TRAVELS w/P: Tales of Adventure Here & There

24/03/2012 No napa Sunday

Computer battery is running low. Above title says it all. Energy hasn’t been one once since I woke. Day is spent hand laundering and reading. Time to prep dins before sun sets and darkness covers us with her blanket.

23/03/2013 – Saturday at home

Today is the quintessential domestic Nigerian day. Marketing in the morning and cleaning in the afternoon. Found a cockroach the size of my thumb. Lovely.

It’s now kick back with a bottle of Star beer time. Collins is visiting, chowing down on ground nuts (peanuts) and plantain chips, glued to TV. The football world cup qualifier between Nigeria and Kenya is today’s town talk, especially since it’s happening just down the road at Calabar stadium. As he watches I begin this catchup:

Bright and early Wednesday I catch a ride to Abuja with Salihu, Chief Officer of water quality and sanitation control for the Nigerian federal government, and his scientist counterpart, Yemisisas, a petite soft spoken woman with stylish flare.  En route we buy bags of giant and supremely sweet “Julie” mangos to share with our colleagues back at the office. Salihu makes a pit-stop at his home in a gated suburb. His wife is professor of chemistry at a neighbouring State university so I have North American expectations for the residence of this well-placed-and-paid family. Instead it’s a slap up the side of the head to see very basic surroundings: a grey painted and peeling cement floor just like mine, walls the colour of light mangos just like mine, and matching drapes hanging across door entranceways and windows just like mine. 

Sidebar I: Nigerians, it’s since been explained, have little appetite for decorating. Hence, the lack of art works and crafts. This must be the reason behind all those plastic flower stalls I keep seeing; despite a veritable treasure trove of exquisite exotic flowers, plastics here reign supreme.

Recounting my Salihu’s-house observation to a seasoned VSO colleague, she asks, “Does he have at flat screen TV?” Yup. “Air conditioning?” Check.  “And two separate homes?” Uh huh. “He’s definitely privileged and quite possibly on the take.”

Seemingly everyone is.  You’re forever negotiating the cost of any purchase– an extra N20-50-100-or better is always better for the pocket. You pay chop (eat) money at military and other road stops. Siphoning, nepotism and bribes are expected and accepted norms. Elected local government officials are generally “voted” into their positions as a reward of or by sheer blood relationship to State officials. Dunno how they work around the election process, but they do.

Over the next few VSO days I see and hear other different, disturbing practices. For instance, during a gender sensitization session with colleagues and their placement counterparts (aka employers) an elderly gent, head of another State’s education system, asks in all seriousness, “How many of you have been bossed by a woman? I have and it was horrible.” Stacey, a delightful young woman from the UK pipes up “And we have all had horrible men as bosses, no?!” The room cracks up. Stacey’s pissed and ready to rampage.

“Here in Nigeria the more successful a woman is, the less likely she is to marry. In fact the Federal Minister of Finance was divorced by her husband when she was appointed to the post. Meanwhile in the Netherlands, gender equality is so far advanced that when a baby is born the mother and father must take the same amount of time off. If the mother is home with the baby for seven months, the father must be home with the baby for seven months. This time is taken separate from each other.”

Mr Education scoffs and talks over Stacey, dismissing her from the room.

“Ha, what would a man do all day? That is just ridiculous.” His male counterparts giggle.

“The man changes napees just like the mother.” Stacey retorts. “The mother expresses milk from her breast and the father feeds the baby with bottles of her milk. The man also cooks for his wife so there is food on the table when she gets home after work. And he cleans.”

More laughter.

 Really rankled, Stacey starts rattling off stats. “Did you know out of a survey of 187 countries - to find out where the best places are for a woman to live - Nigeria ranks 161? Only 26 countries are worse than Nigeria. That is a terrible thing!”

Official conversation moves off in other directions. Stacey and her liberal-minded male cohort, Francis, carry sidebar discussions that also veer off in all sorts of directions. At one point for some reason I miss Francis asks, “What is sodomy?”

“It is what two men do together, or a man and a woman if they wish.”
“It is a good thing, a pleasurable thing?”

That launches lots of sex talk.

* In Benue, where I’ve just been, attitudes towards sex are wildly out of control. Muslim men still commonly albeit quietly present their male guests with the gift of intimate company from one of their many wives. Tradition prevails in the face of HIV/AIDs.
* Also in Benue, extra marital and multiple partner activity is commonplace. No gender discrimination in the field of play, both men and women partake. It should come as no surprise then, that Benue is Nigeria’s HIV/AIDs capital.

* Across the nation older women in polygamous marriages suffer unprecedented rates of depression. With the husband favouring newer and younger wives, many of these first wives have not had touch in decades. They are often seen sneaking off to hotels for rendezvous’ with other willing partners. Yet another conduit for HIV/AIDs.

• In northern parts of Kwara State, where Stacey and Francis are based, Muslim men restrict their women to the compounds where they live. Repression unabated. “You can literally go weeks in these areas without seeing a single woman.”
• To the south, Ibo tradition treats women more favourably however other types of horror stories come from these parts. Example 1: There are some Cross Rivers State communities that believe in witches and wizards. Child witches suffer at the hands of religious zealots who cite crying, among other natural childish behaviours, as demonic signs. Children are exorcised by hammering nails into their heads or they’re killed as ritual sacrifice.

Sidebar II: On Friday evening over dinner drinks Leanne, a young white woman working on her PhD in anthropology, tells me she found a ten year old boy lying in the streets outside her Calabar home. Nails had been hammered into his head. Hospital refused to provide treatment: “He is a witch and will do terrible things here.”  She ends up taking him to an organization for abandoned maltreated children.”

• Example 2: Seemingly BBC ran an expose on people gone missing in the local government area of Ugep, Cross Rivers. Rumour has it these unwitting folk were killed for fun and cannibalistic ritual.  SidebarIII: A quick Google search did not verify this. Stacey says she’ll forward details, which in turn I’ll pass along too.

Stacey, by the by, is a fun-loving foodie, a Scottish lass with an awesome command of Nigerian speak. Wednesday evening we find ourselves along with Esly (the Dutchess) and Lyndsey (newly arrived Canadian-betrothed-to-a-Nigerian) at an outdoor restaurant, aka Bush Bar, feasting on pick and kill pepe fish. Essentially you point to a catfish in the bush bar’s tanks. They kill it, gut it, season it with a spicy hot pepper sauce, wrap it in foil, slow cook it over an open fire and bring it to your table still foil wrapped and Yummmy. It’s here that I quaff my first beer. It very nearly puts me on my butt.

Thursday Stacey and I take off from VSO’s offices mid-afternoon. Healthy-sized, lazy-eyed, good-natured Francis joins us. We find a pet store that carries choke chains – the perfect training tool for Lola and Whiskey. Next stop: Abuja’s one and only arts and crafts centre. It’s conveniently located beside the Sheraton Hotel, temporary home to wealthy travellers. Mid-way through the thatch-roofed collection of artisans and wares Stacey and I spot a 3’ x 4’ acrylic painting depicting market frenzy. The artist, Tola, tells us his works are in UN and other corporate and individual noteworthy collections.  Truth or fiction? Whatever. We talk and work out a price that’s just so cannot-quibble affordable.  This lovely colourful scene will add much needed punch to drab quarters and inject a sense of home. Problem is, I don’t have sufficient funds on me and we’re expected at a group VSO dinner in less than 30 minutes. Tola graciously offers to deliver the work to the hotel later in the evening and agrees to accept U.S. dollars.

Dinner at Abuja’s renowned Wakkis turns out to be a meat-fest. Preceded by a smooth sweet Lassi, it all tastes so good - at the beginning. Chicken wings, ground beef somosas, tandoori chicken, roasted lamb, curry fish.  Well before the last course, though, I’m meated out and dealing with an unhappy stomach.

Down but not finished, Stacey and I grab one last brew together at the night club next to Crystal Palace, our Abuja home away from home. We swap stories, trade contact info and promise to keep in touch. Tola delivers. The night winds down. Shut eye time arrives.

Sidebar IV: Power’s out. It reliably shuts off around 8pm every night. What I thought was intermittent when I first arrived is predictable after all. No power means no fans and no fans means hot and sweaty, and hot and sweaty means I think I’ll pass on going Saturday night clubbing with some of the other white women of Calabar. Leanne, the PhD anthropologist is one. Sarah a Brit VSO’er working with Girl Power is another.  Rain-check please and thanks.

                                             
Friday is largely uneventful. Flight back is delayed slightly. While waiting I strike up conversation with a woman who turns out to be a scientists with Nigeria’s federal agriculture department. Her area of focus is cocoa – chocolate! Her colleague tells me his speciality is genetically modified maize. By the end of a 15 minute exchange, they’ve taken my picture with each of them and I’ve been asked and obligingly flash them. (No I’m not flashing flesh! It’s a street term for dialing their phone; when the call comes through they add your number to their contact list). As we part I’m told they’ll come visiting Calabar sometime soon, bearing gifts of chocolate wine!

Days of air conditioned pampering increase sensitivity to the heat and humidity of home. Nausea sets in fast. Add in sensitive stomach syndrome and I opt to lie down for the hotter part of the afternoon.  Just as I’m about to doze a text message comes bleeping in, then another and another. It’s Aswini, a VSO’er in town from Kwara; housemate of Esly and Stacey. A good week or more ago we agreed to get together. No chance of reneging on this one, it’s Freddy’s for seven.

Aswini is a strong-souled New Yorker of Chennai India origin. She wears her beautiful long black hair in a single braid that hangs to her waist. In due course Sarah arrives with another white gal pal. Both brunettes wear daring-for-Nigeria short black dresses. Both present as party girls and from Sarah’s stories partying with uninhibited abandon is indeed her hallmark. Leanne shows up in a demure sleeveless cotton dress. Her fair skin and blonde hair stand out with striking simplicity. 

I tell the table how I find a pot of boiled water left standing on the stove while I travel, on return is seething with little white somethings. They make me think of the “sea monkeys” comic books once advertised way back when. Oh how I’d wanted pet sea monkeys.

“Those squiggly things are worms,” Leanne cautions. “You must be watchful for them. They can be found in food. I once cut into a mango and it was full. That is also why people iron their clothes.”

"Iron their clothes?”
“Yes, those worms can get into your garments. It is important to dry your clothes in the sun and to iron afterwards.”
If that’s not gross enough, Sarah adds that these worms burrow into your skin.
Nice.