The clinic visit

I have been turning my energies more towards painting and drawing lately.  Even my PC came off second best and my writing has lagged behind badly.  But here goes…a few interesting observations during the last month or so which were amusing enough to record.

I had to visit the local clinic, due to a bout of asthma, which turned into an interesting experience, (the clinic, not the asthma). Just wished I had my sketch pad with me.  I had to wait outside the doctor’s room and was second in line after a Nigerian lady with a baby.  Soon after me a very distinguish looking white man arrived in a flowing Muslim kaftan with a very smart beautiful Nigerian lady, probably his wife.  They had an air of importance about them. When the doctor opened the door for the next patient, she (yes a woman, and Nigerian!) gave us all a look over and chose the white man to be her next patient.  A little later a whole bevy of pregnant Nigerian ladies arrived at various stages in their pregnancy, most of them beautiful dressed in their lovely close fitting Nigerian dresses with headscarves.  They must have been to a prenatal class and was due to see the doctor for a checkup afterwards.  Extra chairs arrived for them –which I thought very considerate of the hospital staff.  They were twittering amongst themselves about who will follow who in the line (all seem to have numbers) when the door open and sure enough, me with my white skin was asked to be next. I pointed out that the lady with the baby was before me. This meant I had to wait a bit longer which I did not mind as I was enjoying the scene. I could not help wondering about this unfair system and this from a female doctor.

Once inside, the doctor listened, asked a few questions and punched diagnosis and treatment into the computer – no paper work.  From there I had to go to the chemist down the passage and pay for the medication prescription that the pharmacist received online.  After that there was time for more observation while waiting for treatment (again from online prescription - the patient can be dumb or mute as long as he or she can pay the bill). The clinic sister’s little room was small and not private at all.  Nurses and patients walked in and out the whole time without knocking and treatment inside just carried on in this chaos.  I had to get an injection and she waited until it was quieter before escorting me in and closing the door.  She then stood with her back against the closed door to prevent anyone coming in and asked me to turn my back to her so that she could give me my jab.  Nobody tried to come in but I just visualized what could happen if someone would suddenly have pushed that door open with force. Ouch!

I got tired of our South African ladies complaining that they just want to go home and started organizing activities for them.  We went to the Nike arts and crafts centre to do some tie-dying and we are now doing beading once a week at someone’s house. Then I challenged them to start painting.  The first lesson of two were a bit uncertain until I gave a lesson on colour.  Now they are hooked.  We went to the local art shop where I directed them what to buy. I am actually amazed once again to see what  total beginners can do once they experience the joy of mixing colour and discover the freedom of expressing themselves on paper.  It is lovely to see how each individual’s character comes out in their work. They are very reluctant to leave my appartment on Thursdays and linger on and on. This must make a difference to them as I know from my own experience how you may be anywhere in the world, but when you create you are actually in …another world.  Shall I call it heaven? 

Expat ladies painting



 Swimming was next on line and I have been pushed into giving swimming lessons this morning for two Indian ladies and one South African lady who have just discovered the joy of cool water in this hot climate.  They all battle with water fobia and my main task was making them just relax in the water.  To see the joy they experience once they start moving around in the water is worth the effort, and we had great fun

A Dutch artist, Marthe van den Heyde has a small studio group on Saturday mornings, to which I managed to be invited.  She teaches a bit, but it is more like discussions, some directions and suggestions and the opportunity to work together with other like minded people.  I absolutely love it and can now experience what my students always experienced.  And yes I am also to experience the disappointment they felt when I left.  Marthe is leaving in May and I am to take over the class.  I don’t mind, actually I am delighted,.. except now I can’t paint in it any more.

Marthe is more than just a painter.  She is a photographer and managed to get some freelance work from the Nigerian government while her husband was stationed here.  Currently she is busy with a documentary on education for girls.  She flew to Columbia last week to record a system which worked very well there and which they want to introduce here.  In Columbia they started paying the mothers a small amount, (a big amount in the eyes of the impoverished) if a girl goes to school and attend more than 80 percent of the time.  The potential of changing a society’s mindset is enormous: such as combating child labour, respect for women, potential higher income for the girls’ later on and knowledge which will be passed on and improve the life of a whole community.  It is a system that has been implemented in quite a few underdeveloped countries where children and especially girls get no education.  Yes there are pitfalls but they have conditions in place and if run properly could be very effective.  Whether it will work here in Nigeria , will still have to be seen.  But something had to be done as over eight million children in Nigeria get no education at all at the moment.

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.

Alison's trip adventures

3 October 2010

When in Rome do as the Romans do.  In Nigeria you build up contacts because you never know when you might need to bypass the normal route. 

That seems to be true when Alison travels.  When she visited us last time we thought she might just be able to find her own way back to South Africa through Lagos and save Nick a trip with her to Lagos, with staying the night over in the hotel before flying back to Abuja. We could organize the usual shuttle service Nick uses over there to pick her up from the one terminal and take her to the other terminus.  As it happen a Nigerian contact of Nick heard of this (the same one who had the colonel as a friend in Port Harcourt) and insisted to organize someone to take care of her at the second terminal where she had to wait about five hours for the flight to SA.  Everything went very smoothly.

Alison arrived at the second terminal to be met by an airforce military man.  She was escorted to the military lounge where she was literally locked up in an ice cold military lounge for the duration of the waiting time. 

When she arrived this time Nick were in Lagos on business and could be at the Lagos airport to welcome her.  On his arrival at the airport he was also met by a military escourt with the name: Friday Coleman. 

After all this Alison decided she had enough of the military confinement and decided she can negotiate her way on her own. However, it turned out special contacts saved the day again, but from another source. 

Below are the cell phone conversations between Nick, Alison and Mr Bayo her shuttle/ taxi service in Lagos to get her from one terminal to the other on her return trip to South Africa.  We still do not know the whole story.

16:46:07 Bayo to Nick: Did ur daughter has a phone nub pis send it 2 me, mr Bayo from lagos, thanks

16:49:52 NC to Bayo: Thanks mr Bayo her plane now leave five thirty

17:57:11 NC to Bayo My daughter is still not on the plane (in Abuja) delayed. Nicholas Coleman

18:44:59 Ali to Nick: On the plane but more chaos cuz there are not enough seats…. Sigh oh well less time in lagos.  Miss you already love me

19:28:28 NC to Bayo: Daughter is on plane but no take off sorry for delay

!9:31:27 NC to Ali: Any progress?

19:32:34 Ali: Um none visibly….will let you know before we take off though

19:35:45 Ali:  Hi about to take off. Chat later. God bless love me

19:39:41 NC to Bayo Plane is now taking off Nicholas Coleman

20:42:32 Ali: Hi :) just landed. Love you:)

20:44:06 Ali: Ok we see saa due to take off 22—45. Love d

20:47:18 NC to Bayo: Daughter landed

21:07:59 Nick to Alison Are you there?

21:15:24 Ali: Hi there, in car next to the minister on the way

21:17:19 Ali: Good good there is a need to hurry to book in

22:09:04 Ali: Hi there, just jumped on plane.  Don’t know what I would have done it I wasn’t with diplomatic party.  We were so late! They sorted everything out for me.  Will shout when home.  Miss you already. Love me.

22:12:45 Nick to Ali  Good well done lotsa love M and D

22:13:58 NC to Bayo Thank you very much daughter on plane

4:40:21 Ali Hi dad, arrived early.  I’m in the car on the way to sun city. :) hope all is well there

07:46:36 NC to Ali: Are you there?

07:48:01  Hi dad:) yup got here now now.  Please tell matusi thank you very much from me!!! Off to go watch golf just now.  Love you

There were a few other conversations in between from anxious parents to other people and people phoning to find out if they could help. 

By sheer luck our minister of foreign affairs was on the same plane (And South African embassy people knew Alison). The minister was actually suppose to fly to London but because of her bad health they changed her route through Lagos to South Africa.

The plane in Abuja was suppose to leave at 5pm and arrive in Lagos just after 6, which would have given her  five hours to kill in Lagos.  Looks like one will have to leave on an even earlier flight in the future with even more hours to kill in Lagos if everything goes smoothly.

Right is a photo of Alison with some Bushmen/San people(what is the correct name for them currently?) taken during at a function to celebrate Botswana day here in Abuja.

The Exhibition

10 September 2010

Here is a bit of piggin English I’ve pilfered from Face book:

it is already paying off.... the only thing wey remain na to hammer and that 1 na soon...but chetakwa anyi oooo!!!1

heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey Qualest eny,howf?

...evrythn apart from witholdin my paintin!

sharrap and pay me my pp money

u 4get 2 put "HELLO" b4 ur comment

My muslim pple i no feel dis tin una de do today o

u know au many pple dem don sack for work wey dey use work time dey facebook?

No wonder I do not always understand them or worse misunderstand them.



My page in the brochure for the exhibition



On 30 August I wrote in my diary: Surprise, surprise an exhibition yesterday for which I was totally unprepared.  I somehow understood it was going to be at the end of September.  Imagine getting a call on the day of the exhibition to tell you they are going to fetch your paintings and you thought it is a month away.  Luckily I had some older paintings and…no wallah. Can I blame piggin English for that slip up?



Second surprise: On my previous visit to an opening of an exhibition, we stood waiting outside the gallery for more than an hour before the doors opened. We were there even before the artists, and we actually arrived a few minutes after the time announced for the opening.  From that experience (and other social experiences we have had) I thought this is how things are done, you know…...Africa time, and arrived an hour late for the exhibition only to find that the opening speeches and introductions of the artist have already been done.   On realizing my blunder and in a bit of a daze I was pushed in front of a TV camera and an interview started to take place with me.  “What is it like to work with Nigerian artist?”  “What do you think of Nigerian art”.  Hey man I’ve been asleep not more that ten minutes ago (taking a Sunday afternoon nap), what do I say?  Not a comfortable position and I cannot remember what I said and certainly did not watch the TV.  I hope they scrapped the footage.



Nick in front of TV cameras



Nick has been in similar positions several times before, and people actually reported on seeing him on the TV.  These Nigerians have TV cameras at every occasion and I guess because our faces are white they like to home in to us.  Even Alison had a TV interview the first day after she arrived here.  It was on the occasion of the opening of the soccer world cup when the South Africans and Mexicans in Abuja all got together at the Osokoro Protea hotel to watch the event on the screen.



To get back to the exhibition, it was an interesting experience but I am glad the pressure of the exhibition is off now and I can carry on doing just what I want to, paint without thinking of an audience to come.  I met my fellow exhibitors and some of us have plans of working together.  Now that will be interesting.



Fish braai market

9 September 2010

This is an outing we have promised our self for a long time. The directions we got were to look for stand no.43 and the cook with the name of Marvelous.  On a pamphlet we got the directions to the Mogadishu barracks where we turned into a gate and paid our N50 entrance fee. 

Being used to the Nigerian African markets by now I found this one surprisingly organized, the road made a wide circle with well built brick stalls on both sides.  We managed to get a parking in a dead-end side shoot and headed for the inside core of the circle.  A festive atmosphere reigned with smoke and these big orange fish everywhere. Inside this circle another smaller roofed-over circle housed all the fish cooking ladies.  The customers walk around the circle on the outside until they decide on, or being persuaded on a cook. We were shown two fishes by Marvelous.  Or rather she proclaimed her name Marvelous even though her number was something like 39.  Anyhow her friendly smile convinced us to place our order.  We choose the medium size one, which was still big enough for both of us and ordered chips for two. You have a choice of brightly orange spiced fish or no spice with just lemon on. They braai the fish in front of you on top of a half barrel balanced on a stand.  Underneath this barrel is a pot with hot coal with another pot of hot oil fitting into it.  We were directed to stand away when they threw our chips into this hot oil which resulted in lots of splatter.

With our meal being cooked we decided to while away the ten minutes waiting time by exploring the outer circling market.  Most of these stalls were fabric shops, dressmakers and hairdressers.  Inside some of the cubicles old fashioned machines were working away or someone was ironing the new creations.  The drapes of typical Nigerian fabrics with their big patterns, which I am starting to admire, where hanging out on the street to entice the customers.  Bundles of multi-coloured zippers in different lengths were hanging like Christmas lights from the rafters.  I enjoyed the different wording they used to market their stalls and as usual they do not really care for the correctness of their language.  I wished I wrote them down because some were quite amusing.

Back at Marvelous we were shown to one of the little cafes which lined the outer edge of the circle opposite the cooking fires.  Each little cafe had one or two fridges, a television and tables and chairs.  We were lucky to get one with a fan as well.  Here you order some beer or soft drinks while you wait for your meal to arrive and enjoy the passing trade and traffic.  First to arrive were two bowls of water to wash our hands and then the dish of fish with chips, lemon, chilies and a bit of coleslaw.  Luckily someone warned us to bring our own knives and forks because it is common and expected to eat with your hands.



The dish





Fabrics and zippers



Normally one would have been offended with so many hawkers who disturbed our meal, but they were delightfully courteous and amusing.  Some sold toiletries tied in bundles, one walked around with a big glass fronted box of jewelry, and another hawked the finely cross-stitch embroidered Muslim hats.  Nick got bargained into buying a Muslim hat and I were amused with this one guy whose whole shop of toiletries fell apart not far from us. Calmly, with a slight frown on his forehead he gathered the stuff together, closed the boxes that opened in the fall and started assembling a new display with elastics bands to keep them together.  A hawker that never made it to us, because he drew too much attention not far from us, was selling camping gear: beautiful little camping pan sets in bags, a powerful torch, termosflask and jump leads.





When we were ready to leave, the cooking ladies came over not only to clear the table but to also wash the knives and forks we brought and bid us a cheerful farewell...





It was a struggle to get out of our panhandle parking road because some guy decided he wanted to come in just when we and two other cars wanted to get out.  We got really stuck and somehow this guy did not realize that the only way we could get moving was for him to reverse out. The beauty of this story is that eventually the guys in the other two cars who wanted to get out, got out of their cars and one of them just calmly walked over and very courteously explained to the driver who was blocking us all, that the best will be if he moves his car backwards.  In South Africa they would probably have shouted to the driver to move his….! 







It is the gentleness of these people on the street that is so charming and endearing; their cheerfulness despite all the hardships is truly remarkable.  Maybe it is exactly their struggling life that make they so patient and tolerant and friendly.







Visit to the hardware “shop”

16 Aug 2010




Stalls are placed around an open center



I’ve been looking for F&F ever since we got here.  F&F is our trusted big handy hardware store in Howick, South Africa.  A hardware store that has always been, apart from the grocery shop, my favorite and most visited store.  But where is it in Abuja?  We dug out some screws and nails in a shop that sold lights – counted out on the floor between all the customers’ legs.  I explored other shops but finding things were a mission.  “We haven’t got” is the usual answer.



Last week when I asked Tyna where I could buy boards to paint on, she offered to go and show me.  Over a very bumpy road we arrived at a cluster of shacks around an open center area where we parked.  Some of the shacks had long lengths of wood, poles, flat sheets of paneled wood and basically all you needed for woodwork.  Other shacks had the tools: sand paper, nails, paint, brushes, glue, wire and even a few woks in between.  Each shack had a limited amount of stuff but all together you could probably find anything you needed.

My dear friend did the bargaining and I got my stuff for a very reasonable price.  On my own I would have probably had to pay double the price, because with a white face, arriving in a chauffeur driven car with the red number plate of the diplomatic corps, you are definitely on the losing side of bargaining.  A whole hoard of young boys gathered around the “shop” keeper and helped as he hack sawed my pieces into surprisingly accurate blocks. At the next shack we bought the sand paper.  I could even choose the gage and selected a fairly fine paper, which was rolled off and neatly cut. In no time I had my purchases and we headed back leaving me with the impression of a vibrant community working together to supply a need.  They might not have the big, brightly lit shop and the fancy tills but they supply what is needed in a friendly and helpful way.  As left, I noticed at the entrance a lone stall/trolley with vegetables on.  I could not wonder at the stall keeper’s initiative to come here rather than going to a vegetable market.  Of course she will have all these hardware stall keepers as customers who would not want to leave their stalls to go to the veggie market.  They will also be able to buy their veggies as soon as someone bought hardware from them before being tempted to spend it on something else.  And I wondered why other veggie sellers have not joined her or does she have an unwritten monopoly?  I wonder what are the grassroots rules and regulations about hawking.  There must be some, as there seem to be some order in who what and where they sell.  Or is it just how the free market organically develops according to the demand?



Tyna helping me to buy sand paper

Listening to a group of Nigerian businessmen last Sunday, who were discussing the disabling rule of the government as far as free business enterprise is concerned, I was prompted to ask them if it could change, thinking of all the promises of the politicians before the election.  The question was answered by derisive laughter. Obviously they did not expect any change in the frustrated climate of Nigerian business.



To give you an idea, to rent a shop in Nigeria is very expensive and you have to pay your whole lease of two years in advance.  A system that has probably developed from a lot of non payments in the past.  Of course once the owner has the money he is not going to spend it on upkeep so the shops all look dilapidated and run down. It is far more economical to build your own shack at the market, but even there paying for a site is based on the same pay in advance system.  As a result many hawkers have their own trolley pushcart shop which can be pushed to where the market is, without having to pay for the shop.  Some even carry their “shop” on their heads.



Maybe the hawker on the streets has more freedom.  And maybe that is why I can’t find an F&F hardware shop here.



The boys are keen to help sawing the board