20/03/2013 Wednesday back in Abuja
Very tired. Doing a quick cut'n'paste and going to bed....
“No, not really.”
“You should put it on. Make some noise. It is too quiet here.”
He flips the set on and cranks the volume so loud it’s inaudible.
Christine A..., a VSO colleague posted an hour away texts to make plans for a visit. She lives in a remote village in the middle of a mangrove forest. Her household water is fetched from a stream a good walk to and from. And power? She’s lucky if it works once a week. That’s primitive. Not my cuppa, though I do hope to visit.
“Yes, of course. Sorry to disturb.”
Too late, the damage is done. In the blink of a Nigerian brown out I’m showered and with Collins, collecting N8,000 Ousman gave him to pass on for personal travel expenses in Makurdi. Hand-laundering smelly clothes fills the rest of the morning.
My guests leave early evening. I pack for early morning.
Pulling into Haf Haven, we settle into our rooms, grab a bite then convene in the hotel’s conference room. For two and a half hours Ousman and his team decide their workshop agenda. It baffles to realize nothing formal is in place until this very last moment; all will likely change again tomorrow. It appears some 35 delegates are in for a seat-of-the-pants event.
At breakout session the presence of Benue State’s General Manager of Water & Sanitation impedes/intimidates input (and consequently important hands-on learning) from underlings and representatives of local government agencies. “Big Boss” syndrome prevails.
The villagers to whom this program is targeted need very basic handholding. To quote the GM’s explanation:
“You ask them: ‘Where do you shit? Show me.’
They take you to a bush at river’s edge.
‘You shit in the river?’
‘Yes’
‘Where do you get your drinking water?’
‘From the river.’
‘So you drink your shit.’”
~ Ah hah moment.
Village women play an enormous communications role in program outreach. Streams, rivers and boreholes where they meet daily to fetch water and catch up on local gossip are the very conduits that facilitate information sharing. Get to the women and you’re half-way home.
My new Benue friends kid about my becoming a wife to the Kings of Tiv and Idoma.
“I’ll have to check them out first,” I say.
“You wouldn’t want them. I know your society. They have already five wives and many concubines.”
“Well in that case you’re right. I’ll pass”
We share a good laugh.
Talk shifts to sexists notions in Nigeria.
In pidgin the term to describe “players” – men who love to love many women
= woman wrapper. It also refers to the man i) who is under the total control of his wife; she sends him to the kitchen to do all the domestic chores and ii) men always in the company of women.
(va
she) = come to Calabar
Very tired. Doing a quick cut'n'paste and going to bed....
17/03/2013 Sunday in Makurdi, Benue
Lots doin’ over the last while.
I’m sitting in my room at Haf Haven hotel in Makurdi, Benue State writing this
catch-up with my legs crossed and curled under my butt. Why? Out of the corner
of my eye I spot something run along the wall behind a couch. Rodent? Nope. A big fat lizard! It’s now hiding under
the chair in which I’m sitting.
Sidebar: LOL for real. A duo from housekeeping just
chased the lizard out. Silly me – I start screaming and then clapping like a
kid when it scoots across the floor and out the front door. I’m gonna have to
get me one of those wispy brooms on a long stick.
So back to catch up: Thursday is
sweltering hot – the sun is shining. I notice the heat in my body rising
uncomfortably. By11:30, just shortly after the daily delivery of sweet biscuits
arrives, my arms are sticking to the top of my desk and my face is covered in a
greasy gleam. Come 3:00, wilted and
unable to concentrate, I pack up and head home, shower, and ask Patrick, one of
our drivers, to drop me at the Marian Street Market for a solo adventure. I
have 45 minutes to collect items from my list before Patrick returns. Walking
through the market I feel like a celebrity. It's silly, funny and deeply
humbling. There’s Jane, the freezer lady with chickens for 1,000N. The old
fellow who sells me a good sized mat and then poses for a photo, and the fish
lady who thrills at being photographed and then tries to go for a pay off, all
in good fun. Goods good to go, Patrick drops me home where the next few hours
are spent dressing the house. At 8pm when the power flickers, dims and dies,
I’m happy to crawl into bed and call it a day.
Friday morning is overcast so
the heat isn’t as intense, though an internal clock triggers sweat and clammy
skin before noon. It’s becoming something of a routine. At day’s end Collins
comes calling at the house. He’s spread bitter Kola nuts to keep snakes at bay
and has some change for me.
“You don’t watch tv?” “No, not really.”
“You should put it on. Make some noise. It is too quiet here.”
He flips the set on and cranks the volume so loud it’s inaudible.
Christine A..., a VSO colleague posted an hour away texts to make plans for a visit. She lives in a remote village in the middle of a mangrove forest. Her household water is fetched from a stream a good walk to and from. And power? She’s lucky if it works once a week. That’s primitive. Not my cuppa, though I do hope to visit.
I pick
flowers from the garden, sweep floors, wipe counters, enjoy a salad of fresh
mango, pineapple and coconut, upload pictures, skype type with a few folks from
home, and hunker down to read by LED when the power dims and quits.
Saturday
morning sleep-in is dashed when Collins calls at the front gate. It’s 7:49.
Maybe if I ignore him he’ll go away. Not. He moves to outside the bedroom
window, “Pat? Pat?! I have something for you Pat.”
“Oh,”
long pause. “Good morning Collins. Can it wait?”“Yes, of course. Sorry to disturb.”
Too late, the damage is done. In the blink of a Nigerian brown out I’m showered and with Collins, collecting N8,000 Ousman gave him to pass on for personal travel expenses in Makurdi. Hand-laundering smelly clothes fills the rest of the morning.
Just
as the sun is about to claim its high spot in the sky Christine arrives with
her counterpart, Effion. Hailing from Egyptian/Greek decent Christine is an
exotic looking young woman with kinky dark hair pulled back in a casual pony-tail
and soulful green-grey eyes. Born in Halifax, she calls Montreal and Florida
home. She’s been on post in Nigeria for two years. Unable to pinpoint her
accent, when asked she tells how she’s hard of hearing; that “accent” is her
own unique signature. Effion is a petite man from the village next to the
organization where he and Christine work. They appear to be friends, though as
the day progresses Christine becomes the assertive boss and Effion the acquiescent
help.
We
travel to Watt Market. It takes a good dozen taxi pullovers before we find one
that will take us; Calabar south is saddled with a not-so-good reputation. Watt
Market though, is an astounding hodgepodge of human condition. Large spanking-new
SUVs travel the same road as the legless beggar perched on wheeled planks of
wood. Garments lie in heaps. Shoppers
hover. Vendors holler, shoppers yell back. Women, men and children weave
through this pandemonium with trays of water bags and oranges and nuts balanced
on their heads. The occasional waft of sewage sends me reeling. While Effion
and Christine haggle over the price of a giant sack of rice, I check out a
hole-in-the-wall liquor store. Gin is clearly the beverage of choice. Christine
tells me, and Ousman later confirms, gin is the preferred gift for village
chiefs.
Effion
points out Housa housing, the Muslim peoples from the north who live on Watt
Market’s fringes. It’s here where money-changers can be found. The black
market. “They’re very fair,” Christine says. Finally a place to exchange U.S.
dollars; I wonder if they’ll take the bundles of ones and fives no one seems to want.
Dinner
finds us at Freddy’s. Calabar’s finest turns out to be an overpriced haunt for
the rich and cravers of “Lebanese” food. Meh. Not worth it.
My guests leave early evening. I pack for early morning.
The
drive to Makurdi is bone jarring. What Nigerian’s call their main highway is a
two lane road sometimes paved but more often just a simple dirt road so badly
pitted it rivals mogul mounds. For six and a half brutal hours our driver plays
dodge the potholes. At one point we pass a motorbike with driver, passenger,
and a subdued hog hog-tied between them. “Drive-through fast-food” takes on a whole new
meaning at the gas bar where women and children clamber around our vehicle to
hawk their wares. Ousman purchases ground nuts and bananas.
Crossing
from Cross River State into Benue State, housing changes from square concrete
block structures with tin roofing to round mud huts with thatched roofing.
These traditional African homes are clustered in communal circles beneath
towering palms.
Pulling into Haf Haven, we settle into our rooms, grab a bite then convene in the hotel’s conference room. For two and a half hours Ousman and his team decide their workshop agenda. It baffles to realize nothing formal is in place until this very last moment; all will likely change again tomorrow. It appears some 35 delegates are in for a seat-of-the-pants event.
18/03/2013 – Monday: Day One of the Global
Sanitation Fund (GSF) Workshop
Workshop
attendance exceeds expectations. Literally. Invited guests have taken the
liberty to invite others. Concern Universal’s quandary is to manage expenses.
Haf Haven hotel is full to capacity. There’s no room at the inn for all
participants. Not a bad situation to be
in, I suppose. It shows a definite interest. It also illustrates how people
jump at the opportunity to stay in air conditioned lodgings and collect travel
expenses on someone else’s tab.
Sidebar: During tea break we’re served meat
pies and BBQd gizzards. As I struggle to bite through the spiced meat it flings
off my toothpick, smacks my neighbour’s cheek, falls onto his sleeve, leaves a
stain and plunks to the floor. I’m mortified. “Sorry! Sorry!” we exchange. If there’s a situation that deserves an
apology, regardless of where fault lies, Nigerian’s share the pain.
Lunch brings me to a table of women. Everyone sits in silence except inquisitive you
know who. Answers are brief. Tony, one
of my Concern Universal colleagues, explains after the fact that etiquette is
to eat quietly. “As a child I was instructed not to talk and to eat meat last.
I don’t worry about the meat rule so much anymore. But silence, yes.” Ah hah, meanwhile
back in Canada mealtimes are times for catch up and socializing. Mental note: mind
shift required.
Take
away observation from today’s workshop:
At breakout session the presence of Benue State’s General Manager of Water & Sanitation impedes/intimidates input (and consequently important hands-on learning) from underlings and representatives of local government agencies. “Big Boss” syndrome prevails.
The villagers to whom this program is targeted need very basic handholding. To quote the GM’s explanation:
“You ask them: ‘Where do you shit? Show me.’
They take you to a bush at river’s edge.
‘You shit in the river?’
‘Yes’
‘Where do you get your drinking water?’
‘From the river.’
‘So you drink your shit.’”
~ Ah hah moment.
Village women play an enormous communications role in program outreach. Streams, rivers and boreholes where they meet daily to fetch water and catch up on local gossip are the very conduits that facilitate information sharing. Get to the women and you’re half-way home.
Contrary to naïve supposition, attendance at
this workshop is not motivated by interest. Nigerian practise pays people
to attend meetings. Lively
discussions around per diem payment consumes the last hour. Attendees
point out Concern Universal’s daily subsistence allowance of N16,000 (4,000
for food and 12,000 for accommodations) pales in comparison to UNICEF’s
N25,000 rate.
At
day’s end, energized and ready to blow off steam all six of us Concern Universal
folk pile into two trucks to tour Makurdi. We cross Benue River a wide sludge
brown waterway that provides livelihoods for fisherman and drinking water for
residents, and is used by many to cool, wash and empty the body. We pass a woman,
disoriented and naked, walking roadside. We stop to shop at a handful of stalls
offering traditional Benue cloth woven or dyed in black and white patterns. I
snag a funky tie-dye scarf and a wicked horse tail duster (sorry Jennifer) to
hang on my walls.
Back
at the hotel we meet for a debriefing. Discussion turns to the matter of Daily
Subsistence Allowances and a policy that restricts staff from claiming the full
accommodation rate. Unfair! cries Janet, CU’s anorexic-thin, high-strung logistics
planner. Considerable soul-searching-later Ousman and Finance Manager, Aishat
(silent t), agree the policy is unfair and should be revised. They decide all
six of us will receive the balance between the actual cost of our hotel rooms
and the N12,000 accommodation rate. The difference adds up to a sweet N15,000
each.
Just
before wrap up I ask whether any of our delegates are from Abuja so that I
might hitch a ride back to the State Capital for VSO meetings. If not, “I’ll
need a lift to the local bus company in Makurdi sometime tomorrow so that I can
buy a ticket.”
“Public
transport by road?”Aishat asks.
“Yes,
I’m to take buses when travelling for VSO.”
“That’s
not right. We have a strict public-transport policy. You’re one of us. We’re
responsible for your safety. Public buses are out of the question.”
“Well
Dashun the last VSO volunteer took buses,” Janet pipes up.
“Because
we did it incorrectly for Dashun doesn’t mean we should repeat that error
again.” Ousman asserts. “We need to book Pat a flight.”
Wow.
Really? Generous travel allowances and
flight privileges?! Today brings fortuitous blessings.
19/03/2013 – Tuesday: Day Two GSF Workshop
in Makurdi
Official
delegates from the State of Benue bestow two royalty titles upon flattered, humbled
and more than a little embarrassed me.
Torkwase
u Tiv = Queen of Tiv
Ochanya
k’Idoma = Queen of Idoma
This
show of friendship comes by virtue of my skin colour and the fact that I’m
wearing the Benue scarf purchased yesterday which bonds me to the people.
It’s a
form of honorary recognition and respect and seemingly, will endear me to the peoples
of Tiv and Idoma should I have occasion to visit communities. Whether these
nicknames will ever be used is beyond me though Tony tells me if chiefs in
these regions catch wind of my titles I could be in for celebratory dance and
formal naming ceremonies.
My new Benue friends kid about my becoming a wife to the Kings of Tiv and Idoma.
“I’ll have to check them out first,” I say.
“You wouldn’t want them. I know your society. They have already five wives and many concubines.”
“Well in that case you’re right. I’ll pass”
We share a good laugh.
Talk shifts to sexists notions in Nigeria.
In pidgin the term to describe “players” – men who love to love many women
= woman wrapper. It also refers to the man i) who is under the total control of his wife; she sends him to the kitchen to do all the domestic chores and ii) men always in the company of women.
A few other
expressions I’m taught in the Tiv language (from Benue State):
Msughur
(mmsu gaaaa) = hello, thank you
U nder
nena (ooon dar nayna) = good morning
U
pande nena (ooo panday nayna) = good evening (could also be afternoon greeting)
Msughur
za van (mmsu gaaaa za van) = welcome
Mngerem
(mnn garem) = water
Hgungwa
(hue-ng-wa) = toilet
Chahul (as it looks) = soap
Mtwem (mmmtwem)
= ashes
(mmm
sa) = I’m lost
(mmm
kav ga) = I don’t understand
(umm-goo-gendi-yem)
= you are my friend
(va k)
= come to Canada
“k”
represents far/west/east
(va
sha) = come to Abuja
“sha”
represents north/up
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