TRAVELS w/P: Tales of Adventure Here & There

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.