24/05/2013 Friday

Gourmet dinner: Heinz baked beans with a dash of real Canadian maple syrup – mmmm M mmmm - and a glass of Austrian red. Life couldn’t be better.

It’s sweaty hot tonight. Beads trickle under my chin to my chest and from mid back down the spine. I’ve been here long enough now to appreciate the glaze for its cooling properties.

Happily today ends with the addition of a new garment: a Nigerian tailored dress w fabric and labour for a head smacking $20Cdn. Wow.  Wish we had affordable seamstresses like this back home. It’s wonderful to slip on something and find it fits and flatters in all the right places. Admittedly it helps that Nigeria’s off-putting food is putting off pounds.  I plan to wear the dress next Friday wear traditional day. If I can swing the time and funds hair extensions will factor into the mix.

Fabric here is sold in pre-measured lots of four or six yards. Distinctly African prints and patterns hang from the rafters of hundreds of market vendors or are tidily stacked alongside fresh eggs, fiery hot red peppers and packets of powder milk at local stands just around the corner from virtually everywhere in Calabar.

Hair salons are nearly as many as local food stands. Women forever change their hairstyles. One week it’s a soft-curls bob-cut wig, another is down to the waste braided hair extensions, the one after that is loose falling mid-length locks. You can tell who has limited means by their hair. A woman sporting a close cropped cut is likely cropping corners to make ends meet.

By and large the young girls in this neighbourhood have shaved heads. Several times a week they come to the compound to fetch water for their homes.  Whenever they spot me outside the compound on my way to buy onions or tomatoes or whatever, they come running: “Aunty!  Mrs Pat!” I once told them I don’t have anyone here to give me hugs, so they make sure to wrap their little arms around me. My heart melts every time. One in the bunch, a spunky boy of two or three who stands just above my knees has the greatest perma-grin ever. He comes running at me with the gang (usually wearing a shirt and nothing else) and stops short of a hug. In the last day or two I’ve discovered he likes to high-five. We’ve found a way to touch-bond. Dang he’s cute. 

Before heading out to pick up my dress I draw a hop-scotch on the dirt road outside the compound. A quick demo gives them the idea, but I think we’ll need to play a full game together for them to really understand the intent. These kids know nothing about skipping rope, or throwing and catching ball, or spending a rainy afternoon indoors making arts and crafts. They have never heard of the Wizard of Oz or Pinocchio, Snow White or the Seven Dwarves. Then again we’ve never heard of their folk tales – touché. That said, I’d love to host a movie night complete with popcorn. Will def need to look into borrowing speakers for the laptop and getting a whack of kiddie flicks sent here. 

Now about the dogs: Lola and Whiskey have been in training ever since I picked up a choke chain from Abuja during the second leg of VSO induction, say about mid-March. Each weekday morning one or the other comes for a 30 minute walk. We’ve progressed from brutal tugging to proper heeling and are now working on sit. They’re both smart pooches, and equally stubborn. It takes a certain amount of repetitiveness, loads of praise, lots of positive-reinforcement cookies and tons of loving touch to compel this momma and her baby to listen and respond.  Many folk still move from one side of the road to the other when they see us coming. Others barely shield their hunger. I’m acknowledged in their respectful Nigerian way, but their eyes shift to whichever dog happens to be my morning companion. “I like your dog” they call out looking longingly at the potential meal Lola or Whiskey would make.

Today’s walk takes me into new territory. We pass a few gated, exquisitely landscaped monster homes. Next to these beacons of wealth haphazard tin shacks link one after the next. These slum dwellers live under the sun and stars in the public eye of their neighbours and passersby like me. It’s a gritty environment, literally and figuratively.

Despite despairing conditions, men and women set out for work in clean pressed clothes. Their children laugh and chase after each other as they set out to school in tidy pressed uniforms. A few women sit together; their cotton wraps hang loosely, revealing fleshy backs usually modestly covered. One grabs a hand broom made of banded twigs and sweeps the ground shooing away a mother duck and her gaggle of fuzzy peeping chicks in the process. Across the way a group of young men exchange morning gossip before heading their separate ways. The 7:15 morning buzz.

20/05/2013 Monday

Those air conditioning units installed in Concern Universal’s offices are taking a toll on the organization’s energy system. Not surprisingly the building isn’t wired with sufficient amperage.  Say what? Yeesh. An electrician meant to tackle this over the past weekend, delays until today. Talk about working in the dark. Eyes grow tired almost as fast as laptop batteries. By mid afternoon a wicked tropical storm lashes rain and lightening. Thunder claps close and loud. Both dogs tremble. Even I jump a few times startled by room piercing flashes and bone jarring booms.

This evening is uncannily quiet. And cool. Cool, what a novel experience. As spring turns to summer back home and familiar faces post sunny tributes to Mother Nature, on this side of the world cooling rains arrive to a similar but different fanfare. My little red boots are gonna get put to good use.

 

16/05/2013 Thursday

Peter Marshall, Regional Security Manager for the Canadian High Commission in Abuja, flew into town today. An out-of-the blue e-note appeared in my inbox a few weeks back suggesting we get together during his upcoming visit. (Have I already mentioned this?)  Because he’s so disarmingly charming information flows in easy chit-chatty exchange. Knowing what little I do after having worked on projects for the Department of Foreign Affairs and International Trade (DFAIT) it’s entertaining to interact with this consummate diplomat. Heather, a newly graduated vet from Saskatoon, 10 days into her placement at Pandrillus Primate Centre, joins us for dinner.  Highlights:

• Seemingly there are some 60 Canadians like Heather and me presently in Nigeria; the bulk are oil-industry affiliated.  
• How difficult it is for DFAIT to fill African posts: few qualified peeps and little interest among those with the credentials.
• Currently Canadian diplomats are restricted to Abuja, Lagos and Calabar. Any travel outside of these areas must be in an escorted armoured vehicle. Tough to travel to Afi Mountain or Obudu Cattle Ranch under these conditions.
• Lagos is a crazy security scene but definitely worth the visit. In fact from Peter’s perspective Nigeria’s been given a bum rap. Things aren’t as fierce as the international media would have us believe.
• The security business is big business in Nigeria and tightly knit with lots of information sharing.
• CIDA’s fit into DFAIT is one big fat question mark. Maybe the geographic model currently in place will include political, trade and development officers. Interesting when you think of i) policy being influenced by or impacting corporations and developing countries; ii) corporate interests being aligned with policy and international development opportunities and vice-versa; iii) elimination of duplication in the areas of HR, finance, admin….
• The astounding money making opportunities in this country yet to be exploited. Wealth in some quarters is beyond extreme: private flight services, thriving Lamborghini and Porsche dealerships, motivational speakers motivated by rewarding financial returns are just a few cases in point.

19/05/2013 Sunny Sunday
Collins is anxious to get to wherever (on the low-down) and tries to rouse me early. But I’m off to a slow and lazy sleep-in start.  He finally nabs my attention a few hours later while I’m in the shower; it’s a rather awkward exchange to say the least. He’s going to fetch food for the dogs, hops on his new motorbike and rides off shortly after 10:00. Meantime Cdn High Commission pal Peter and his wife Rehna, Director of CIDA Program Support Unit, invite me out for beers and lunch at the Marina. Their driver is to fetch me at 1:00. Come noon I text Collins. No word. I phone at 12:30 - he’s on his way. Finally ten minutes before one I make the call I’ve been trying to avoid: to let Aishat know it looks like no one will be here to watch the compound.   

Over beers Peter and Rehna talk about their interaction with different cultures. Vietnam tops their favourite list while Nigeria takes the most challenging. We talk about the way people treat each other. The curtness. The pervasive suspicion and distrust.  The disadvantage of being kind-hearted = being taken advantage of. So paying N1,000 for bitter kola nuts worth N250; and N2,500 for a water-cooler refill that should cost only N400; and N3,000 for generator fuel that “leaked” and needed refilling much too soon. Lesson learned.  The benevolent autocrat I shall become.

Sidebar: An interesting site that attempts to define Nigerian culture

http://geert-hofstede.com/nigeria.html

We talk too about the diplomatic field. The kinds of personalities it attracts. The kinds of attractive skills that open doors to an international development career; human resources, finance and (project) management the current biggies.  - Take note Kaleigh! -  We agree Nigerian food is nasty. In some places, they tell me, baby monkey brain is a delicacy served straight out of the decapitated head. Come on? That’s straight out of the movies. Peter tells how he's munched on crunchy scorpion. Rehna tells how she barely managed two swallows of a gelatos gooey pig’s feet stew to appease hosts. 

All in all it’s a delightful day with new friends and lots of great gab. We part promising to keep in touch and pencil future visits in Abuja and Calabar on each other’s calendars.

12/05/2013  Mother’s Day Sunday

Happy Mother’s Day Mom and to all my sisters from another mother, who are mothers themselves, xxoo majaP

The sky is heavy grey. I take refuge under the screened porch, debating what to have for dinner. Rain may fall yet a third time.

Mother’s Day morning arrives today with a pitter patter on the tin roof. Though thunder clouds rumble, bed sheets and jammies, towels and washcloths are laundered and hung on the line in optimism. Sure enough blue patches blotter the sky and a blazing sun burns through laggard clouds; soggy linens dry crisp in under thirty minutes. Lucky thing. Grey rolls back in, more thunder rumbles and early afternoon comes with a pitter patter on the lush broad-leaf birds of paradise and soon to bud hibiscus. Not for long. Again, skies clear. Setting up chair with footstool, water bottle and book on the walkway just outside my door, afternoon passes with carefree laziness. A small female lizard keeps company. She scampers as close as she dares, bobs her head, dips and nabs a bite of something from the ground, chews, parts her mouth as if in smile – sweating I suppose – and then edges just a slight bit closer. I wiggle toes or wave a foot every now and then to test her courage. Sometimes she scampers but returns closer still.

In between pages of “Three Cups of Tea,” sips of water, nibbles of stove popped corn seasoned with salt and peppe, and the antics of she lizard, thoughts drift to my two baby girls who I miss fiercely. Distance is one thing we’re able to bridge in Canada. Thanks to sketchy Internet, spotty power, time differences and scheduling challenges our daily too-ing and fro-ing is lucky to happen weekly. Call it a definite homesick hurdle. The tender reassurance that comes from an out of the blue “hello” or “nightie-night,”  “thinking of you” or “just because,” is especially missed on this no nepa, no internet Mother’s Day in Nigeria.  Your moon is my moon. Looking up at it tonite. xxoo

Sidebar: Tried to get a data plan for my Samsung mobile this weekend to counter the nepa/internet issue. Probs is my phone is locked by dear ol’ Canadian service provider Rogers; won’t permit use of a foreign SIM card. Really? Tsk tsk shame, shame.  

 

15/05/2013 Just another wettish Wednesday

As I think I’m acclimatizing to the weather and the weirdness, I encounter a handful of firsts.  First, Concern Universal’s office is fully air conditioned and operational as of yesterday afternoon. Kinda off timing though: last night as rain teems down and winds sweep in through open windows, for the first time since arriving I contemplate wearing long sleeve silk jammies and pull a sheet up over my body to keep comfortable against the evening chill. This morning, for the first time ever here, I notice steam rising from my mug of coffee. Earlier in the week I dine on the first palatable meat dish in two months; a yum comfort-food beef stew, compliments of Sarah. I watch her select a butcher and insist on a hunk of lean flesh taken from the middle of a larger chunk.  As the butcher sets to work hacking away fat and gristle two other customers finger smaller cuts of meat – poking and prodding and passing the meat between each other. How gross is that? For the first time, ever, as much as I love the flavour of Sarah’s stew, I savour the fresh green beans and carrots and potato but am gobsmacked to find myself struggling with the fleshy meat bits. Am I going to be able to eat thick bloody steaks like I once did? Hmmm dunno that.

 

Otherwise, everything here seems surprisingly predictable and routine.  Well, almost.  Outside the walls of Marion market I spot a grown woman standing with her dress hefted up around her waist. A stream of pee splatters against the ground beneath her. Ewww. To think she’s going to go handle fresh fruits and veg, meat and fish as a shopper or vendor. 

 

Sidebar: Roger's is a mobile mobster: i) monthly charges for a plan I can't defer or economically use while out of country; ii) outrageous roaming charges on top of an international travel package intentionally purchased that - surprise!?! - doesn't cover international roaming charges; iii) a $50 fee to unlock my phone so that I can use a local SIM card - plus iv) more roaming fees to call Rogers to address these issues. Where's customer service in all this? Rogers takes advantage of its customers through inflexible standards and services and/or ill-trained staff providing misleading or incorrect information. Is this not corruption/siphoning conveniently shrouded under the guise and protection of corporate policy?

 

R...E...S...P...E...C...T...

08/05/13 Wednesday

Early days in this foreign land shock when Nigerians address underlings with terse belittling. It still does. Call it an up the side of the head reminder of who’s boss and who’s not.  Mental note then as now: do not go there. But security guy Joe? He presses buttons. He’s wary of me after that late-for-work, hopping-the-fence episode. Last night this perpetually sweaty man keeps the generator running well past the shut-down hour. He’s been told when to turn off the gen by Collins and reminded twice more. But nothing seems to sink in. Grrrr. More frustratingly he keeps the gen running despite the fact that NEPA comes back on. I only realize this when I go looking for him after shut-down time has come and gone. What the…! How long has power been back on? What a foolish waste of fuel.

In this sub-Saharan country, hierarchical stratification thrives on socio-economic and academic status (and yes, white skin). Those disadvantaged or less fortunate by happenstance best buckle up and prepare for a lifelong ride of verbal abuse and mental humiliation. 

Is this a hangover from the decades of slave trading? Of times when tribes cruelly turned on neighbouring villagers for commercial exploit?  Human trafficking remains an ugly issue here. Every upper middle class household has “domestic help.” Typically these young women and men come from impoverished villages. They’re not paid. By being subjected to the lives of those with means, they’re meant to learn by example and to aspire for the same. Sometimes their families (read owners) will fund their education, if it pleases them. Christine and Tony, Ousman and Aishat all have house people. Tony’s person is a young girl of maybe ten or twelve. We’re told they’re family. I wonder.

I wonder too about people like security guy Joe, driver Umoh and compound keeper Collins.  I’ve heard them being “dissed” more times than I can count. Collins talks often about how he’s a human being with blood running through his body just like person X yet he’s treated without common courtesy. Where's the respect? 

Catchup Tuesday

01/05/2013 – Worker’s Day Wednesday
An unexpected statutory holiday in the middle of the week suits me just fine. Christine and her boys are taking me swimming then to Tinapa for shopping. They were to be here by 10am. It’s coming on 11:30. Gotta love that Nigerian time thing.

Tinapa = great steals. How about this bag of Ruffles plain potato chips for JUST $18.00 USD

02/05/2013 – Thunder storm Thursday

Thor’s on a rampage this evening. Christine’s hubby Dr. Bassey, Psychiatrist, stops by for a prearranged interview. I’m writing a Canadian piece on mental fitness in Nigeria. We take off to a nearby medical clinic when the good doctor is summoned to see a patient. It’s the perfect chance to check out how the industry functions. While waiting in the waiting room power disappears as it does regardless of where you are or what time it might be. Patients shift uncomfortably. A big boisterous dark-black man walks in with what I can only guess are his two wives; one is carrying a newborn, both sport modest head scarves. His booming bullying gets little reaction from the nurse, though she sizes things up quickly and directs all questions to Mr husband who answers for his ladies.

This medical clinic's paper filing system is just a few paces away from Ontario's still-paper system. Ok, well, maybe giant steps away. How do they ever find who they're looking for?

Doctor B comes racing out of the consult room when he realizes the sky is darkening and rain is imminent. “Let’s get out of here before it gets bad.” The sky’s a thick pea soup green, the kind of colour that warns of imminent wild weather.

“Do you get hurricanes or tornadoes around here?”

A couple of crash and booms and we’re into torrential rain that’s insane.  Water pours from the sky like the walls of a falls. Palm trees bend, pedestrians drench, wires snap and slither to the road that’s fast become a running stream. Bassey slams on the brakes to avoid live wires, backs up and slams into the car behind him. The driver races around beside him and starts hollering. Bassey hollers back about the fallen wire. Angry driver puts on his emergency signals and meekly pulls away.  End of today’s story.

 

30/04/2013 Tuesday Tales

Driver Umoh’s story comes out in bursts and pauses of anger and silence like one might imagine the staccato sound of an AK47 firing off rounds, a sound eerily familiar to the storyteller. He can’t tell me his age when the story opens saying instead, “it was in nineteen hundred and sixty seven.” He was three years from meeting and marrying his wife. It was a time when he had two choices. He could join the Nigerian army and war against armed extremists or arm himself alongside extremists and kill anyone and everyone standing in the way of an independent Biafra. He chose the army.  Violent random killing in the name of Biafra was too much for Umoh to understand much less support. “They went into a village near my own and killed everyone – elders and men, women and babies and children…everyone. Bodies were everywhere. For a month I buried those people.” Horror carries in the hollow of his voice and the steely hard of his eyes. This is the petite gentle man I watched playing and cooing with a baby last week in delighted abandon. A proud father of many and grandfather of many more. A man still haunted by memories that would send most of us over the edge.

 Let’s talk about something happier I suggest, feeling guilty for having asked him about Biafra in the first place.

He tells me about the out-of-Calabar village weekend wedding for his nephew and how he showered the newlyweds with heaps of gifts including a kitchen tray, hair dryer and sewing machine.

Somehow we get talking about his own village. He’s the clan chief, complete with hat and walking stick and shoes. “I will bring my shoes to show you,” he offers, “they are very beautiful.”  No doubt.

He also tells of a jealous younger brother, a wicked wicked man identified by “the Church” as a deal maker with the devil. A man who sold Umoh’s land out from under him while he was away at work. A man who regularly threatens death on Umoh and those around if Umoh refuses to pay up the N10,000 or whatever wicked brother decides he needs to keep himself in beer. A man Umoh believes will one day successfully poison him just as his father and uncles were poisoned to death.

Iye. Nigeria is one weird weird world.

Sidebar: I have these itsy bitsy teeny weeny incredibly itchy bites showing up around my belly around to my back. Don’t know what they are or where they’re coming from. They seem especially aggravating at night. Bed bugs?