Our Cross River State trip.



Forest giant at Drill ranch below the Afie mountain



Wow what an experience! We drove through half Nigeria from the south eastern coastal town of Calabar diagonally across to Abuja, in the middle of Nigeria.  Ok, we did it the tame way by hiring a good four by four tractable vehicle with excellent drivers.  But at least we did it when many of the expats say it is too dangerous or risky.  The main reasons for being seen risky was militants operating in the south, who did occasionally kidnapped and had a preference for white people due to the possible publicity mileage they could get. However that happened mainly in the neighboring Niger delta area. The other danger was the roads itself that were at times horrendous, added to the almost suicidal driving habits of the Nigerians. 

What a beautiful country, even if very over populated.  In the rain season, which is now, it is emerald green.  My overall memory is of palm trees, rainforest, mountains and then the flat green stretch with rice paddies, orange trees, yams, cassava and other agricultural pursuits – still emerald green with no fences anywhere.  Villages dotted most of the way in an almost continuous succession of humanity. Everyday life was displayed like a story along the road, from the usual little stalls selling anything, to hairdressing, welding, coffin making, dress making, cooking going on all the way to small groups just socializing under a canopy.  We started the upward journey on a Sunday and the quaint open churches were full of people. We saw the neatly beautifully dressed people going too and from the churches.  Schools were surrounded by playing children either in bright blue, purple, yellow, or green uniforms. 

The one overall powerful impression that hit us all, from the moment we got off the plane, at the Uyo airport, until we got within an hour or so of Abuja was the neatness and cleanliness.  There was almost no litter in Calabar and the Cross River state and everything was neatly swept, from the smallest village deep in the rain forest to the streets of Calabar.  The markets were a riot of textures and colour, but still hardly anything that you could call real litter.  Market stalls along the way, which were not operating on a Sunday, were litter free and swept, even though the structures were very dilapidated.

The roads, well that’s another story.  Some of it was pretty good but most of the roads made Curry’s Post roads look very tame.  At one stretch I can remember seeing about eight or more cars in front of us, facing just about all the different directions of the compass dodging and swerving, some going in the same directions as us and others towards us – all driving on any side of the road which may enable them to go forward. ……..And that was the main road!



The six days were so packed with experiences that I will have to chop it into several letters.  The basic itinerary was; Flying to Uyo airport, as the Calabar airstrip was closed due to renovations, then driving about two and a half hours to Calabar on the first day.  We spent the next day exploring Calabar and on Sunday went to a fascinating local market next to the river before heading up North to Drill Ranch, a primate rehabilitation center deep into the rain forest below the Afie Mountain. We spent two nights and a most memorable day at Drill Ranch. On Tuesday we headed towards Obudu ranch, climbing a magnificent very steep 1350 meter zig-zag road in the process. We descended the mountain the next day with a four kilometer long cable car before proceeding with the about seven hour drive back to Abuja.



In our party were Nick and myself, Alison and her friend Greg and Maxine Smith, who was brave enough come and visit to us in Nigeria. Maxine described the necessary preparations to be able to visit this country as like a military operation. However, she has travelled extensively around the world described this country as one of the few places that has made a remarkable (and probably unexpected) impression on her.







Spot the parked car on the way





Rice fields







Roadside shop





Cable car at Obudu Ranch



Nigerian wedding



Nick am me with the bridal couple



 Not a traditional wedding,…… a “white” wedding yes, but different in a way.

I could not go to the church ceremony. However I did go to the reception where I was entertained by the descriptions of Nick and some of his colleagues.

Nick had to drop me off at my art class at ten on a Saturday morning and was a bit late arriving at the Catholic church. He did not expect it to start on time, being in Nigeria, and found it did actually start on the dot and he was late – but still he was one of the few early arrivals.  The cleaning lady from his office was the only one from the South African High Commission who was there before him. 

He was a bit puzzled when the bridesmaids came down the isle, all with someone holding their trains while they walked (or rather danced) down the isle. After the sermon the bridal couple was asked to come forward to have their ceremony performed and to his surprised it was not the bridal couple whose wedding he was supposed to attend.  When the ceremony was completed another couple was asked to come forward, this time the bride was his colleague, and then after that another one and another one – altogether five weddings all squashed into one event. What happened to the idea that the bride is the most important person at her wedding? 

Were they trying to save money or what? We figured it out at the reception that it must be a practical solution to a local problem.  People arrive so late for any event in Nigeria that to have five weddings in one morning and hour apart will never work here as the last one will be hours late and imagine the confusion of the guest of who goes to which wedding and when. So in peak season when lots of couples want to get married on the same day they have to share. Although the event started at the right time the guests come trouping in throughout the sermon, even some of the brides came rushing in late, all dancing down the isle with their train of supporters.

At least each couple had their own reception.  The South Africans all sat at three tables bundled together.  We sat next to the throne intended for the wedding couple and could see the proceedings fairly well. We each received a beautiful printed booklet of 40 pages into which every detail of the whole ceremony (order of mass and program) was printed. Everything, and I mean everything was in it: the words of the hymns, words of the rites, prayers, readings, sermon, rite of marriage, consent, exchange of rings (mercifully just once) etc, etc, then the order in which photographs will be taken (2 pages), then the names of all involved including the 8 ministers. Needless to say the church service lasted almost three hours.  Last in the booklet was the reception program – only one page.  This was all bound in a cover with the design of the official fabric the guests (male and female) had to wear.  In Nigeria family and close friends and some colleagues all receive (or buy?) the same fabric to have their outfits made for the wedding.  We gratefully did not receive and was ignorant of the custom.

Although the hall was draped and tables set with golden plates and tall floral arrangements there was not a fresh flower in sight – all artificial even the bride’s bouquet. Again it was practical, because in this heat the real thing would probably have looked depressing.

In Nigeria a bride seems to dance a lot.  They danced in and out of the church.  They danced into the reception, this time with hubby in tow, and then danced for money.  Money got strewn over the couple just like in some cultures in the Mediterranean areas.  But what amazed me it was the bride that kept dancing for the money for a long time (which got stuffed into her bodice, underneath her dress and wherever).  The new husband just occasionally joined her to get a note behind the ear.  A bridesmaid collected all these notes in a big black plastic bag.

And then the presents:  the couple sat on the throne and the guests brought the presents and presented them with it.  Then the guest received presents from the couple (quite embarrassing I found). We went away with specially printed bags with the couples name and wedding date, filled with plates, mugs, a bowl, notepads and pens – a bit like a marketing campaign. A topic for discussion came up amongst us South Africans when one guest brought a present either too big to be wrapped or deliberately revealing: a big box with a baby stroller printed on it.  I will not repeat the comments on this one.

I wonder what their traditional weddings will be like.  In the market I have encountered some old wedding beads, some especially for the bride and others for the groom as well as special headgear.  I would like to see that, …. maybe one day.







Bridesmaids preceding the bridal couple at the reception.



Bridal couple dancing into the reception area





Cutting the cake







Social life

Social life

The evening was dusty and hot, and traffic chaotic but after a few confused circles through the Osokoro district, we found Nelson Mandela drive.  We were due for a mystery evening, not knowing who our hosts were going to be and neither who the other guest were.  We just knew there were going to be eight of us.  We were straining to see the numbers to find number 47 (a German embassy compound), when another car approached from the other side and enter the gate before us.  In it was a big dark Nigerian looking man and an Indian woman.  The assumption that he was her driver turned out incorrect.

They were actually husband and wife. Nelson, the Nigerian husband, told us once we were seated at the dinner table, that when he was posted in Bombay working for Pepsi, he saw this woman and straight away knew that she was going to be his wife.  I looked at his wife, Christine, who with a twinkle in the eye, she said that she had no choice.  They are quite new in Abuja as they were living in Kano (Nigeria) for the last (I think) fifteen years.  What in interesting couple they were.  I became quite friendly with Christine afterwards and will write more about her at another time.

Our hosts were as expected German and turned out to be the military attaché, and his wife, taking the soup, which I brought for the starter, to the kitchen, I could see that this was not a stereotype German kitchen.  The fairly chaotic state had the imprint of one or more toddlers and probably more children in the house.

The forth couple was late and we were all wondering who they were. Eventually the host decided not to wait any longer because we had no idea who to contact and even if they were coming at all.  We were seated on the veranda and were just going to start with the soup when this Nigerian couple arrived.  Some knew them, and others like us, recognized them from sight, as they are quite active in the church we attended.  Ricky was a pastor and his wife a formidable lead singer.  They have recently returned to Nigeria from a 15 year stay in the UK.

As everyone was fluent in English, albeit with different accents, the discussions were stimulating with often differing opinions about religion, politics and just life in general in Nigeria, a most successful evening.

A social gathering of a different kind took place last week.  A few spouses of Southern African diplomats went for a coffee morning at Life camp near the Jabi Lake.  Esther having previously phoned found out that they open at nine o’clock.  Arriving some time past nine we found them still cleaning the place and we were forced to sit outside near the pool, which was not too bad as it was not an extremely hot day.  These ladies are by now all well acquainted and they did not hold back.  Right from the start they gave the poor waitress a hard time. First with ordering and changing orders, getting her totally confused, and then giving special cooking instructions which she had to relay to the cook.  When the hot chocolate arrived in an ordinary small cup, a big fuss was made.  The waitress went back and returned after a while with another cup half full more hot chocolate.  Not acceptable!  However when she told us she made this one herself because the man in the kitchen was impossible, they took pity on her and assured her that they were not criticizing her.  From then on it was dirty forks sent back, seats and tables rearranged, to such a degree that when she brought the plates, she whipped them of the table one by one as soon as she put them down, as she realized they were not clean enough.  She went back to wash them all herself.  Then one of the ladies complained that her sandwich did not have tomatoes and onions on.  She came back with a plate laden with quartered tomatoes and onions.  The chicken of one of the ladies was terribly dry. After feeling initially slightly embarrassed I sat back and started to enjoy this spectacle.

When the bill came the real fun started.  A tax as well as a service charge was added and they demanded to see the manager, who eventually reluctantly came out (I guess he was the difficult “white” man in the kitchen).  They gave him a rousting asking what was the service tip for as they broke no glasses and were they supposed to tip the waitress as well.  He hardly said anything.  The whole argument was that he was probably pocketing what should have been the tip for the waitress.  She was hovering in the background looking very upset.  This changed when after we paid the bill, and the manager disappeared, they quietly slipped a few notes into her pocket and told her not to let the manager see it.  Needless to say she was beaming.

My pictures to today are an expression of the morning.

Elections

It is Saturday afternoon one thirty: First election Day here in Nigeria.  Nick has just received a sms to say Monday will be a holiday.  Why?  Because the election has been postponed.  Why? Because some the election papers did not reach some points in time, so they postponed the whole election.  Sounds simple…but it is not.

This election has been announced in September and the organizing committee assured everyone that it will take place in January.  Nobody believed that.  Anyhow it is now April and everything is in place.  Or so they thought.

This is the African country with the highest population count and a proper registration of its inhabitants has not been yet done.  Therefore the speculation that the population count is somewhere between 130 and 150 million people.  The people migrate across borders as well. 

An election registration was to take place in January.  The process turned out to be so complicated that despite having days off standing in queues many Nigerians never managed to get registered.  Two of our staff of four failed and now cannot vote.  (Secretly I suspect they might see that as a mixed blessing.) In spite of that they have over seventy million voters registered – about three times the number of South African registered voters.

The plan was that there would be three election Saturdays in a row.  The first today would have been the election of the government.  Next Saturday they will vote for the president and the following Saturday is to be the election for the different state governments.  That means they have to queue for three Saturdays in a row.  The planned process for today was that the people could start queuing at about seven thirty in the morning, but they have to be in the queue by twelve thirty.  Anyone not in the queue by then cannot vote.  Then the voting starts and the queues can move forward and hopefully give everyone a chance to vote by ten tonight.   Now they have to go and stand in queues again on Monday!!!.

Not only that, but the whole country is declared a no-movement day.  If you are not at the voting point you may not move anywhere.  All the shops are closed and all the borders to the country are closed.  And now they are going to do all that again on Monday!!!! And next week and the following week!!!!

Sunday afternoon, just heard that the first election day has now been postponed to next Saturday and the other election days will move on one each..  The problem is that two cities did start voting yesterday and now they have to reprint the voting papers.  Simple? No.  Over seventy million papers for the first day have to be printed in China and shipped here.  (Just imagine three times that amount of papers for the whole election process – a decimation of the tree population on mother earth)  The tender for the printing has only been awarded a week before the elections and now the printers complain they cannot finish it in time.  Can you blame them?

Monday:  Nick saw the election paper at his office today and it is full of errors!  Slap dash that how things are done in Nigeria.

I guess it is easy to criticize, but I would not want to organize this election for anything in the world.  The organizing committee worked very hard at it and a fortune has been spent on technical equipment and training of electoral officials.  Security has been put on high alert at polls and elsewhere as there are proof and rumors of political candidates who stock piled arms in catches.  Everyone is nervous.  But they are desperate to have free and fair elections.  I tried to find reasons for their election struggle: sheer numbers?  Not so, says Nick, India has over 1.2 billion voters and they can do it.

We and I guess most other expats will be spending a day watching TV in cool air-conditioned homes as it is blistering hot outside. And now the same is to happen the next three Saturdays.  Not that we complain too much, There will be cricket world cup final, rugby, the Epic Cape Mountain bike race and the swimming pool outside.  I guess it will be pretty much the same the next few weeks.



Never a dull moment.  Friday night come and “no-move” day started at 10pm.  About that time our lights flickered and the electricity vanished.  The way it went off gave Nick an idea it is not the usual outage.  We prepared ourselves for a whole weekend without power as it is “no-movement-day”.  Worst of all our gas ran out that Friday.  Therefore no coffee…and on top of it, it was our anniversary.  Lying in bed the next morning trying to figure out what we were going to do in the heat, no coffee, no TV, no  Pc’s, no restaurant dinner, etc and suddenly all the lights went on.  Cheers!  Heard later the week that there was a fire in the generator room.





Some time that morning a bomb went off somewhere in Abuja and about eight people died, and there were a few other skirmishes but they declared the election a success and relatively trouble free, even though some states still did not have papers and will have to do this election together with the last day of elections.  There was also a report of 117 ballot boxes that have been snatched, and a few more reports of rigging but overall they are pleased with how it went.  A surprising number of high power politicians have been voted out, including the speaker and it looks like the ruling party has lost a healthy amount of seats, wich bodes well for future parliament.  However the real dogfight is happening this coming Saturday…the presidential election.  The question is not so much who is going to be elected but rather if Goodluck Jonathan is going to make it or not.

On that note I will leave you.  Someone asked to see where we live.  As we are virtually under house arrest for the election I thought now a good time to show our abode.





The Ancestors Court from Osun Crescent



The gate from our second story balcony







In front of our building





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The swimming pool



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.