On Africa’s longest bridge… with a faulty clutch

Hot and humid, constantly honking horns, the skyline shrouded in red dust, hords of people - in cars, on okadas, hanging out of taxis, by foot - gesticulating, shouting, trying to sell phonecards, mats, mops and bananas while you are stuck in traffic. Everywhere locals calling out oyibo (meaning white person) and hissing to get attention.

Lagos, baby, Lagos! When I was in Abuja people would ask “So where will you be working?” And the others and me would list our various destinations: Kaduna, Delta, Lagos… The invariable response we got was “Ah, Kaduna, beautiful place, you’ll like Kaduna… and you, you will get used to Lagos”. Needless to say this was not the response I was looking for, especially having read Martin Amis’ reference to Lagos as ‘hell on earth’.

And by some definitions he is right. Lagos is rough. It is the prime example of urban decay as well as of what hugely unevenly distributed wealth can do to a city: skyrises crowding with shantytowns, businessmen in chaffour driven Mercedeses rubbing shoulders with Lagosians living on $1 a day. Well, not really rubbing shoulders, in fact, there is a tendency to lock the car when on the bridge, just so that no street beggars or sellers will get the idea to come too close and personal.

So far most of my time in Lagos has been spent in the office or in a car. I live in Ikeja, a part of mainland Lagos, that is quite hectic and industrialized, not upmarket in the same way as Victoria Island or Ikoyi, the two main destinations for big corporations and expats. My housing is actually behind the office, in the same compound, and this has both its benefits and drawbacks. I don’t have a long commute to work, just walk across the lawn actually, and I don’t have to battle the morning rush hour, but then again I do get visits from misguided office care takers at 6-7am in the morning, shouting “Auntie Panni” at the top of their lungs to pick up the keys to the office (even though I have arranged to only give it to the receptionist) or calls from security telling me some useless detail about the generator situation. Unfortunately I am quite convinced that they would be of no help at all in a real emergency as I already seem to know more about how to put on the generator then they do, even though this is the only real task they have apart from opening the gate when a car arrives.

Some of the conversations with support staff are quite surreal, because I don’t understand what they want and they don’t understand my English. No point saying, yes please, etc. If you want something done, shout out the order or simply say “Oga, I beg, put generator on”. They will still probably do the opposite. There are many examples of the good citizens of Nigeria following their intuition rather than doing as requested: I order a coke in a hotel and the waiter comes with Fanta, saying that since I am a girl an orange drink will be more suitable… I ask them to turn off the generator after 12am at night and the light gets switched off inexplicably at 10.30pm in the evening… we are having car trouble on the motorway and the driver gets clear directions to take the car straight to the garage but he still wants to drive it back to the office instead… actually there is a whole story connected to this last event:

On my second day in Lagos, my very nice new boss, Yemisi, arranged with the office driver to take me to Victoria Island to see a bit more of Lagos. When we started our journey back to Ikeja it was already getting dark, and we had just come onto Africa’s longest bridge connecting VI with the mainland, when the clutch just decided to give up. We were in gear four and there was no way of switching gears or slowing down because then the car would just stop.

To make matters worse, it had started to rain and traffic was crazy, all the cars whizzing by, honking aggressively rather than slowing down. I now understand why Nigerians are such fans of praying and blessings – when nothing is working that is your only lifeline. So I reverted to the local habit, and due to lack of other solutions, also prayed: that the traffic lights would be green and for no turns to come up so we could continue our lethal journey in gear four.

But of course there came a turn, and we had to do it in gear four, and the engine sounded like a dying donkey. The vehicle started to spasm on the road, and I reached over to put on the hazards, a feeble attempt to reduce the risk of someone bumping us in our desperate try to get the speed back up.

And the engine died. Stuck on the bridge, in the dark and rain. Of course I had heard the stories of robberies that always happen on the bridge after dark, because armed robbers can easily seal off the expressway with their vans. So again, I prayed. I have to praise the lord though, because Emanuel, the driver, somehow managed to yank the switchgear to one and with great difficulty got the car to start, coughing and spewing but slowly reaching its destination, the garage (after having had to beg him to just do as Yemisi suggested rather than taking matters into his own hand and continue our pained journey across town).

I realized then that Yemisi must be one hell of a woman because she commanded the mechanic to come to his workshop on a Saturday, after hours, and he actually did. This is probably as close to a miracle as I will get in life. Seeing the garage was a sight to behold in itself: a dusty yard with some sheds with scattered bits of exhaust pipes and tires haphazardly thrown around them. There were some kerosene lamps that unsuccessfully attempted to serve as source of light in the pitch dark and I am not even sure how we got back from the workshop in the pouring rain but we made it in one piece in the end.

Tonight I had to go through another trial – walking back from the internet café after darkness had fallen. I had consulted a female colleague about whether it was a good idea or not, moving around in the evening, and she said that in the immediate neighbourhood this should be fine. I guess even though I am unaware of all the faces looking at me curiously, they have memorized the oyibo in the neighbourhood. There is just no way to make yourself invisible. One day I was walking down Allen Avenue and once it got too hot and hassly decided to turn back, only to hear a street vendor asking “Madame, is there a problem, you come back?”. My little stroll did not go unnoticed it seems. The problem is all the machines come very close because the drivers want to take a good look at the whitie and they find it appropriate to honk and shout whilst they are literally sweeping you off the street. The options are either to be hit by a motor or to jump into live sewage. I persevered though and was rewarded by a much quiteter stretch of street once I passed the first security gate leading into my crescent, good old Aba Johnson. In that moment I saw a beautiful thing – a girl whose contour was lit up by a generator powered street lamp, her gracious posture illuminated. Girls have a certain something here, I think it is the way they have to carry those heavy baskets on their heads. You have to be balanced, straight and aware of your movements to pull it off. Perhaps I should start practicing with my waterfilter or something.

I haven’t talked about work yet. It is early days, but it seems that it will be busy and the expectations and nature of the work have nothing Nigerian about them - totally western standard (only the salary is not). The tempo is very hectic and I have already worked late several nights to finish grant proposals and budget that need to be detailed and precise to get potential donors onboard. CFC basically produces documentaries and short films about development issues and works with freelancers to shoot the productions and civil society groups to ensure that the advocacy work continues beyond the airing of an awareness raising programme. They have done work on HIV-AIDS, female circumcision, demeaning widow practices, debt relief for Africa and women entrepreneurs, just to name a few. The executive director is very passionate about development and has an understanding of the issues and really wants to affect change, not just make a glossy production and move on. It is inspiring and I am looking forward to learning more about the area and contribute to something that is all about positive change!

To conclude I have to brag a bit. I have managed to get CFC back online. Our Internet at the office had been down ever since I started and I tried a few tricks to reset the modem and it worked! I am getting my head around all the IT problems in the office since this is after all a developing country and standards are very different. For example one has to deal with the power going off constantly, which not only can cause power surges that damage the hardware, but makes it impossible to work when systems go down. So it is an intricate solution with inverters, USPs and generators having to interact. And then there is the issue of pirated software – it is more customary than not to have ripoffs of MS Office applications and OSs – and ironically computer equipment is much more expensive here than in the West. I just found out that a wireless card is double the price of what you get it for in the US.

To get this epistle posted online I wandered off to the cyber café just to find out that they had run out of diesel for their generator and therefore could not run the computers. On my way back, I did get a proposal, from one of my neighbours to become his partner. I kindly declined. Still, even if you don’t find Internet you can always find a suitor in friendly Nigeria :)

Me I no be gentleman at a-all, me I be Africa man original!

To the tunes of Fela off we went into the bush, or rather to Akwanga, a small town in Nassarawa state, some 2 hours journey from Abuja. This was to be our placement visit – to get an idea of a VSOs daily life and surroundings.

The trip was preceded by some commotion – the same day as we got our placement visit destinations from VSO, the news appeared on BBC that the bird flue virus had been found in Nigeria and more specifically in Kaduna state.

As fate would have it I was going to go to Kaduna to visit a volunteer who lived in a compound with about 30 chickens. Granted, the head mistress of the school had texted him that they were going to slaughter the chicken, but knowing how seriously Nigerians seem to take the threat of the potential pandemic, somehow this did not reassure me. It has been all over the news that Nigeria is failing to contain the disease: farmers are not getting enough compensation for slaughtering the birds, their livelihood, so instead they rush to sell them on local markets before officials get there. Naturally, those I have talked to within Nigeria have great faith in their officials and say that the virus will be contained because people have a high awareness.

I am not so sure about this. People in general have very little idea about the importance of hygiene in order to prevent disease or stop it from spreading. A not uncommon sight on the markets are traders in dirty clothes resting on their goods, or relieving themselves right in front of their market stall, be it a meat or vegetable stand. People eat their pounded yam with their hands, and greeting is of huge importance so they will often take your hands and hold them, shake them warmly, this way also effectively passing on potential germs and virus.

It is not surprising that such a blaze attitude prevails regarding the bird flue. Life in Nigeria is full of in-your-face, instant risks, and people are just used to it. The threat of an epidemic, that has not taken any human life as of yet, is just simply not scary enough when thousands are dying of AIDS and malaria, and that is a fact. Taking precautions and planning for the future is also not a mindset shared by most Nigerians. How could it be, when most of them do not have a pension or any kind of insurance? This is also why one sees abandoned cars by the roadside - if they stop working, they will just be left there, no point trying to fix them as it will cost more than getting the next road-unworthy vehicle.

But back to our trip… I raised the bird flue issue with a nurse at the British High Commission clinic and she advised everyone who was supposed to visit Kaduna to go somewhere else given that there are no testing facilities in Nigeria and certainly no available stocks of Tamiflu. So this is how I ended up in Akwanga, together with Roseanne and Monique, a Kenyan and a Dutch volunteer. We visited Karin, also Dutch, who works for the College of Education. Her counterparts were very enthusiastic about the work she is doing, conducting teacher training, and one of her colleagues, Mr. Sharia, became our self-appointed guide, taking as all around the college to show us the lecture halls, offices etc.

The building containing administrative offices was very well maintained, air-conditioned and had lots of people around that did not seem to do much apart from being gate keepers to higher ranking admin staff. We got to see the provost, the leader of the college and that was interesting. The staff kneeled down to him when addressing him and his room was huge with his gigantic desk at one end and plush armchairs all the way at the other. He had a golden sign listing all his different titles centrally placed on the table and various women were summoned to get us drinks, as the provost himself would obviously not stand up from his desk to serve us. Sitting right at the other end of the room we felt like we were in front of a judge and we took turns to approach the provost when summoned. Mr. Sharia, who had been jovial and relaxed up to this point, now started in on a long and officious speech about how great the provost was and may he serve the college for a long time.

Next, we got to see the main conference hall, empty, with all the chairs still in plastic and every table with microphones on it. It looked unused (apart from the adjacent bathrooms that were the only decent ones around the college) especially when compared to the basic buildings where the lectures were held, with students crowding outside of the class rooms due to lack of space. On campus there were a few unfinished buildings, but these had already been taken up for lectures as well – at one point one student fell out of a wall-less first floor lecture room and for a while they stopped this practice, but as the memory of the accident faded they’d started occupying the hazardous buildings for classes once again. Karin told us that in many administrative offices there were big TV sets, totally pointless, or even counter-productive in a college, but this was apparently a favoured purchase to spend sparse college funds on. Talk about priorities!

I am quite intrigued by the phenomenon so here is another excrement-related observation – walking from the staff quarters to the college campus one pretty soon hit the shit belt, basically a stretch just by the main road where students frequently relieved themselves. The sight of people pooing just wherever is quite common, in fact in central Abuja, which is rather well organized, I saw three perpetrators during the same taxi ride through town.

We also had the opportunity to visit a demonstration primary school. There were a lot of kids and I was impressed that that the teachers managed to keep such order during assembly… but that got its explanation once I saw the staff breaking off twigs from a nearby tree and enforcing their power through spanking the children who did not conform. I started taking some pictures and pretty soon I was surrounded by a crowd of giggling boys and girls shouting “Auntie, snap me, snap me”. So I obliged and tried to get them all in the picture only to realize that more and more youngsters started pushing in, excited by the prospect of being photographed.

We sat in on a Maths class and observed some interesting teaching methods: The teacher asked “How much is one times one?” And got the answer “Two”. So she repeated the question and asked almost everyone in the class. The children got bolder and bolder and cried “Two” more and more confidently. In the end the teacher gave up and proclaimed “Shame to you” and gave the right answer. I wonder how pedagogic this approach is… I suppose Karin does have her work cut out for her.

I did want to spend some time, talking about all the nice food I bought and cooked, but now three days and an ongoing diarrhea later I am not as poised any more. I was very excited at the time to buy garden eggs in the market, which are like light green aubergines, slightly more bitter… to find basil, called curry leaves over here… and to realize that melon seeds are very similar to pumpkin seeds and if you roast them they make en excellent salad topping. I was also proud and pleased that we managed to cook some delightful dishes without any running or clean water. And it did work well indeed up until my last day in Akwanga, when I had some eggs and started feeling quite ill. Luckily, I only had to endure a 2-hour drive back to Abuja, squeezed into a Peugeot with 11 other people! Because of my stomach I missed out on another school visit, to a more rustic country school than the demonstration school earlier in the day. But the others went… and returned with a huge papaya that was presented to them as a gift from the school. Africans and Nigerians really are hospitable and generous even when they barely have anything to eat themselves. And they are very helpful and concerned. I think in the end everyone at the hotel knew about me being sick and one of the porters even called up to my room to enquire about my health.

I have to admit though, being ill brought my spirits down -I envisioned not being able to eat anything for the next two years and the thought of rice and stew just made my stomach turn. In my darker moments I also fretted over the disorganized state of things in Nigeria: how when you go to a store or chop shop and you order you get one thing out of three and then they take ages with the rest, how in the motor park there are no scheduled departures to any destination, you just have to wait until a Peugeot fills up and then you haggle about the price, how it is never quite sure whether the taxi you booked actually does arrive or not… Eventually, all these things do get sorted out, but not in an efficient way and after wasting quite a lot of time. I guess this is what they call ‘Nigerian’ time. So to all of you who have in the past called me a time optimist, I dare say I have been outclassed.

I'll be back with a Lagos update soon! And there will be new pics on Flickr...

Gosh, it is really hard work to include pictures with a dial-up connection that has the average speed of 3.5kb. But here comes a link instead to Flickr!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/51078277@N00/

Welcome to Nigeria!

Finally I've arrived to Abuja, capital of Nigeria! I had many preconceived ideas.

But guess what!? Rather than a rickety airport and potholes on the road into town I was greeted by a very modern and clean airport facility, efficient immigration and customs and a shining pickup truck that wizzed us to the hotel on large, well-maintained roads. We paraded past the seemingly biggest sights in town: a humanguous Christian church sturcture (unfinished) and an equally impressive but in style minimalist mosque, apart from its golden dome that is. These two monuments aside there were many concrete structures reminiscent of Communist buildings everywhere in the world, containing government offices and banks. No real centre to speak of and certainly no pedestrian areas - this is not a town to explore on foot.

A striking feature of Abuja is vast areas where half-demolished buildings stand or that are entirely without any architecture. This due to the Nigerian governments crack-down on illegal housing, or rather buildings built without a permit. They are now all destined to go, leaving thousands of Abujans homeless. And real estate is expensive in the capital so poorer people are as a result pushed out to adjacent shanty towns, turning Abuja into an upmarket yet soul-less copy of western capitals. Actually the process is quite reminiscent of mayor Giuliani's project to clean up New York, transferring poverty and crime to the boroughts of Brooklyn and Queens instead.

On my first day, after some rest that only made me very groggy, I decided to shake some vigour back into my battered body and joined some serving VSO girls for an African dance class. And WOW! I am so thrilled I did. We ended up under an African-style palapa in the garden of a cultural centre and had a 2-hour intense booty-shake, courtesy of our teachers Didi and Chinedu. This was the real thing: barefoot, sweating in the heat, trying to keep up with the beat of the live drummers and wondering if one would have to reincarnate as an African in order to get those moves and grooves in. What body control, gracious yet powerful movements, muscles playing under ivory black skin - when it comes to dancing they really are in a whole different league...

Nevertheless, I got complimented on my dancing (can you believe how chuffed I was) and after a conversation with the teacher we decided that I will try to get some other people (VSOs and expats)interested in taking classes, and if I could get a few together the teacher would come to Lagos and carry on instructing us. This may never happen of course, but it was a fun start to my adventures and a surreal experience. Certainly beats practicing tribal moves in a basement gym in the West!

Nigerians have a funny way of using pidgin English - sometimes it is confusing, like when they talk about using the machine, which basically means the motorbike. Rudimentary restaurants are chop shops and soft drinks minerals and a mobile network is called a line. Pretty simple, if you know how to decipher these expressions that is! The food here has been a pleasant surprise - some of it is tasty and certainly very spicy. Especially the fruit has been a blessing: sweet melon and pineapple as well as papaya. I have not yet been to a market, as most meals we have eaten in the hotel and there is nowhere to cook until I get to Lagos on the 16th, but I am very much looking forward to sampling the local produce, as I have heard that it is now mango season and they also have fresh ginger and avocadoes. I think I will be able to cook quite nicely for myself and hopefully vary the diet a bit more, as it is very very starchy right now. Pounded yam, cassava, polenta, rice and beans, plantain, these constitute the main fare, especially for a skeptical meat eater such as myself. I did have some catfish though and I have also tried the egusi soup made out of melon seeds. The seeds actually look nothing what you'd imagine but have a consistency and colour of scrambled eggs!

Quite an experience so far - stay tuned for some more news from Panniland.