MONDAYJUNE 24, 2013
Early birthday greetings Dad~!
The neighbourhood is lively tonite. Voices rise in the falling darkness. Kids shout. Dogs bark. My favourite vendor ladies, sitting on the other side of the compound wall, banter and laugh; funny how a dry night cooks up palpable energy during the rainy season

 

.

Nigerian ways are becoming mine. Happily there’s loads of laughter, lots of smiles  and heaps of warm greetings. Gasp! I even picked up a pair of new-to-me high heel shoes and purple nail polish to better blend with Calabarian fashionistas.

What I’m also finding (true confession), is a shorter fuse. Snippy tones are peppering my talk-oh, like a typical Nigerian.  To get things done you’ve got to be a benevolent autocrat, as Cdn High Commisson pal Peter so poetically puts it. Touché that.

It’s impossible if not downright wrong to be the ever polite, ever patient quintessential Canadian in this culture. The two just don’t jive. If you want something done and you’ve gotta have it now (not tomorrow or days or weeks or months from now) then may the force of voice and status be with you. Sarah’s assertive outburst at a poor service pizza joint opened doors to a lucrative full time job offer; her dining partner was wowed to learn she had that crusty edge. Lucky for her, he’s the son of a wealthy entrepreneur who just happens to be opening a private boarding school with links to UK universities.

White skin makes it all the more interesting. Racism in reverse, if you will: rather than being relegated to the back of the bus oyibos are seated at the front and charged a premium.   

There’s so much fodder for fact and fiction. I wouldn’t trade any of it for all the pounded yam in Africa. No siree bob.  A good sit every now and again keeps me grounded and let’s hope with conscientious practise, staves off short-fused snippiness from becoming an entrenched nasty habit.  Advanced apology-oh! if toes are danced on along the journey.

Saturday June 16, 2103

It’s 1:05AM here and admittedly one of the toughest away moments yet. I remember all too clearly the anguish when we uprooted as a family to move to Ottawa; leaving behind the extended family we’d formed naturally (and enviably to many). The heartache was such that I’ve never once been able to watch the video of our farewell party. Not once. And now, here am I, thousands of miles away while the second of our original foursome is anguishing through the same experience.  I’m sloshing back glasses of red in long distance commiseration, watching the hours tick by until the wee morning hours here coincide with the dinner hour there; a time when I can reliably call to send my love across the pond. Damn. How I wish, how I wish I was there.

Sidebar: Seems Spanish embassy friends made at the Swedish gig are coming to Calabar and looking to yahoo; got a phone call from one of them tonite to ask for advice re hotels drivers and the likes. And while swilling red after Sara’s visit, security guard E joins for a sip or two too. He shares that he has five children and somehow (barely) manages to feed, cloth, accommodate and educate his family on N17,000 less than $115.00 per month. He is the first of all the folks met in these parts to say he does not go to church. People seize Christianity he suggests to stave off the power of juju (voodoo) through the protection of the Almighty. Alrighty.

Wednesday June 19, 2013

I love this life adventure. The last few days have been chock a block full of experiences. Where to begin?  Let’s roll back the clock to Tuesday morning.  My torso is covered in small red itchy-scratchy bites and one big red welt radiating heat. It’s time to visit a Nigerian medical clinic. Fortunately pal Sarah has a friend who fortuitously is a doctor at the clinic sanctioned by VSO. Dr M  advises I’m having an allergic reaction to bug bites. He prescribes an inoculation of antihistamine for immediate relief, five days worth of antihistamine pills and a topical cream, and asks for a follow up visit next week.

Driver Johnson picks me from the clinic. We race to Cross River Broadcasting Corporation to pick up Clementina, producer of a weekly show called The Partner, presenter Nyamgul and cameraman Richard. This trio are covering a ceremonial event marking the end of a water, sanitation and hygiene project managed by Concern Universal. Guest of honour is His Excellency Ryuichi Shogi, Ambassador of Japan in Nigeria; a major funding partner behind a new water access site in Nygal, a village deep in the jungles of Mbuk. We pit stop at the compound so that I can grab some overnite things then set out for a bumpy five hour drive to the north.

On the way we pass primary school girls and boys wielding machetes in the school yard. It’s labour day; the weekly day for hacking and chopping long grasses. I gufaw inwardly, thinking how aghast we’d be to arm our western children with weapons like that. Children playing with knives (?!) verses children building agility and strength for farm work.   Further along the journey we marvel at a two-headed palm tree. 

As the hours pass my car mates share stories. Nyamgul tells a poetic tale about travelling west to visit his brother, a story I hope to capture and retell.

Come morning, Clementina comes calling.

I’m still in jammies and invite her to join me for coffee and buns and fresh slices of pineapple. As we nibble and gab I find myself listening to another incredible tale; another short story in a compendium of many.

By 9:30 to my utter surprise our entourage is gathered in the lobby ready to make way. We’re all a half an hour early. Nigerian time baffles. It’s our Japanese friends who fall behind time but the event more than makes up for the delay. A masquerade of deities is gobsmacking fantastic. Children crane necks to catch glimpse.

CRBC’s Nyamgul enthuses how we’re witnessing a royal masquerade that comes out very rarely. “They are spirits that give blessing. Today they are signifying the acceptance of this project and giving the blessing of the people,” he explains. 

With the exception of coarsely woven netting everything worn by this pair is fresh from the forest. 

At one point the Ambassador finds himself gently head-butted by one and shoulder-squeezed by another. Delight lights his face. 

 

A sprightly dancer springs onto the scene, his thin body clad in a colourful head-to-toe knit. Anklets of shell tinkle as he hops and foot-stamps to drummers’ beats.

 

Another deity sways into the spotlight. Head cocked to one side as if bemused.

Speeches are given. Accolades shared. A glass filled with water.

The chief pulls me aside to ask if I like his village.

“It’s fantastic.”
“Then you must stay.”
 “I would love to,” I agree, thinking a night or two in this magical place would be nothing short of wonderful.
“We will give you a plot of land for you to build a house.”
Say what?

The same offer is publically made to the Ambassador.

While my CRBC friends interview members of the official party, I find myself swarmed by village folk clambering to be photographed. An oyibo is as rare as the royal masquerade it seems. 
 

When music starts up I encourage my companions to dance; they encourage back. Next thing we’re in the middle of a shake-your-booty-athon with CRBC’s camera capturing the lively commotion.

A satisfying day, a deeply gratifying day, the Japanese delegation is equally moved. His Excellency’s two assistants each come to me as the event winds down asking if we can meet in Abuja to discuss future projects. 

Perhaps a women’s centre on that plot of offered land?  A place of empowerment where livelihood dreams can be made to come true?

Bravo to my colleague and understudy IJ for organizing an event with the kind of professional flare that makes it all seem so effortless.

 

Monday June 3^rd BRAIN PURGE Part I

Monday May 27 – nothing unusual

Tuesday May 28 – same

Wednesday May 30 – Democracy Day stat holiday

Wake to bits and pieces of ceiling on the parlour floor and inches of water pooled beneath the dining room table; remnants of last night’s rains. The outlets are soaked. There’s no power.

Grab the mop to sop things up. Head to the shower to wash off the clean-up-grit: there’s no water. Decide to salvage what’s left of the morning over a cup of coffee: there’s no fuel for the cooker to heat water. Say what? The huge gas tank was replaced only weeks ago and should last at least half a year?

 

Head to Axari, a hotel two share-taxi rides away, to swim and shake off a less than stellar start to the day. Get a text from boss Ousman wondering where I’m at. He’s picked up the first of our incoming delegates and wants me to join them for a late lunch. Happily they’re at Axari’s restaurant. I show up looking slightly better than a drowned rat. Samson is a delightful conversationalist, an Ethiopian who spent many beloved years as Concern Universal Country Director in Malawi and now serves as Ousman’s line manager in the UK. Great chat volleys around the table like a table tennis match (Samson’s personal sport). We talk about a community somewhere between Calabar and Ikom where cannibalism is reputed to, well let’s just say urban legend makes it a place not to visit. Peter (of Pandrillus) and companion Liza tell tales of a wedding they attended in this area where as oyibo guests of honour they were made to sit at the high table and were served a special delicacy. Yup. When I relate this story without knowing the place Ousman names the community in a flash: Ugep. Oddly, turns out I was befriended by two young women from Ugep earlier in the day. They were having a family day poolside. Uh oh…they’ve got my number.

Thursday May 31 – Mr. One-eye contractor and his team begin work on the roof. A stove specialist arrives mid-afternoon. He promptly dismantles the cooker. Seems as soon as the valve on the full tank is opened, all burners gush gas despite being in the off position. While all this too-ing and fro-ing is going on Samson, Ousman, Aishat and I interview candidates for the position of Programme Manager for the Global Sanitation Fund. All four candidates fail the written exam and without exception, none knows how to use the supplied laptop to complete their written assignment.

It’s been a long and disheartening day. Retiring to a dark house I decide to splurge a little and ask for my small gen to be powered up. There’s no fuel.  Only two weeks ago fuel was purchased to fill the generator tank. Since then the gen hasn’t been used once. Where did the fuel go? This is not cool. Someone among the Concern Universal family is thieving.  Trust is breached and I’m not pleased. Nor is Aishat who happens to be working into the night preparing year-end financial reports. The fuel is promptly replaced and Aishat plans for a serious discussion with security staff first thing in the morning. A couple of hours later I hunt for whoever is on security duty to off the gen. I find him passed out on a chair. His pants are half off his hips. He can barely open his eyes, much less, see clearly. When I finally get through to him he mumbles, fumbles and staggers. This is security?

Friday June 1.  We meet with an articulate bright young woman from Geneva. Ms C is the program officer responsible for the UN’s Global Sanitation Fund project in Nigeria. As our discussions progress it becomes evident Concern Universal Nigeria needs work on federal government liaison and relations with the national advisory committee responsible for initiating this programme in the first place.  Although I offer to help, racism, I’m told will come into play. “They’ll agree to whatever you might have to say simply because of the colour of your skin, but they’ll have no commitment or follow through,” Ousman says. 

Finally wrapping up at 7:30, together with Hezzy -who’s been patiently waiting on the porch –we dash to Sarah’s for a dinner party. Chapattis are successfully made as a side-accompaniment to Sarah’s yum stew. We meet Moses, a zealous Christian who fancies Sarah, and Philip, the most liberal minded Nigerian yet. Homosexuality becomes the hot talk. Seems most men here believe most women here are bisexual. Mmm kaaaay.

Saturday June 2 – I look forward to sleeping in. Not gonna happen. Standing outside the compound house Ousman calls me awake slightly before 8.  I scramble to show up in the office only to find there’s no need to be there. Crawl back into bed and fall into a deep sleep. Wake to a call from Sarah shortly before noon. We make plans to meet up at the museum. Minutes later Ousman calls to tell me I’m to join a field trip with our special guests. “Be in the office within the next 15 minutes.”  Sarah and I make alternative plans to catch up in the evening.  Within the allotted time I’m sitting at the boardroom table to find lunch being served to Ousman and Samson and Ms C. Samson, such a sweet and savvy man, offers to share. Decline turns to acquiescence; his persistence wins.

A good half hour later we leave.

First stop is TransCorp Hotel to pick up our newest arrived delegates: Dr P a Nigerian diaspora living in the UK and Concern Universal Trustee, and Mr RH chairman of a major Nigerian company, retired CEO of one of the UK’s largest insurers and perhaps the most important patron of Concern Universal. Tall and haphazardly handsome with a mop of silvered hair, Mr RH is likeable and worldly, insightful and engagingly down to earth. A team of armed security hover like bees to secure his whereabouts. They buzz around wherever he happens to be making his presence more visible than had they not been there.

 

We hop into our assigned vehicles. I have the superb fortune of riding with Samson and Mr RH. We head to a village in the district of Bakassi on the shores of Cross River. We all get a good giggle when our mobile phones welcome us to Cameroon, a short hop, skip and jump away. The village where we’ve arrived is home to pirates. It’s also a political hotbed involving oil, two feuding countries and refugee camps. Google more if you’re interested. We visit a shed in the middle of a field on the edge of a forest framing the shores of the river. It’s a grass cutter farm. Grass cutters are a cute, slightly larger version of guinea pig, with a rat like tail. In Nigeria these cane rats are also known as “the other white meat,” “bush meat,” a “delicacy.”  The farmer feeds them sweet biscuits. RH is incredulous. “A rather expensive food isn’t it?” Seemingly this is a community cooperative enterprise supported by all of the village’s families who each contribute Naira for food. “But won’t grass suffice? Biscuits – really?” Sweat trickles on the brow. Damp shirts cling to backs. The cutter hut is a tropical oven. Our delegation slow cooks listening to the farmer and his stories.

We head back the same way we came. Passing stands of bamboo, just ahead is a clear, fast moving river where villagers swim and bathe and fetch water. Slapped together planks of wood bore us across on our inward journey, but this makeshift bridge gives out as the first of our three 4x4 trucks crosses back. The vehicle wedges on an angle. Locals gather. Naked boys stand on shore to watch. Crowds grow. A frenzied chorus of voices rise, ideas tumble one after another in a language none of us understand. Brute force, forty-five minutes and N15,000 later we’re on our way again. Sceptics among us ask was this a planned mishap – sabatoge? Or a legitimate accident? Whatever, it’s a certain adventure.

Stop two finds us visiting a village equipped with two generators, a borehole and palm oil processing equipment. Interestingly Mr RH is overseeing the early start up stages of a palm oil processing plant in Lagos. We talk about the industry.

 

“Old plantations yielding one tonne, when replanted will yield 20 tonnes. Fifty years of selective breeding in Asia  - natural modification through selection, the use of fertilizer, the right planting techniques and vast labour pools; all these are exciting things but they’re happening so very slowly,” he muses.

Mr RH envisions supplying enormous amounts of clean palm oil to Nigeria’s millions. He envisions the small independent farmers who sell plastic water bottles filled with thick gooey red oil from their doorsteps to sell their liquid to his company. He envisions these same farmers growing naturally modified palm nut producing trees and using fertilizers to net higher yields. He envisions greater prosperity for so many occurring in tandem with greater profitability for his company. What he doesn’t envision is what he sees at our second field visit: a village that has received heavy infrastructure investment with nothing to show for it. Five months in - the water supply that’s conveniently located across from the village chief’s house, sits unused, as do the generator and rusting processing equipment.

Climbing back into our vehicle afterwards, comments fly. “This is exactly the kind of project I don’t like to see: investment in infrastructure rather than people. What is the return on beneficiaries?” Vision and strategy, networking and interpersonal capacity, governance and operations clarity, key performance indicators, recruitment issues; the discussion cuts swathes across the organization I’ve come to know and love.

...8:30pm later

Ousman invites me to join the group for dinner.  Twenty minutes after our pre-arranged pick up time, freshly showered and dressed with makeup on, I send a text suggesting he call me when he’s nearing the compound so that I’m ready at the gate. No reply. A good hour after that, I send a second text:  "Is this late timing a matter of Nigerian time delay or have you gone ahead without me? A courtesy reply would be appreciated.”

He calls to say he’s out at dinner, fell behind time, forgot about me, and thanks for understanding. 

 

Sunday June 8, 2013 BRAIN PURGE Part II

Enough days and too many insights later the left-behind incident is long behind and best forgotten.  Since then highlights include:

• Full team, full day meetings with Ms C who talks about the Global Sanitation Fund ; Mr Samson who shares strategic Concern Universal initiatives at headquarter level;  Mr RH who facilitates a session around defining success - what we do well and even better if; Trustee member Dr P who gets us talking about sanitation and hygiene programs in urban and waterlogged communities and Ousman who presents concepts behind PESTLE an assessment tool for strategic planning (political, economic, social, technical, legal and environmental).
• Cooking a fine meal (finally) for an appreciative palate – Ms C. Menu includes garlic butter & wine braised prawns; ginger couscous; lentil veggie medley in a spicy peanut curry, and a fine South African red.
• Flying to Abuja to meet with key federal level players responsible for the design of the Global Sanitation Fund programme in Nigeria. Side note: Hotel security open trunks and use equipment to check vehicle undercarriages for bombs.
• Feasting on pick n kill catfish at a lively bush bar, sipping red wine and dancing to live reggae.

• Visiting CIDA friend Rehana at her stunning Canadian Commission apartment overlooking the city of Abuja, marvelling at the art and antiquities she and hubby Peter have collected; riding in a diplomatic vehicle to attend national holiday festivities at the Swedish Embassy, working through the throngs of armed security into the inner sanctum to meet the Ambassadorial family receiving line, sipping wonderful reds, nibbling exquisite finger foods, chatting it up with diplomats from this country and that; all in all a jolly fine evening.
• Meetings with WaterAid and Unicef – organizations that deliver similar water, sanitation and hygiene programs.
• Meetings with a PR/journalist who is hopefully going to become my newest best friend.
• Sitting in one of the most uncomfortable and unprofessional exchanges, ever. Finally called the individual out on a few less than kosher directives.  Sipping a way too early afternoon glass of red after the fact to assuage bruised egos.
• Losing myself at Abuja’s Arts and Crafts market where I find an amazing dreadlocked mask and a fe/male pair of “antique” carvings. The generous per diem I’ve been paid for this away time covers the cost of these acquisitions.
• Attending live theatre at the posh Transcorp Hilton Hotel. The event is hosted by the Czech Republic Ambassador to Nigeria.  Tickets come by way of Rehana. My Canadian companion, CUSOer Lindsey and I do the receiving line thing then take our seats in anticipation of Audience. It’s a happy blend of cultures: a Czech Republic play performed by Nigerian actors

Written in 1975 by Vaclav Havel, a bourgeois who was forced to abandon  his work in theatre and labour in a brewery, the story is an absurdist conversation between Havel’s alter ego, Vanek, a playwright persecuted by the Czechoslovakian communist regime and a drunken brewery foreman. As the play progresses the duo drink their way through a good two dozen bottles and cans of genuinely intoxicating beer. Their banter is a surrealist repetition of dialogue befitting the situation. An uneducated drunkard, the foreman eventually reveals that his duty is to spy and report on Vanek. The foreman asks Vanek to write self-denunciatory reports in exchange for a better job.Vanek declines.
 

In real life the playwright struggled against the Communist system for the respect of human rights and democracy. In 1993 Vaclav Havel was elected as the First President of the Czech Republic and served until 2003.
 

Post play Lindsey and I mingle with diplomats, sip fine wine and nibble on sumptuous silver-platter-served nibblies. 

 

• Catching up with Sarah at our own Transcorp hotel in Calabar over “the best burger in town.” I’m not sure if it’s the best, but it certainly is the biggest.

 

 

• Spending a leisurely rainy Sunday sans power, writing blog catch up, drinking cool water and enjoying the simple pleasures of home.