people (considered to be the second largest city in the world!) that blows you away.

As you enter the bridge from the mainland, you pass by vast fishing villages, which exploit the rich lagoon that resides in the shadow in the bridge. Many of the fishing homes are built on wooden stilts rising above the water level. The fishermen are dotted in boats across the lagoon that emerge from the Bight of Benin and use every smallholder technique available to them from wide trawler nets to fishing rods! The fishing villages merge into the various residential areas on the mainland that go into the horizon.

Continue on this bridge and no longer is your attention captured by what's going on the mainland, but the great city-island that is Lagos proper.

In front of you, for a very long time (15 minutes travelling at 80km/hour), is a huge (perhaps three times the size of Manhattan) business and residential megalopolis. At the centre of the island, glass and concrete skyscrapers grace the business district. The buildings decrease in height as you move to the edges. To the right are the stall-based markets, which my guide book describes as the possible the most densely populated place in the world! To the left of the dominating business district are the plush, more spacious, residencies of Lekki.

You view this dense city expanse for such a long time that it is indelibly written into your conscious. Who works in that building? Why are they still working at midnight on a Saturday? Who is selling what at the ground level? When was that built? How tall is that building? What are those cranes going to build?

As you get closer to the island, huge working class residential areas skirt up close to the edge of the bridge. The estates, like the Dolphin estate, are massive expanses of shoddy 1970's concrete identikit flats. Tall gleaming skyscrapers seem to lean over these estates making a mockery of the shoddy living conditions of most Nigerians. Huge cranes swing in the humid air, somehow promising a first world future (as many of the State’s advert hoardings predict).

At the end of the bridge you are immersed in anarchic traffic and street hawkers that exploit the motionless, steaming cars – selling everything from board games to toothbrushes, from sausage rolls to fresh groceries through the windows of cars to impatient drivers and passengers.

Lagos is an intense city, and draws such exciting emotions when approaching it from the Third Mainland Bridge. There is no other way to get excited about Nigeria than cruising into Lagos over this bridge.

Nigeria's cultural history

Nigeria has a fascinatingly rich, old and intricate cultural history. However, like many cultures across Africa, Nigeria's contribution to the development of human civilization, philosophy and culture is not widely known, and certainly not part of my knowledge. This is why the museums of Nigeria were fascinating, even though they hardly compare to the fabulous British Museum, with its many stolen goods.

When travelling, however, I am not normally one for museums, preferring to see history in the buildings and sites that are still standing. But this is Nigeria.

First, many of its centres of civilization were destroyed by former colonial rulers, for example the British burning and looting of Benin City in the late 1800's, or the expanse of slavery (some 40% of all slaves were captured, bought and exported from the Nigeria), which broke the back of societies across West Africa. Second, Nigerians have not spent much of their meagre public resources on preserving their historical and cultural landscape.

The museums detail, in often under-funded, poorly lit and poorly presented environments, a fascinating history that I knew little or nothing about. In this post, I detail the highlights of what I learnt and use the internet to create a trail for those interested to find out more.

The Yoruba People

The Yoruba people, one of the big-three ethnic groups of Nigeria, have a language that is incredibly complex. It is peppered with proverbs ("proverbs are the palm oil with which words are eaten") and its everyday speech is littered with irony. The man who told about the wonders of traditional Yoruba was a self-confessed metropolitan Yoruba speaker. He spoke a “pidgin” Yoruba corrupted by its Latinisation and the modern state and business institutions that has traded in mysticism and subtleness for clarity and “outcomes”.

The Yoruba religion reveres the earth, the body and ancestors culminating in a dizzying array of Gods. There is a God, and a range of correlating ceremonies, rituals and music, for all important aspects of the human body (hands, head, blood etc.) and for the main elements of the planet (water, life, earth, fire etc.). Elaborate masquerades are still performed, even with the dominance of monotheistic Christianity, as part of a preservation of traditional practices and, it seems, for people to have a good laugh!

The impact of Yoruba culture internationally is immense and can been seen most obviously in the impact of Yoruba music. Yoruba music shares similarities with other West African musical heritages and is the precursor to modern Cuban and Latin-American music. The Yoruba people are also an internationally successful people - Nigerian immigrants to the UK and the USA are an economically and educationally successful group, as recently noted by research undertaken by the British think tank IPPR.

Traditional and modern Yoruba art is also internationally celebrated and was spurred on by a group of European artists inspired by Yoruba art and nurtured, through the creation of a school in Oshogbo, some internationally successful artists.

Yoruba is also one of the Nigerian ethnic groups with elaborate clothes and headdresses, which are not a rare sight in Hackney.

The Nok civilisation

The Museum of Jos houses information about the oldest recorded civilisation in Nigeria: the Nok civilisation. The Noks lived in Jos region around 2,500 years ago. Evidence of the civilisation in Nigeria is fairly limited, but there are detailed terracotta sculptures displayed in the Jos Museum.

I didn't learn that much about the Nok civilisation, partly because the guide and museum were a bit crap, but also because there remains considerable archaeological work to be done about this civilisation. Little is known about their presumed complex way of life or about their predecessors.

Pre-ancients

The third oldest boat in the world, and the oldest in Africa, is located in Nigeria. Called the Dufuna canoe, it was discovered by Fulani herdsmen in 1987 and there has been a slow and intricate process to extract the canoe with the help of German archaeologists. Like the Nok artefacts, this boat promises to provide, at first, new questions, and later, answers about pre-ancient civilisations in Nigeria.

The Slave Trade

The museum in the small port-city of Calabar is housed in the old British governor's place of residence. Calabar was Britain’s primary site of power in Nigeria during the height of the slave trade and the palm oil trade (the latter became prominent after the British Parliament's abolition of slavery).

The guide of the museum had limited knowledge, and mainly read out to me the text next to the artefacts. However, she made up by, first, being perfectly gorgeous and, second, singing both the old and new Nigerian national anthems to me in this echoey, dusty museum – a delight.

The museum's main focus was the Slave Trade.

The port of Calabar was one of the busiest slave ports during the height of the slave industry. About a third of slaves bought, sold and brutally shipped to the "new world" passed through Calabar.

The Calabar Museum argued that the abolition of all forms of slavery by the British government in 1807 was due to lack of cost effectiveness, due to rising insurance costs as a result of resistance from slaves. The museum did not give much credence to the argument that abolition was down to an enlightened self-realisation of the genocidal nature of the slave industry.

There is, rightly, a large pool of knowledge on the web about the slave trade. However, it is fair to say that it remains in the recesses of the common British conscience and remains largely a focus point for black liberation and black justice movements. I am reminded of words by a great contemporary Nigerian, Ben Okri:

“If nations and peoples tell themselves stories that face their own truths they will free their histories for future flowerings.”

The Efik people

At the same Calabar museum, there was an interesting ethnography of the Efik ethnic group, who are local to the Cross River State of Nigeria. The museum focused on the Efik's role in the slave trade.

The Efik's become major middlemen in the slave trade, exchanging slaves for a range of Western goods. These goods included, predictably, guns and ammunition to expand and protect their control over the inland slave market, but less predictably, a range of Western artistic accessories and most notably the English bowler hat, which now part of the Efik national costume!

The Kingdom of Benin

Perhaps one of the most well-known civilisations from Nigeria is Kingdom of Benin. The Kingdom stretched across what is now Southern Nigerian to the states of Togo and Benin. Led by the Edo speaking people they were famous for their expert bronze casting and ivory carving. I saw examples of both at the National Museum in Lagos, however many of the best examples of old Benin art is not held within Nigeria having been stolen by the British as they expanded their control over Southern Nigeria in the late 19th century.

The Hausa-Fulani

Perhaps the most fascinating ethnic group in Nigeria are the Hausa-Fulani, once two ethnic groups, but now-merged as their faith dominates their common identity. The Hausa-Fulani dominate the North of Nigeria.

This group speak the Hausa language, although it was the imperial Fulani that built an extensive empire across West Africa seeking to build a Caliphate in its territories. The Fulani Empire stretched far into land held by the Yoruba in the 18th and 19th centuries, forcing the Yoruba Obas (Kings) to find safety in the caves of the sacred Olumo Rock.

In the area lived by the Hausa-Fulani is West Africa's oldest city, Kano – see an earlier post relating to this city, which is about 1000 years old.

The Hausa-Fulani currently live under Sharia law, which, applicable only to Muslims, sits alongside state and federal law. Prior to getting to Nigeria, I was a bit nervous of the Sharia North – armed only with knowledge of the recent Miss World riots and the last minute reprieve from death by stoning of an adulterous woman. However, the Muslim North of Nigeria, was in my experience the most welcoming and friendly part of Nigeria. Petty crime was virtually non-existent and warm welcoming smiles abound. Also, the Hausa-Fulani that I met casually remarked, whilst sipping "abominations of Satan's handiwork" (alcohol), “Sharia hasn’t changed anything, except it’s just safer round here”.

We in Britain and the West are unlikely to learn, one-to-one, a lot about this group (most Nigerian's in the UK are Yoruba or Ibo) for two reasons. First, the North is poor compared to its oil- and business-rich South – limiting their chances to emigrate. And, second, as a Hausa-Fulani hotelier told me that "we stay in Nigeria struggling to make this country work" – a not so veiled comment to the high emigration rates of the Yoruba and Ibo. This comment was revealing of the continuous and prominent ethnic tensions that place Nigeria’s national unity on tenterhooks.

The Ibo

Whilst I met many Ibo, I never, through a good museum or other historical monuments, learnt about the history of the Ibo people, despite the fact that they are the third largest ethnic group in Nigeria.

The most significant, recent and widely told history (relating primarily to the Ibo, although impacting all Nigerians) is the tragic and costly Nigerian civil war, the Biafran war – turned into such a vivid novel by Ken Saro-Wiwa called Sozaboy.

Over 30 years ago, Ibo (also known as the Igbo) leaders created a separate state, the Baifran state, citing marginalisation and poverty in independent Nigeria, despite residing in oil-rich areas. However, the complex ethnic power-games that were being played in these early post-independence years had more impact on the decision on the creation of this independent state, which gained little, if any, international sympathy.

Upon secession the Nigerian government declared war and in 1970, after three brutal years, which saw about 1 million Ibo killed and many more displaced, Nigeria was reunited.

The Ibo remain, 30 years on, at darker edges of the memory of the Yoruba and Hausa-Fulani, being described by one Yoruba, who lived in Kano (Hausa-Fulani territory), as "the people who give Nigeria a bad name". Some Ibo also continue to make, largely unheard, claims of war crimes against the Nigerian government.

On a brighter note, the traditional Ibo history is vast and rich and has been successfully exported around the world, primarily through music and literature. The Ibo, like the Yoruba, widely successful internationally in science, politics, art and culture. One of the most famous Ibo is Chinua Achebe.

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In this post I have managed to detail some of Nigeria’s complex history, but considering that I have touched on only about 6 of the 300-plus ethnic groups of Nigeria, there is much to explore. And Nigeria is likely to enthral the historian further with both its vibrant contemporary politics and its mysterious pre-ancient history as indicated by the Dufuna Canoe and Nok civilisation.

Transport in Nigeria

A specific section on transport in Nigeria is worth a mention. They are one of the most exhilarating aspects of Nigeria and the main cause of concern for visitors (much more than crime).

Travelling by road

The road network between the major cities and within the centre of the main cities is pretty good, but if you go even slightly off a main route and it is pot-hole heaven. Pot holes are so cavernous that after the rains birds come to sip from the newly formed fresh pools in the road.

The vehicles on the road are worth a special mention. There are some spectacularly well-built 1990’s and 1980’s cars on the road of Nigeria, probably topping 3-400,000 miles. Old Mercedes Benzes, quality Hondas and Toyotas, aging and bashed-up Peugeots support the adage “they don’t make ‘em like they used to”.

These gloriously noisy (as much from the shaky interior parts as the engines) are kept alive by ingenious engineers, building parts with their backroom lathes, whose mobile number you see graffitied on the walls near parking spots in the big cities.

Okada or Achabas

These are the notorious motorcycle taxis, the Jincheng mentioned in a previous post that can take a whole family from A to B. Warned against taking these, I was corralled into it by the guys from the “Disability and You” tour. Two of us would squeeze on to these flimsy looking Chinese mass-produced motorcycles and swerve dramatically through the “go-slow” (Nigerian slang for traffic).

Initially these were nerve-racking, with trucks steaming past inches away from your jutting knee, but after a while I got used to these – not necessarily the best thing for my welfare.

At times it was great fun taking these motorbikes. A particular time, after a few of beers and during half-time of Tottenham vs Fulham, I went on an okada-suya-run – suya is the barbequed meat so tasty with beer. Driving these bikes at night is particularly dangerous, but when a little confident with alcohol, the wind-in-hair-feeling and convenience of it all is a delight.

Taxi (share and drop)

Intercity transport is made up of decrepit minivans and share-taxis. The latter costs more, but are quicker, safer (relatively) and you don't have to wait as long for them to go. All intercity transport, unless you hire the car yourself (known as a drop taxi), are go-when-ready - i.e. when the car or bus is full. This can be an excruciatingly long process. However, the motor parks, where you get these intercity vehicles, are very well organised and safe motor parks, if filthy.

They are so safe and organised, that I would leave my luggage in the back of the fully open car, give my name and mobile number to the motor park official and go off for a wander. If the car becomes full while I was wandering around, the attendant would give me a call saying the car is ready. Very civilised.

Flying

This seemed to be the only reliable mode of transport. Although, having spoken to friends it seems that I was lucky not to have a Nigerian minister hijack the plane for his purposes and delay the flight for days!

Flying is easy, quick and quite cheap. Getting a plane simply requires going to the airport an hour before the flight (knowing what time is the flight, is a complex thing, as there doesn't seem to be a public timetable of the flights), buy your ticket and walk on to the plane.

Just before you climb the stairs into the small plane, an attendant takes your large luggage to store in the carrier. It is very easy, and I was never delayed by more than 30 minutes.

Natural beauty in Nigeria

Nigeria is an incredibly fertile land, blessed with rich natural parks and breathtaking landscapes. However, Nigeria has not invested in its natural beauty and has over-poached most of its wild animals, for ivory and traditional medicine (juju).

Driving around Nigeria, I was able to see a gloriously beautiful country with steep, jutting hills, rainforest vegetation, endless small-holdings used for yam building a haphazard jigsaw of arable land, dense mango and palm trees and complex, bizarre rock formations.

However, as places to visit and spend quality, relaxed time, compared to the famous tourist destinations in Africa, such as Kenya and South Africa, Nigeria is limited. But as I said, this is to do with the lack of infrastructure at most of their national parks and lack of protection of their tender environment in the face of a huge and expanding human population.

Despite this, I was fortunate to visit a number of beautiful spots in Nigeria. I have already mentioned Gurara Falls in an earlier post; additionally, I visited Yankari National Park and the Kwa Falls near Calabar.

Yankari National Park

After leaving the Disability and You tour group, I head to the Yankari National Park. My guide book indicated that this National Park was the only one of Nigeria’s eight national parks (totalling about 3% of Nigeria’s land) with suitable accommodation and a wildlife viewing truck. It is also home to one of the true highlights of natural Nigeria, Wikki Warm Springs.

Yankari national park is situated in Bauchi State (who’s state motto is “Pearl of Tourism”), about 100km from the capital of the same name. The journey to the Park was a nightmare, read about it in the previous post, so I arrived at Yankari in a less than relaxed state.

Soon after arriving, I went straight for the Wikki Warm Spring with shorts and towel in hand. As I got near to the Spring, which is only a five minute walk from the hotel complex NEPA, in typical fashion, punished me - the power went off. A guy from the local village about 5km away had to come to the hotel to switch on the generator (commonly known as "gens" and mandatory in even the most basic of hotels). So I was standing in the pitch black, listening to baboons in the distance, and grasshoppers and locusts rubbing their legs, sweating profusely in the still air and getting bitten by any flying creature that caught my scent.

When the power returned, I followed a hotel employee down some steep, unsteady, concrete steps to an oasis of calm. The first thing you see is a huge vertical, flat, tan-coloured rock. "The water comes from underneath the rock", the hotel guide gestured, "and flows into this natural swimming pool and empties into the stream further down".

The water is calm, you cannot hear a sound, despite the fact that 4.5 million litres of water a day empties into the pool. Opposite the concrete shelf from which you enter the spring pool, is the untamed world, the jungle, with its trees and bushes creeping over the pool and the distant, but endless, noise of the animal world filling the air. Add the strip lights dotted around concrete shelf, which create unexpectedly spooky, reflections on the surface of the water and the sandy bottom, and the beauty of the spot is surpassed by its eeriness.

My guide returns to the hotel and I am left alone by the side of the pool, a baboon grunts in the background as I get changed and then gradually enter the warm pool.

The pool is kept at 31 degrees Celsius, which is not as hot as you think, but just perfect. Alone, I face my initial fears of this eerie expanse, by swimming all around the pool, even up to the overbearing vertical rock from where the water emerges. There is no life in this pool, no plant life, no fish, just me. Alone and feeling safe, I floated on my back swimming against the gentle stream and gazed into the millions of stars in the unpolluted sky.

Other people arrived, some Hausa men came to enjoy the atmosphere, some young students jumped in and a young girl sat on the side, paddling her feet in the warm water. I stayed alone, floating on my back in the deep end, feeling the physical and mental tension, which had built up from the intense travelling I had done up to this point, release out of me.

Suddenly, the girl who was paddling her feet jumped in loudly, flapped about and made what sounded like distressing sounds. I looked over her way and saw, through my steamed up glasses, that no-one else was in the pool. I listened closely, blocking the jungle sounds out of my head, and swam slowly towards the girl. I called out, the girl latched on to my English and translated her calls from Hausa and gurgled, "Help! Please help!"

So, without fuss, I saved the girl. Panic-stricken she could only utter: "thanks" and "I'm OK now, I'm OK", whilst gesturing me away, wanting to be alone during her vulnerable moment.

I swam for another 20 minutes and on leaving impressed on the girl to leave to, which she does, but only 20 steps behind me. As I get back to the hotel, the story of the incident is ahead of me. I clarified the situation; the duty manager thanked me and raced down to get the girl - one of his colleagues. Students from nearby University of Jos, who saw the life-saving incident, joined me for dinner. They told me why they didn't jump in and save the girl.

"The same thing happened to a friend of ours in Jos" one started.
"A girl was seemingly drowning and our friend jumped in to save her", another continued.
"But it was late and there were no lights."
"And after 10 minutes, we see our friend floating face down in the river! Drowned!"
"So, this evening, we froze not knowing what to do."

Later, I moved to the bar, and the story had made it there. I got a complimentary beer and some shots of Calypso (a Nigerian coconut cream liqueur). But, exhausted, I crash.

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The next morning (25th) was an early start. I made a visit to the Spring Pool, before the early morning game viewing tour at 7.30am. At 6am, the pool is bathed in the early morning light. The water is a perfect, light turquoise. Again it is empty, but this time, with my contacts lenses in and swimming goggles on, I find that there is some life in the pool. By the huge rock, the source of the spring water, are lone fish nibbling on plant growth. Across the pool insects dance on the surface of the water and fallen tree creatures, including one huge millipede, sink and walk around, before drowning and becoming food for the organisms in the sand.

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I persuaded my driver to join me for the game viewing. We were joined by the Jos students and about 10 others, most in their late teens, early twenties. The tour was a joy, less for the wildlife (although we did see a herd of waterbuck - at which point the guide told us about the polygamous ways of the male waterbuck, one male for fifteen females - and a herd of elephants, with, spectacularly, two large males fighting the in road ahead of us), but for the company of the young Nigerians. There approach to the game viewing was not very conventional. Less sincere, eco-friendly, isn't the natural world wonderful, and more of a this is like an amusement park, shouting, laughing, screaming approach. Also, they, in a very Nigerian way, threw their rubbish into the bush and even jumped off the truck to ease themselves!

A down side to the 2-hour trip were the vicious tsetse flies, which administer a nasty needle-like bite. By the end of the two hour trip, we had all slapped on a bit of my DEET and were waving branches around to keep our pick-up truck free of the flies.

Yankari was not a phenomenal experience and is compromised by the difficult journey into the central point (take a 4x4 to get there) and the poor quality of the accommodation. The Wikki Warm Springs were a delight and would have probably counted for my most relaxing time in Nigeria, if someone didn't require saving.

Kwa Falls

Situated about an hours drive north of Calabar, a small city with a sordid slave history, but a friendly atmosphere, is Kwa Falls. The pleasant drive to Kwa Falls takes you through small villages, with waving kids, and men and women looking for lifts between the local trading towns and cities on this route from Calabar up the North West of Nigeria.

The car (a share taxi) dropped me off about 3km from the Falls, from which point the road is a dirt track. I jumped on an okada (motorcycle taxi) to the Falls and arranged for the driver to pick me up two hours later.

The okada dropped me at the top of the Falls. The steep, rapid, white foaming falls are situated at the edge of Nigeria's dense rainforest, which is considered to be as dense as that in Brazil. Either side of the Falls are tall trees competing for sunlight. All forest sounds are drowned by the thundering sound of the Falls.

There are about 150 old concrete steps, that are being torn apart by the gradual, but relentless, force of nature, down to the river below the Falls. The steps are somewhat of an assault course. The difficulty in negotiating the broken steps and the rickety, rusty hand rail is compounded by the numerous biting flies and ants in this rainforest terrain. Getting to the bottom is initially a bit disappointing. The rainy season has raised the level of the water to the penultimate step and there is no decent space to sit and enjoy the view.

The river around the stairs is remarkably calm. The river is about 50 metres wide and is steaming downhill from the momentum of the Falls. But 10 metres around the steps is a lagoon-like space, where the water is sheltered by a jutting bank upstream, formed by a huge overhanging tree bathing in fabulous sunlight.

So, with biting insects frustrating me and two hours to kill, I get into my swimming shorts and jump in this river. The water is cool and immediately the insect bites are soothed. A gentle current is pushing me, safely, back into the bank. I construct a rope from a branch from a parasitic climbing tree and venture out into the river. However, this attempt to venture out to the edge of the sheltered area is frightening, due the force of the river, and, instead, I just paddle around the area near to the bank and sit comfortably neck deep on some submerged rocks.

The spot is awe-inspiring. Whilst you cannot see the Falls from this spot, due to the jutting-out bank that creates the lagoon effect, the river roars past like a rapid. You can just see the top of another waterfall downstream and the white mist rising from it. Dense foliage is all around, with trees jutting high into the sky, with their precious energy-transforming leaves sitting only at the top of the long tree trunks. Birds occasionally swoop down and sit on a nearby rock or low-lying branch to take a sip of water. Dragonflies dance around looking to eat the smaller insects walking on water.

There seemed to be no river life in my part of the river. Although sand and fine plant and tree debris was being thrown towards me in huge quantities making the visibility in the river nil. As such, the river, through swimming goggles, was a dark mass and my mind occasionally wandered to think about the possibility of nasty creatures, such as crocodiles, salivating nearby. I cleared these thoughts from my mind and enjoyed the time I was there and before I knew it an hour and a half had passed.

The walk back up the 150 steps was gruelling; I had exhausted myself in the river - mainly from the energy spent keeping warm in the cool river. At the top I found my okada driver waiting at the top enjoying the view of the Falls. We paused together, me gasping, to catch a final glace at the beauty of Kwa Falls.

The nightmare journey

Nigeria is not the easiest place to get around by public transport and I had a couple of forgettable journeys. However, these were largely due to the discomfort of the journey rather than due to serious bad luck. However, this post is about my worst journey, which was from Jos to Yankari National Park (see next post for more information about the park) and back to Abuja over two days (24th and 25th).

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Yankari National Park is not an easy place to get to, but for the traveller with time it is possible to get public transport and hitch a lift to the park. I, however, had given myself about 24 hours to make a round trip from Jos to the park (about 230km) and back to Abuja (about 550km) and spend a relaxing afternoon, evening and morning in Yankari. So I hired a driver with the help of a friend in Jos enabling me to get a competitive rate.

(Nigeria’s drivers are particularly hard to bargain with. They continually cite the recent dramatic increases in petrol – due to reduction in government subsidies, as well as international price rises – as the cause for high transport prices. As an aside, the petrol rises have also led to a new and fascinating dimension in Nigerian politics. It has galvanised a number of million-man protests. These have been significant, first because of their peaceful nature and, secondly, it has seen the rise of the recently returned Wole Soyinka acting as a noble, charismatic figurehead of this movement, which is fighting for democratic accountability, as well as reduction of petrol prices.)

The journey, however, was a disaster, which all but ruined my aim to have a day of relaxation in the midst of Mother Nature at her best. The main road from Jos to Bauchi is good; the 130kms took about an hour. Then you make a turning 10km after Bauchi at a rusty sign for the park. Suddenly the road becomes sandy and pot-holed. The road best resembles rally-driving course. However, my driver, owner to a second-hand Opel, is not a rally driver and for a Nigerian is unusually protective of his car. So for about 100km we drove, zigzagging around the pot-holes at an average of about 30km/hr; about 3 1/2 hours of jaw-jangling frustration.

My afternoon was, therefore, not spent in a warm spring pool, but in a bad car, listening to crappy 80's music, watching 4x4's race past and getting a glimpse of pigeons and guinea foul as the best wildlife around.

When we arrived at the Yankari village, I checked in and planned to exploit the last hour of light by exploring the area and finding the Spring Pool. However, my driver pulled out a wild card - he claimed that I had to pay extra for his lodging and food for the evening. My counterclaim was that we had negotiated this in the original price. A stalemate developed and we found ourselves in the midst of a tense argument in the middle of the insect-hissing wilderness. If it wasn't for the expert mediation techniques of an employee of the Park, we could have been like this all night, or I could have been stuck in the park without a car and driver! I paid the guy an extra N1,000 (£4 - sounds measly I know, but I was in Nigerian money-mode by this stage of the holiday) , he took it begrudgingly and I meandered down to the Spring Pool in the national park.

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The next morning, after a game viewing, and another short swim at the Wikki Warm Springs, my driver and I headed back to Bauchi, where I would get a share-taxi to Abuja. I was aiming to get to Abuja for 4.00pm to get the 5.30pm flight to Calabar and start the penultimate leg of my journey.

The road from the National Park to the main road seemed to have got worse. There was heavy rain the previous evening and many birds sipped gently from the pot/watering-holes. However, I had mentally prepared for the journey.

Then, the car broke down, which I was not prepared for.

Initially, it seemed that we had run out of petrol in the middle of the national park, miles from either the main road or the hotel site and village. After a couple of starts and stops, however, we realised that it wasn't lack of petrol but something was wrong with the car's exhaust. The shaking and knocking caused by the pot-holes had loosened some connections. Having solved the problem with a few hits of the exhaust, we had to drive even slower, so we progressed at about 15km/hr.

I was getting significantly behind schedule, but at least we were moving and not stuck in the bush, in the baking heat, waiting for a miracle to save us. We made it to the main road without another hitch. The main road to Bauchi was pot-hole free and so we picked up the pace.

Shockingly, however, about 20km from Bauchi, the car cut out again. The driver pulled out his tools (a hammer, a screw driver and pliers), lay on his back and crawled under the car. After five minutes, he depressingly said that there is nothing he can do. "It's finished".

We agreed to leave the car, hitch a lift back to Bauchi, where I would continue with my journey and he would get a mechanic to fix his car. We were also with a mother and son who hitched a lift with us from the Yankari National Park village; the son wanted to get to his afternoon school and the mother to do some shopping in the market - both were losing hope that we would get to Bauchi before the school closes.

Within minutes of looking to hitch a lift, a car stopped. It had one space - the front seat. However, with only three in the back, this actually meant it had three spaces. The son and I shared the front seat and the mother crowded in the back with three other women. I paid my driver the balance, thanked him, and wished him well - despite the argument in the National Park, we parted as friends and continued to text each other over the rest of my trip. He waited by the car, waiting for his own lift back to Bauchi.

I was already running about 2 hours behind schedule, so I decided to stay the night with my friend, Hana, in Abuja, and make my way to Calabar the next day (26th).

Having made this decision, I was not time constrained and a little more relaxed. This was helpful, because the new car that I found myself in did a maximum of 50km/hour, was carrying a huge consignment of bananas in the boot and was about ten times worse looking and sounding than the Opel I had just left behind.

Predictably, the car broke down.

Fortunately, it was only a short inconvenience. We had run out of petrol. After about 20 minutes of shouting at various shop owners from the car, a man was decanting a litre of petrol into the tank.

Finally, I made it to the Bauchi Motor Park. I found myself an appropriate car - a 7-seater 1970's Peugeot - which would go to Abuja when full. Including me, there were only three passengers ready. After an hour, only one additional person had come. It was 3.30pm and we resigned to waiting for the final three passengers for a very long time.

During this wait, I walked around the crowded, muddy motor park. I ate some suya (which I thought was chicken and beef, but ended up being hard fish and kidney, which I donated to a couple of the street children with, like all street children, their multicoloured plastic food bowls) and found a place to have a de-stressing afternoon beer.

The beer did the trick, but I was knocked back out of kilter quickly enough. As I returned to the car, I had to avoid the filthy mud pools that had collected around the motor park, which I did expertly. However, a small bus crept up alongside me and splashed a pool of brown water all over my leg - I don't even want to think what is in these mud pools.

On my return to the car, there were still three empty places. I began to consider paying for all three places to get the car going, but suddenly a family - mother, father and three small kids - arrived to take up the last three places.

We all jumped in. As the family climbed in the back I was handed a small, wide-eyed one year old, who accepted me without a whimper. However, not in the mood for cuteness, and fearing the worst (car + pot-holes = kid-sick), I returned the baby to the parents.

The journey back to Abuja was horrific. Whilst the road was good, half of the journey was done under darkness, and all of it was done under ridiculously heavy rain. These two factors did not perturb our driver, who stormed along.

I managed, whilst it was still light, to get some sleep in the car. When I woke it was dark and it was raining so heavily the wipers could barely keep the rain off the windscreen. And we were travelling at about 100km/hr only 10 metres behind a huge truck, waiting to overtake it. Arrested by the sight, I involuntarily screamed: "Give the truck some space". The guy in the front passenger seat looked round slowly, the driver backed off a bit, but within minutes we were about 10 metres behind another lorry peering out every 20 seconds to check the oncoming traffic, with trucks hooting as they passed us in a thick, blinding spray.

For the next two hours, I had my heart in my mouth. It felt the driver was playing with my life.

We finally arrived safely in Abuja. I was 6 hours behind schedule and arrived at 10pm at Hana's flat. The Flat was a beautiful refuge, where I could shower, wash clothes, eat Hana's beautiful Italian dinner and recover from the nightmare journey.

Visiting a remote village

Whilst this visit happened during the Disability and You tour, and because of the tour members, it deserves its own post.

In the Asaba leg of the journey we were joined by a large bunch of JCIs who were largely students at the local university. The JCI were funding and organising a de-worming programme for young people in remote villages in Delta State. The road show crew were invited to briefly visit one of these projects as they were promoting deworming health techniques and demystifying the deworming tablets.

The village was away from Asaba town and we had to make a 10 minute trek from the nearest road (which was a dirt track). The short walk was through beautiful, lush vegetation, throguh mango trees, papaya trees and yam and plantain plants and other huge trees. Kids were running around and playing in a clean, pretty, spacious, if basic, environment and lived in mud-walled houses. There were little kids everywhere and they were particularly interested in me. As I approached them calmly they ran away screaming, scared of the stranger! So, of course, I chased them around for about 10 minutes in the baking heat.

When we arrived at the village meeting area there were dozens of people (mainly women and very young children) crowded under a thatched shelter. An old, short man holding a stick and a small wooden gong instrument acted like the town-crier. He paced around, keeping the crowd in order and translated the words of the health adviser – not simply into the local language Igbo, but expertly into a rhythmic story-telling language (so I was told by a "metropolitian Igbo" speaker). As an oyibo (the Yoruba and Igbo word literally meaning white person), I was quickly called to sit in the shade and suddenly a tiny little baby, barely able to open its eyes was placed in my lap. With young women cooing around me, and this gorgeous 2 week little baby in my arms, I couldn’t help but be moved.

The Doctor talked about the importance of basic health care and swallowed a deworming pill as encouragement to the children. I asked around for the mother of this little kid, but all I got was a pretty young woman trying to swap mobile phone numbers with me.

The driver came and called us for us to move quickly as we had a long journey ahead of us. The mother collected the baby and we rushed off.

The Disability and You tour

I’ve spent a working week with a group of special needs educators touring around Nigeria, campaigning about the rights, education and inclusion of young disabled people.

I managed to hitch onto this five-day, five city road show through my Lagos host Abi, who is close friends with the director of the Child Developmental Centre (CDC), Dr Akindayomi (“The Doctor” to the team). As the head and eldest member of he 20-plus party, she is passionate about her work, a vicious dictator and matriarch to the tour group, to the family. The siblings are all in there late 20’s, early 30’s, some have lived and worked in the UK and all welcomed me without reservation.

The welcome I got is a pleasant experience and something about the Nigerian warmth was revealed to me. Whilst in UK, we have a tendency to make judgements about people from a distance – from their dress, their accent, their walk; Nigerians tend to develop their judgements about you, close-up, through open and intimate interaction. Only at the end of the trip were their judgements of me made public – I was all Nigerian, except when I was dancing.

The group are a bit like a communal unit, The Doctor is their Lenin, the young group, who come from 4 different organisations collaborating with CDC on this venture, are the workers with little hierarchy, have many fruitless arguments, but ultimately are effective. All but one is a devout Christian.

I laughed and shouted (you don’t cry in Nigeria), worked and played hard, sang and danced with this group and came out of the end with some very good friends.

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Our trip covered 5 cities.

First, Abeokuta, birthplace of some of the greatest Nigerians, home to the sacred Olumo Rock – a high pile of huge smooth rocks, where sacrifices and offerings were once made and was also home to secret hide outs for the Yoruba kings during inter-ethnic wars between the Yoruba and the expansive Muslim Fulani centuries ago.

Second, we went to Ibadan, formerly Nigeria’s second largest city and a population similar to London. It hosts Nigeria premier university originally set up as a satellite to University of London, but now home to about 12,000 students. Ibadan is a central site of Yoruba culture, but has used its newly built museum (the best I visited in Nigera) to contribute to building a unified multicultural Nigeria, by exploring the deep similarities and superficial differences between the three main ethnic groups of Nigeria (Yoruba, Igbo and Hausa).

Third, was the non-descript town of Ilorin. Ilorin is a large multicultural city that sits between the Hausa north and the Yoruba south and is home to competing numbers of Churches and Mosques.

The first three stops were on a straight road north from Lagos and made for fairly manageable travelling – never more than about 4 hours. The journey from Ilorin to Asaba was particularly long, however as it cuts sharp from the central west of the country to South East.

Asaba, although like all the other cities we visited was the capital of its State (in this case the notoriously volatile Delta State – link), it was a small sleepy and charming town with a high student population.

The final stop was Jos, which was now in the North East of the country and required a stop-over mid-way at a Gboko. Jos is a beautiful town situated on a plateau, which enjoys a perfect temperature of 20-25 degrees. It is surrounded by picturesque rock formations where rocks balance precariously on top of each other in high piles, like a modern art sculpture, as a result of millions of years of erosion. Jos was also centre of the 2,500 year old Nok civilisation, famous for their intricate terracotta head sculptures, displayed rather dismally in the local museum.

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The Disability and You tour group had its rituals and set programme for each day.

The day started with an aerobic session at 5.30 in the morning. Those who see me in the morning (I’m thinking of my work colleagues) know that I can barely hold a conversation for the first few hours in the day, let alone stretch my limbs and undertake speed walking at this time, will know how much I disapproved of this. However, I committed myself fully to the group and I begrudgingly joined in.

Next, we would pack up the bus (we had a good quality, recently serviced 30-seater bus that gave us no problems on the huge trip) and head to the venue where the public event would be held. We would meet up with our local collaborators, often a local branch of JCI, decorate the floats (pick-ups and trucks), brief the drum and brass band and the announcer and set of for a procession around town to publicise the morning event.

At its best this procession was a full blown carnival. The huge city of Ibadan was the most exciting as we undertook a 8km walk with a five-vehicle strong procession, a 10 piece horn and drum band and managed to recruit unemployed locals and school-less kids as groupies along the way. The members of the tour group lifted the spirit with their dancing that was like Notting Hill Carnival, but without a hint of marijuana or alcohol.

The procession would return to the event venue, usually a centrally located park and set-up for the formal part of the day.

The event would often be an agonising 3 hour romp of speeches from ministers and various dignitaries hungry for legitimacy and status that this event brought them. As our planning improved some of the innovative staff would intersperse the endless speeches rarely made with any charisma with interactive sessions related to sign-language, use of language, and include some singing too, usually about love and God.

At the end of the event, we packed up, got back into the bus moved on. On the bus, we would have a feedback session where people would usually thank God for getting us so far, remark on the success of the event and provide some helpful feedback. Most of the really interesting ideas were long-term issues (for next year’s bigger and better tour), like connecting with local unions and women’s groups, building a more hierarchical approach to planning and management, planning each event well in advance, making the procession more than just about publicising the late morning conference and into an interactive session.

After the feedback, The Doctor would give each person a chocolate from Cadbury’s Roses as a rather reward. This was surprisingly well received by the group, but emphasised the slightly weird mother-child relationship between The Doctor and the group.

Then the Doctor would appoint one or two people to say Christian prayers (this also happened at the beginning of the day after aerobics). Least helpful, I felt, was the plea for the Holy Ghost to drive the bus safely to the next destination. I really just want a good human driver that is well-fed, well-rested and knows where he’s going. Unfortunately, whilst the driver was good, he was not well-fed or well-rested and never knew where he was going, but somehow we still (often very late) managed to get to our destination.

Our time on the bus represented a large part of our waking hours and was filled conversation, singing (gospel and pop), and quiet contemplation. With one member of the group, the only Muslim, nicknamed Jatto (meaning “fine”, as in “he’s fine”, said by an admiring woman), I had a fascinating discussion about Nigerian politics. Most Nigerians are very good at providing a narrative to the problems of Nigeria (usually concluding that Nigeria has been punished with poor leaders), few seek to suggest effective alternatives on the big project of Nigeria or on any more detailed policy area.

Jatto is no different. But what makes him different is that he wants to do something active about the situation in Nigeria.

He is an aspiring political actor, looking to build a network of interested people in Nigeria aiming towards replacing the current illegitimate crop of leaders with a new breed committed not to lining their own pockets but to the welfare of Nigerians. We talked about the legacy of poor leadership. I put forward my thesis that the dominance of “development politics” as sole political and economic thinking in Nigeria has eliminated ideological loyalties, making a free-for-all for all unscrupulous ambitious people with nothing to tie them on and judge them by. Jatto agreed, not putting forward his own ideological stance, but arguing that this is largely the result of neo-colonialist influence over Nigeria. International-NGO and World Bank policies, conditions on IMF loans and WTO trade rules have limited the sovereignty of Nigeria and made political competition to little more than a contest between “who can best implement externally constructed policies”.

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This trip gave me an opportunity to see Nigeria from a Nigerian perspective.

On one day, on struggling to get accommodation we found ourselves staying in the grimy residence of the security guards of the President’s residence! Whilst I deplored the relative wealth of expats in a previous post, the extravagance of the President and the State Governors are much worse. In each of the 36 states is an immense President’s residence, which he may use once every two years and must cost millions of Naira per month to tend to, all at the tax payers’ expense. And this is just a fraction of the absurd residencies the President and each of the State Governors have, which include houses at the national parks and leisure destinations. I would put money on the cost of looking after these residencies being higher than the country’s education budget and health budget put together.

Whilst I escaped a couple of times from the conference to visit the local sights of interest, most of my time was spent working and living with the group; eating (on one day all I ate was half an orange, a drumstick and a couple of slices of bread), sleeping (up to 3 in a bed) and drinking with my friends.

(Saturday 1 October)

I became so close to the group, and had earned their respect, that I was asked to give a presentation at the national conference at the Sheraton Hotel, Lagos. Asked to highlight similarities and differences between the UK and Nigeria, on my last day in Nigeria, I spoke to Nigerian government officials, teachers, students, parents and national TV about disability legislation and education in the UK.

A truly unexpected way to round off quite an unusual holiday.

Living the expat lifestyle

I arrived in Abuja at 4pm, on Thursday 15th September and was to meet a good friend (Hana) from the first year of my Masters degree, who now works for UNICEF in the capital of Nigeria. Our meeting point was the Rockview Hotel a brand new sleek, monstrosity of a hotel with atrocious wealth seeping from every marble slab.

As I waited (I had come from Zaria and was about an hour early) in the lobby, politicians and their civil servants came and went talking loudly about their up-coming meeting as if wanting the others in the lobby to hear. Yoruba and Hausa business men and women loitered in big groups around the reception. Glamorous Nigerian women followed hotel staff carrying their European designer bags. This opulence in a land of want was to characterise my long weekend in Abuja, my expat weekend in Abuja.

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I have a problem with expats, particularly those in Africa. My vision of expats, is that they are white, live in gated isolation, have a pathological fear of the locals and have every need, from clothes washing to door opening, provided by poor, black Africans who’s working conditions represent anything but a dignified one. I see expats as the frontline representatives of the aggressive, neo-colonial globalisation, which is currently eyeing Africa – much as at the “Scramble for Africa” Berlin conference did in 1884 – for the use of its vast resources for the development of anyone but the African poor majority.

Whenever I meet expats, however, they have a tendency to smash my prejudices.

They are the most interesting people you are likely to meet. Lively and extravagant, they are also welcoming and treat people with respect. They come from all political persuasions and from a huge range of nationalities. They are aware of the rash perceptions that people (like me) make of them and manoeuvre accordingly, being humble (as much as possible with that kind of wealth), reflective and thoughtful.

All-in-all I like them, despite the fact that my conception of expats in Africa remains valid, if needing to be qualified.

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Opposite the Rockview Hotel resides Hana. She lives in a glorious 4-bedroom, 3rd floor flat with one other (Sarah, who also works with UNICEF). The flat has breathtaking views over Abuja.

Abuja has been the federal capital since 1991 and everything has been built since 1976, when plans for Abuja were approved. Abuja lies in the geographical centre of Nigeria and was also chosen because of its ethnic neutrality – a site, unlike the previous capital, Lagos, which was dominated by one of the big three ethnic groups. Its youth endows Abuja with modern buildings, wide clean roads and spacious parks.

From Hana’s flat you can see Aso Rock under which the Federal buildings sit – all short distances from each other replicating the model of Washington DC – and the other symbol of Abuja’s power, the NICON Hilton Hotel. The NICON is owned by the Nigerian government and run by Hilton International. It is West Africa’s largest hotel and the busiest hotel in the whole of Africa.

I stayed for the weekend in this wonderful flat and this rich city (where the poor live in the outer-suburbs and come in only to work).

Over this weekend, I enjoyed the mainstays of being an expat during my short stay: privileged access to places; parties; and comfortable day trips.

Privileged Access

On the first full day there I toured Abuja’s sparse tourist sights with Lucas (a Dutch ex-diplomatic officer, Sarah’s partner and also temporarily crashing at The Flat). The sights include the central mosque – a large golden domed, four-minarette building that dominates the skyline of Abuja as it sit on a heightened spot. The equally massive national Pentecostal church, sitting opposite to the Mosque, will, in the future, also be an interesting sight. Currently, it has hundreds of workers clambering all over it (mainly putting bright copper tiles over the angled roof), rushing to get the building completed for the 2nd October planned service. And we visited the Federal Buildings, also known as the Three Arms zone – the House of Representatives, Supreme Court and President’s Complex (commonly known simply as the villa) each an arm of Federal Administration.

On visiting the House of Representatives we were able to blag our way in (the second coup of the holiday after the Emir’s palace in Kano). As we approached the building, there were politicians, civil servants and clerks coming in and out, using the large, shaded veranda as an important place to do business, to cement new relationships and conspire against old ones. We were quizzed firmly by the female guard about our intention and who we were there to see. Lucas pulled out the trump card, his Diplomatic Passport, and came up with something about seeing an Assembly Clerk.

We were waived in, despite our conspicuous travel outfit – shorts, sandals, scruffy shirt and camera bag over shoulder. Such ease of entry would never happen to an equally dressed Nigerian.

Once we were in, however, there was nothing to do and a fairly bland interior, so we just walked around pretending to looking important and hoping to accidentally stumble upon something interesting – it never happened and the best thing we found was a scrappy photo exhibition where Lucas could point out some of the big shots in Nigerian politics.

Parties

Hana was invited to four parties over Friday and Saturday. We went to all of them.

A couple of parties were with a largely VSO crowd – these young people, committed to the best ideals of international cooperation and development, are not what I call expats. There parties were still very expat-like.

One, a leaving party for a volunteer from America, was in a bar given the Disney-esque name “Leisure Castle”. A fantastic spread was put on, but the music was horrendously loud. The other one was at an Irish construction compound (a bit Auf Wiedersehen Pet, but in Nigeria, not Germany, and instead of Geordies, they’re all Irish) and the highlight was the available pool table.

Whilst VSO’s were very approving and sympathetic to the idea of travelling around Nigeria, often asking for travel tips, the true expats – people paid a lot – were usually baffled and became animated about how Nigeria is the last desirable travel destination. The more animated they became, the more emphatically they would conclude how much they love Nigeria.

I met large group of expats at a party hosted by Sarah and Lucas back at The Flat, which we went to after the music at the Leisure Castle had exhausted us. This was expats at there best: good conversation, diverse and good drinkers.

The most bizarre party, however, was the American Marine party. The party was held in an enormous house, where the ground floor had been converted into a bar devoid of any atmosphere. The difficult entrance for Hana, Megumi (a Japanese embassy officer) and I, set a tone of American paranoia – we had to show some ID, and fortunately Megumi has her embassy card on her.

Upon entrance we had to buy a N500 (about £2) token for use at the bar – fortunately the drinks were cheap at N150 a pop. As we made our way through the whitewashed corridor and into the whitewashed room with a smattering of plastic garden furniture scattered around, there were young drink Americans playing darts, bizarrely, and a more internationally mixed group of expats propping up the bar. The light conversation moved from the dire to the terrible.

Hana and Megumi quickly avoided any strangers and got chatting to their good friend, JC, a Frenchman – a likable, amusing character that had joined us for a picnic earlier in the day.

I was left stranded with a sarcastic Brit (Fred, a relative newcomer to Nigeria, who also was at the picnic and earned my respect early on for the evident no-nonsense respect he had for Nigerians) and a serious American.

Instead of looking baffled at my announcement that I was travelling around Nigeria, the American bellowed, “why don’t you visit America?” I was caught off-guard by this rather odd response. Fred intervened: “shall I give you a list?” The American frowned, “what do you mean?”

“Well, Americans for a start”, Fred said with sarcastic smile.

The joke fell flat and an uncomfortable silence ensued. The American aghast, I intervened and diplomatically said, “I’ve been to America a couple of times before, so…”, walked off and got pointlessly drunk. I spent the rest of the evening surrounded by this mismatch of people, stumbling between conversations. As a memento I bought an 'American Marines in Nigeria' polo shirt!

Day trips

The highlight of the weekend was to two day trips organised by Hana and friends. On Saturday we went to the immense Gurara Falls and on Sunday to the serene Bwari Pottery village.

At Gurara falls, six of us headed to Niger State to visit this wide rapid waterfall off the beaten track. The site of the falls gave us picnic facilitates, which were also being used for an office party (who had brought there own generator and were blasting out some RnB grooves), and some pleasant downstream walks. A rugged little trek, that Fred and I struggled with (Fred hit his head and slipped into the water at one point), rewarded us with fantastic views of the waterfall and the surrounding lush vegetation.

Better, though, was Bwari village. Hana, Megumi, Bruno (Italian) and I went to visit this small pottery production village, originally set up by an Englishman (Michael O’Brien) who learnt his pottery craft in Japan. Whilst the Englishman returns on a regular basis, a Nigerian (Stephen Mhya) is the lead artist (his work is to be exhibited in Belgium and France this year), tour guide, salesman and consummate host.

We enjoyed his hospitality to the full. As prearranged by Megumi, Stephen had set up a log barbeque for us and reserved a beautiful shelter for us to sit under. The shelter, as all the buildings in the small pottery village, was made using traditional Nigerian techniques of mud and straw walls and a type of thatched roof. This technique is much more expensive that the more common buildings made of concrete walls and corrugated iron roofs, but it regulates the temperature beautifully and provided us with an idyllic place to enjoy our wood fired lamb, chicken and roasted vegetables.

Pure bliss!

The Man from Zaria

They say Zaria is a really friendly town. Coming from the warmth and welcome of Kano, I expect much. I am not to be disappointed.

I got a share taxi (a form of public transport) from Kano to Zaria on Wednesday 14 September. I got chatting to the well dressed guy sitting in front of me, Fulshim. He was just passing through Zaria, but, surprised that I had no-one to meet and greet me in Zaira, Fulshim endeavoured to get me a contact there.

After a few minutes of negotiating his two mobile phones he calls out “you’re in luck!”

On arrival in Zaria there is the man, Nasiru, waiting for me I have no idea what to expect from this man whose friend I have just met 15 minutes earlier. But, I get everything.

Jumping into his car, I ask if we can go and check out a couple of hotels. On our way, after a couple of minutes, he asks if I want to stay at his place: “my wife is out of town so I’m a bachelor now!” Never before have I been placed in a bond of trust with a stranger so quickly. I accept his invitation without hesitation.

I have about 20 hours in Zaria, and I want to see as much as possible. Nasiru, a 35 year-old, recently married, aviation technology teacher, recommends we do the sights and then return to his place which is a bit out of town.

I want to visit Hamza’s leather shop, whose products my guide book says would “give Louis Vitton a run for his money” and the red, green and yellow dye pits in the old town. Nasiru, not knowing either of these places, elicits the help of every passer-by as we drive around this dense mud-walled, corrugated iron-ceiling town. We find ourselves navigating narrow avenues, which are dissected by foul smelling, slimy open drains, searching for the dye pits and modern cloth dyers.

Kids are playing everywhere – they shout batauri (Hausa for white person), beaming with a huge smile and hiding behind the leg of an adult, cautious of my response. Older people sit on the plastic chairs and warmly greet me in English and Hausa – I reply with baraka (hello) or yaya dai? (how are you?) to initial amazement and subsequent approving nodding.

I suppose we were walking around what foreigners call a slum. But at that moment, I liked it. I even managed to get a quick kick around with some kids and a friendly goat keen to get involved as a deviation from the pile of refuse he was nosing around.

Nasiru, selflessly gave his afternoon for this mini-adventure, despite the seeming wild goose chases in the dry scorching heat. The tour included a visit to the colourful Emir’s palace. The guards were more relaxed than those in Kano. As an old guard, dressed in his red and green robes, showed me around the multicoloured ancient buildings, he apologised about being unable to meet the Emir, because "the Emir is resting now".

We went to Nasiru’s house, via the Amadu Bello University a huge university whose campus walls run for miles and miles.

The house is a two-bedroom, two-front roomed (one for when both “I and the wife want guests round”) well furnished bungalow. It has, however, the trappings of Nigeria, no running water (you need to use the huge tank sitting in the corner of the cramped bathroom to fill up a bucket for washing, brushing and to fill the cistern tank) and temperamental electricity. Fortunately, Nasiru has a generator, but cannot afford to keep it on all night, so the night is hot and sweaty – made doubly worse by the out-of-place pink fluffy, faux-sheep skin bed and pillow cover I slept on.

Nasiru is apologetic about Nigeria, particularly Nigeria’s poor leaders who are responsible for the lack of basic amenities in his bungalow.

In the evening we ate in a local café. I had jollof rice with beef my best meal so far. The beef is cooked to a tenderness rare in Nigeria, this is because Nigerian’s, Nasiru told me, judge a dish not only by is taste, but also by how hard you have to work at the food – the harder the better. This explains the universal appeal of isiewu, a nothing-removed, smashed-up goats head in a rich vegetable pepper soup.

Later we join up with some friends of Nasiru and visit the Sabon Gari (literally this means foreigners – it is the non-Muslim area) district. The Sabon Gari district is where you can openly drink in this Sharia city.

I spend some time explaining Nasiru's friends that I am just travelling in Nigeria, rather than here for family or business reasons. Once I got the concept through, they lamented that, in Nigeria, it is impossible to save for travelling, let alone for a rainy day. An interesting and revealing discussion ensued, in proper Nigerian style – i.e. at a volume far higher than necessary.

Nasiru and his friends are all 30-something professionals – a university lecturer, a civil servant and an accountant. They earn on average about N35,000 (₤135) per month. A third goes on rent and bills, a third goes on food (which is very expensive here), which leaves around N12,000 (₤46) for petrol (whilst Nigeria is one of the world’s largest exporters of crude oil and a member of OPEC it imports most of its petrol at exorbitant rates), mobile phone bills and any luxuries for their family (Nasiru is paying for his wife’s student fees, one of the friends has a two month old baby).

This conversation over a couple of Stars (locally brewed beer) brought home an article I had read in a national tabloid daily, the Daily Sun about the death of the Nigerian middle-class. In the past two decades the middle classes – professionals who can secure a stable living environment for themselves and, importantly, for their children – have “been wiped out”.

These graduates, one with a Masters degree, exist in a vulnerable state, thinking about what tomorrow brings rather than being able to plan for their family’s, their community’s and their country’s future.

The conversation was emphasised by Nasiru’s story of having to recently go to Bauchi (his home city) for a funeral of an Uncle. The cost of petrol for the round trip was N9,000 (₤25) and this had ruined his finances for the rest of the month. This reality brought him visible embarrassment as I paid for our food and even a small about of petrol for him.

This man from Zaria, wears the scars of Nigeria’s turbulent history on his weary face. Intelligent, friendly, welcoming, resourceful and creative, he is common in Nigeria. But he and the millions like him have been outdone by Nigeria’s politicians and business-leaders who work in cahoots with exploitative multinational corporations for their personal benefit. However, as Nigeria begins to turn a corner (it is six years into its current democratic phase and is registering healthy economic growth) Nasiru is also the hope for a brighter future.

It seems to me that for Nigeria to succeed (Nigeria, due to its immense natural and human resources, could be a global economic force); it needs to ensure that people like Nasiru flourish.

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.

Comfortable weekend in Lagos

It has been a surprisingly civilised weekend in Lagos.

I have spent a lot of time protected by the over-cautious Nigerian sensibility - residing in this "palace" (as Modupe's father called it) and being strongly recommended not go anywhere without an escort. Because, "you know, Lagos is not like London-o... where you can take an A-Z and just walk from one site to another-o".

I am not complaining though and here are the highlights…

Friday 9 Sept evening:

Toju's (a Nigerian friend based in London) fiancé (Victor) took me drinking at a swish bar in Victoria Island (commonly called VI) called La Gaucho. A great band with astonishing stamina was playing - they didn't stop between songs and played non-stop whilst we were there for about two and a half hours! I stayed at Victor's place for the night and in the morning got my first taste of no-NEPA (no electricity from the Nigerian Electric Power Agency). This city is hot without a/c.

Sunday 11 Sept morning:

Went to church.

I am staying, as noted in a previous post with the sister of a friend of mine (Modupe) and the sister’s family. The sister (Abi - a GP) and her husband (Charles - a pastor) run a church here in Lagos and I went to experience the famously intense Nigerian religiosity. However, instead of being an observer I became a participant.

When I arrived, my hope of being able to hide in the back corner was dashed. I was escorted straight to the front row. A couple of times prayers were given to me for coming into the lives of Nigerians and for my travels to be safe.

The congregation was small (for Nigeria) - only about 50 people (I've heard that one million is possible at Church Camps!). There was much singing, clapping and preaching, with the theme being a disciple and a discipler.

Some experience.

At the end there was even an impromptu healing prayer session. After the healing-prayer an elderly lady, dressed fantastically in an all white buba and with a high pink gele, came forward and gave testimony that her joints were no longer stiff. To prove it she crouched down and stood up, twice!

Sunday 11 Sept afternoon:

At the Ikoyi Club '38 (an ex-colonial club founded in 1938), I played tennis with Charles in the humid heat of 35 degrees! Exhilarating and exhausting. To finish we ate Suya – Nigerian’s famous spicy barbequed kebabs.

Tomorrow morning (5.30am) I am off to the north of Nigeria. I'm flying to Kano to start a more intrepid phase of the holiday.