The Kaduna fear









 

2 March 2011



Zuma rock





A journey of about two and a half hours due north of Abuja took us to Kaduna and more specific the trade show of the city.  The road was not bad… most of the time, as it looked recently tarred.  The landscape was flat with some bowler hat like rock mountains, one of which is called the Zuma In Kadunarock, an Abuja landmark. Being the dry season it was very dry except for some small bright green big leafed trees.  Signs which indicated the names of farms along the road were always in the plural, such as Zubari farms.





Stall selling drinking water and palm oil





 









 











We travelled through several villages and small towns. The main road, being one of their main sources of income, were lined with all sorts of dilapidated stalls selling stuff like yams, fruit, furniture, carpets and palm oil, even drinking water in big yellow plastic containers.  Lots of people and even animals congregate at these stalls. Okadas, local motorcycle taxis, were everywhere, transporting people. The drivers of these Okadas sported helmets some times (as the law dictates); however the passenger/s almost never had them on. Vehicles passing through these villages do not as a rule slow down. We were going at about the same speed as most of the other vehicles.  At one time when I looked over our drivers shoulder the speedometer was approaching 160k/h. Not a comfortable feeling and several wrecks along the road increased this unease.  At one village lots of trucks were standing in rows on both sides of each lane.  In Nigeria trucks are not allowed to travel in daylight time.  That’s at least one rule that is adhered to.

The brass band







 



Kaduna’s show grounds was hot, dusty and not very inviting when we arrived.  We were escorted by a motorcycle to a small rectangular container- like building. In front of this building was a canopy under which a police brass band was lounging in white plastic chairs.  They played the National anthem to us, still sitting in these chairs, while we stood in attention in front of them in the sun. I wondered how many times during the day they had to play the anthem.  We met our hosts and were then escorted by two bagpipe players, six beautiful dressed young girls, some with pots on their heads, and several dignitaries on a tour through the show. A few extra people tagged along and it turned out they were to carry our gifts which were very officially presented to us at every stall.  We went home with the car loaded with stuff - the usual branded bric-a-brac: key rings, desk jotters, pens, mugs, clocks, hats, umbrellas and an even a traditional outfit for me!  What on earth are we going to do with it?




Show ladies

 









Moving from stall to stall we passed a couple of local school groups, neatly attired in their uniforms and a few village fools, in the dirtiest costumes you can imagine trying their best to catch our attentions with jumps and shouts.  Other than that there were not too many other people.  Most of the stalls we were lead to had to do with import/export and the oil business.  Last on the list, and for me the most interesting, was a local crafts cooperative, with calabash bowls, music instruments, baskets and hats amongst others.  We were each presented with a hat typically decorated in their local customs.  There is a sincerity and dignity to handwork done mostly by impoverished people trying to make an honest living.



 



The day was rounded off with a press conference and poor Nick had to make yet another impromptu speech and field the mundane questions of the four journalists present.



As I was looking around me most of the time during the day, I did not always follow the conversation, but the word “fear” kept coming up and I started wondering if this community like the Jos community is constantly being threatened by some kind of in fighting, or did the upcoming election had a potential for violence here too.  Only at the end of the day I realized that they pronounced the word “fair”, meaning the show, as sounding like “fear”.



“We hope you enjoyed the fear and would like you come again next time.”





Demonstration of a music instrument



 











Nick with his new Kaduna hat







Assumptions

Assumptions…. can sometimes prove way off the mark.

I lost my yellow card, which I need when entering South Africa as proof that I have had my yellow fever injections.  Several searches all over the apartment brought me to a logical conclusion:  I have to get another shot!  Gathering a big bundle of Naira, because doctors have proved to be very expensive here, and you never know.  In the back of my mind I was also preparing for a possible bribe, just to avoid another shot.  Not really dishonest I thought because I had a shot earlier this year.

Luckily I’ve got a driver who said he know where to take me for it.  First hospital, lots of people in queues.  A person coming up from behind me, just enquired over my shoulder to the attendant what she wanted.  This reminded me that I am in Nigeria and I can also ask my question over the shoulders of those in front of me. Friendly and politely I was told I could not get my yellow fever injection here but at… eleven????? Must I come back at eleven o’clock?  No no, at eleven….hospital.  Back to Kenny my driver, but he does not know where Eleven Hospital is either.  Back to the counter. Luckily none expected me to wait in the queue and I could ask where Eleven Hospital is?  Lots of friendly unintelligible directions and me just standing there blank faced and every one looking at me.  Then help from onlookers, all wanted to tell me…still blank, I ask if someone can write it down for me.  Pen and paper appeared from different directions and I have the instructions for my driver.



Driving  in Abuja looking the clinic



Arriving at Eleven, a small very decent looking hospital, I still had no luck, and neither could I can make out the directions to the next place again.  Bring your driver here they said.  This went on for another two stops before I ended in front of a fairly deserted looking building with a bleak sign saying medical center at second and third floor.  Arriving at third floor I had to sign in and the sole person there directed me to a tiny grimy office with two desks and two officials, a man and a woman.  Unintelligible words again from the man, luckily the woman could speak ordinary English and said he wanted my passport, wanted to know when last I had a yellow fever shot and made me fill information into another book.  Then directed to the office next door I was asked to pay the equivalent of, yes, only R18.  Back to the previous office I was handed my yellow card.  Very surprised I asked is that all?  Don’t I have to have an injection?  ‘But you said you had an injection earlier this year’  “Yes but do you believe me?”  The kindly gentle response from the woman was: “You are a mature adult and you care about your health” And that was it.  Took me 6 minutes and cost me R18 and I have my Yellow card.

Back in the car even my driver looks skeptical and asked to see the card to check if it is genuine. It is. It seems that bribes are not always necessary or even desired in Nigeria.