Cicely in Nigeria

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2010-10-11T17:39:00.025+01:00

London has greeted my return with three days of beautiful Autumn weather and I confess that the wrench from Kagoro and Kafanchan has not been as painful as I might have expected. That being said temperatures of close to 20 degrees and not having to get up to go to work every morning probably helps, however I really do find myself settling in quite well: not over-dosing on cheese, or in fact anything (apart from, strangely, Walkers prawn cocktail flavoured crisps)... driving on the right (in terms of ‘correct’) side of the road and not being at all fazed by rush hour on the tube.

Difficult to believe but this is the 10th of October in London. Just look at that sky!

Probably a part of the settling-in has been helped by the wonderful send-off that I received in Nigeria. The presents, wishes and greetings were truly wonderful and I feel so very privileged in my Nigerian friends.

Kicking off with a tradition Fantsuam Send Forth with all the staff during which I was presented with a lovely outfit (thanks everyone and in particular, Edi) which I wore for a final dinner at Auntie Pam’s down the road, the best egussi soup in Kagoro (IMHO).

Group photo in the Fantsuam compound; Martha and me, last time wearing the wonderful Wellingtons as we make our way down a very muddy Waterboard Road to Pam's for a lovely final dinner!

However the ‘main event’ was “A Very British Send-Forth” on Friday 1st October. This was my attempt not just to have a leaving party but to get Nigerians to celebrate the 50th anniversary of their Independence Day. Ever since arriving in Nigeria and realising the significance of 01/10/10 I have been looking forward to the celebrations. However as the time approached I realised that most people in Nigeria have better things to do with their time and money. However I wanted to have a party – and have a party we did!

The new generation of Pink House Ladies arrive for the event, and start dancing.. and dancing...

... and it was so wonderful to see so many guests from afar including Femi and Obeya with their friend Prince from the Special Education Department of the University of Jos (left), my friend Zachariah Gwanyo who travelled from the northern part of Kaduna State (centre) and my tailor Seth, previously located a stone's throw from Fantsuam in Bayan Loco, but who had made the journey all the way from Abuja where he's been for the last six months, to sew shirts for my father and attend the party (right).

and near... and whilst it seemed that most of Uzah Kpak (our area of Kagoro) was there including our neighbours, Thank God and Martha (left) and our friend Vera (right) who entertained us so wonderfully on our first Kagoro Day,

I was delighted at the very high turn-out (or should I say turn-up?) from Fantsuam and Kafanchan including my good friend Pele who runs the Fantswam Resort.. more of that later! And Gayl with FF Field Officers - Grace and Little Sarah.

Music came from several quarters. The Vincent Kawai Memorial Foundation Youth Band (left) and Steve Bako (right) provided the main music for the event

With singing from the Kpak CAN (Christian Association of Nigeria) Women's fellowship choir

....and my favourite Jarawa dancers from Kagoro, with a special appearance from my friend Ezra who had come to the party as a guest but couldn't resist the beat to take up his usual position as the group's drummer, although he doesn't usually wear a suit.....

And then there were also the speeches: some on-programme......

My MC Victor Akut introducing all the speakers with all protocols observed including my Chairman (and host) Justice Aka'ahs, HRH Cecilia Bonet, wife of the Chief of Kagoro, and HRH Dominic Yashim Hakimi Kpak (also our neighbour to the Pink House)

and some off programme....

The University of Jos gang recited a poem for me written by Femi Oridupa, whilst Victoria Bala, who has been helping to keep the house and clothes of Pink House inhabitants clean for - oh - almost three years now - composed a special song for me which she performed with her Women's Fellowship group and then gave an emotional (but unfortunately in Hausa) vote of thanks... Well I was told it was thanks.....!

and of course not forgetting the cake and the special Cake Lady speech by my room-mate and very good friend Teleri who did a fantastic job.

Then there was the food and drink, wonderfully organised by Mrs Aka'ahs and her team of local women...

And the presents....

But I received one of the favourite gifts on Sunday....

I had told my friend Pele that I would pop round to the Fantsuam Resort on Sunday evening. But when Sunday morning arrived - after a very 'big' Saturday evening bopping at the Centre for Transfiguration in Madakiya, and consuming the odd Star- I really couldn't face any distractions to the packing process which had by then barely commenced despite the prospect of an early Monday morning pick-up.

I texted Pele to let him know that I wouldn't be coming. However try as my headache might, I could not ignore his distraught text in return, pleading with me to come along so I, with moral support from Teleri and Gayl, made the journey to the Resort.

Boy - am I glad I did... to participate in the grand opening ..... of the Cicely Brown Pavilion, with a beautiful view over the aptly named River Wonderful Waterfalls!

The official ribbon-cutting ceremony was followed by the presentation of gifts including a wrapper dedicated to the Chief of Fantswam to rival that of the Oegwam Oegworok (Chief of Kagoro) which I wore at the Send Forth.

THANK YOU PELE - THANK YOU NIGERIA!

Special thanks to my camera ladies: VSO Ariel Bleth, Teleri Jardine and Gayl Kennedy. This would have been a very boring blog without your help!

The School a Community Built

2010-09-13T08:49:00.020+01:00

Six months ago the ladies of the Pink and Yellow flats were working on a couple of projects for the Vincent Kawai Memorial Foundation in their spare time – the launch of an album by the Foundation’s 2008 Talent Show winner, Steve Bako and the construction of a community primary school.

I picked the album launch. Laurie, Dori and Teleri picked the school.

On 7 August 2010, Steve Bako’s debut album ‘Gani Nan’ was successfully launched to a packed Kagoro Town Hall.

(Left) Steve performs one of his songs 'Zam Oegworok' (Kagoro Youth)

Today, 11 September – and far more impressively – the latest UBE (Universal Basic Education) Primary School in Uzah Kpak ("Upper Kpak" - our part of Kagoro) was formerly handed over to its headmistress, Alice watched by about 400 village children and well-wishers.

Steve Bako launch: unfortunately I sacrificed photography in favour of management on the day of the launch. But in the weeks before the organising team took time to meet all the local Paramount Chiefs (here of Mor’oa, left) to ensure that we had a full house of appropriate dignitaries. (centre) Welcoming the chairman of the Kagoro Development Association Youth Wing on the day itself, as the stage is set for the event (thanks to VSO Ariel for the picture)

Until recently, Uzah Kpak’s primary school has been located in a semi-derelict house next to the Pink House. Local and village government have had plans to move to a more permanent site but... well.... they just haven’t really unfolded. Six months ago, there was the breeze block shell of two classrooms.

The classrooms begin to take shape, and are impressively ready for visitors on the day of the launch.

But then Mrs Aka’ahs got involved and got the Pink House ladies involved and, between them, Laurie, Dori and Teleri raised enough money from friends and family in their respective homelands to not just build four classrooms but equip them with furniture, blackboards, toilets and school books for all pupils.

The school children excitedly try out their new desks: a far cry from the derelict house they use to receive their lessons in. Teleri shows off the school books each pupil will receive whilst Laurie fits one of the school bags, given by friends in the US, onto a pupil.

Under the stewardship of the Foundation’s only permanent member of staff, Chris Felix, the building blocks were bought, and the community mobilised to build, paint and finish the new school block.

It’s not been easy. Rumours and accusations of diversion of funds split the building committee.. Despite his best efforts, the community town crier was not always able to get enough people along to volunteer to dig pit toilets and grade sand. But, the school, school books, furniture and teachers are ready for the start of the school year...although the new term has now been officially delayed for a week due to the late sighting of the moon for the Sallah (end of Ramadan) celebration... but that’s a different story.

Tomorrow’s leaders gather in the corner of the venue (left) and take time to dance with other VSOs (centre) before leading the guests out towards the school ............

........and down the road for the official ribbon cutting and handing over of keys

As I sat in the front row seats next to Laurie, Dori and Teleri I felt both a tremendous sense of pride, and I felt a bit of a fraud. This school was funded by them and their friends’ and family around the world, and was built by the community. I played my part by making dinner for Teleri on those evenings when she was busy in meetings with the planning committee and the headmistress, Alice. But that’s about all.

Dori, Laurie and Teleri pose with school founding headmistress Alice and Justice and Mrs Aka’ahs, whilst I play my role – as photographer and dancer, though I can’t unfortunately compete with the moves of the professionals in the audience.

However I am incredibly proud of what my sisters have done. For many years to come, this community will remember the volunteers of the Pink (and now also Yellow and Red) house. We hope that all future volunteers based here will set the bar high and help this amazing community that has provided a family to us for two years.

The children of the Vincent Kawai Memorial Foundation appeal to all adults present to send their children to school. The Paramount Chief’s representative, flanked by Kpak’s own District Head (who lives opposite us in the Pink House) address the volunteers directly whilst the Dogaci (Village Head) thanks those families who donated the land for the school.

The (innumerable!) speeches yesterday all focused on thanking the Turawa (plural for Bature), and it’s difficult for anyone with a white skin to walk down a road in Kpak, and possibly in Kagoro without receiving a little bobbed curtsey (the women) or bow of the head (the men) and a deeply felt ‘mungode’ (we thank you).. But I can only reply ‘nagode’. I thank you.

This morning (Sunday) I felt the need for a run but, having danced my legs off at Nick (Fantsuam’s Ugandan volunteer)’s party on Friday night and (I confess) being scared of the dirty looks I get when running around the village at 08:30am on a Sunday morning when all proper people should be in church, I decided to take my morning exercise up Kagoro Hill rather than through the village.

As I sat at the junction half way up (as far as I got) I looked out at the view and drank it all in. It’s not often that you have something like this in your back yard... Even the vista of Royal Herbert Pavilions in SE18 can’t compete.

A picture from the first time at the junction in November 2010 –and some views from the way down.

Last Sunday Teleri and I took a walk around the village and received our customary warm welcome.

Teleri greeting the kids near the market, and another group near our house whilst we bump into my friend Jonathan’s mother Esther

I won’t forget Kagoro and now, thanks to the UBE primary school, I don’t think Kagoro will forget Fantsuam and its VSO volunteers in a hurry. Thank you Dori, Laurie and Teleri. Thank you not just from the children of Kagoro now and in the future, but for me too. And please forgive me if I share just a little part of this community’s memory with you.

"Tayters in the Mould" Part II

2010-08-14T14:05:00.018+01:00

FRIDAY 13:
I will admit that it’s not quite the depths of Arctic winter that my Christmas blog ‘Tayters in the Mould’ was originally set in, however 18 degrees C, in Kafanchan feels pretty similar when there’s no hot water, a dearth of warm clothes and almost constant, persistent and hammering rain.

(Right) Teleri, Thomas and I getting ready for work in the morning. Teleri left for her UK holiday 2 weeks ago – it’s barely stopped raining since then.... in Kafanchan

(Below) Nigerian author Ben Okri once started a book 'a river became a road'... Well here every now and then, a road becomes a river

I don’t remember it being this cold last year: I have no memory of getting myself cosy in bed under a thick blanket or coming into work in the morning and worrying, yes actually worrying , about having remembered to bring a cardigan or wrap into work. I remember wearing socks but that was to keep my feet clean, not warm.

Fantsuam’s director of operations and I keeping well wrapped up during a meeting at 2pm this afternoon. Notice the fetching combination of socks and sandals.

I am convinced that this is a particularly cold and wet year. However colleagues don’t seem to be noticing anything out of the ordinary. I have a worrying suspicion that perhaps I’m just getting too used to the warmth?

However on the ‘bright’ side, this recent weather should be preparing me well for my return to England. After these continuous downpours that seem to start about 2am and continue till about 3pm the next day, any appearance by the sun is incredibly welcome and I feel the need to stand and bask in its warm rays like a lizard in the early morning.

The best Kafanchan can currently offer in the way of a sunny day. The long driveway of the Rehab centre

And with only 7 weeks to go until I return to England, I need to start getting accustomed to leaving some things behind, and not just the weather.

Yesterday we happened to be doing disbursements to two of the first centres I ever visited when I came to Fantsuam – Unguan Gaiya in Samaru and Zankan near Manchok.

As I stood in the now lush surroundings of the District Head of Zankan’s compound, scaring the small children (they don’t see a lot of white people around here), it occurred to me that it would probably be the last time I would visit.

Whilst only cactus thrives in the height of the dry season (left), the corn is tall in August.

The children build up the courage to come close to the scary white lady

I will probably never again see a dry season in Zankan

At Unguan Gaiya, after waiting for the women to return from a burial, we met fleetingly with District Head James Ayok who, in only my second week at Fantsuam, named me Ladi because I was born on a Sunday. As he learnt of my imminent departure he renewed his offer of marriage whilst Yan Biyu, one of the twins I had met on the first visit, pleaded with me to take her – and presumably also her two month old baby, back with her to ‘my place’. As always in response to this request, I told her that when I could charter a large plane I might manage to fit in half the people that had made that request during my time here plus a couple of prospective husbands.

Me with the hakimi of Unguan Gaiya, HRH James Ayok. Photo with some of the loan group (centre) – Yan Biyu (right) insists on making a last minute entrance with her baby.

Leaving the people behind – or more precisely – their attitudes will be one of the most difficult things. Back home it will be difficult to find that caring, sharing nature, the genuine concern for other human beings and the delight that you bring just by being a white person paying them some attention.

But there are some things that won’t be so difficult to put behind me.

(The next morning)

I didn’t finish this blog last night because just as I got to the previous paragraph the computer died which is usually the way that Nigeria tells you it’s time for bed.

Staring at a suddenly black computer screen by the light of a kerosene lamp.

Note: there’s a new, male, VSO who’s joined Gayl in the new Red House behind us. He’s been here a week and already hooked up a car battery to the lights.... We are jealous, but with such a short time to go, we don’t feel like investing ½ month’s salary. If only we’d done it before

However I’m finishing the blog now as I wait to hear the shower start so that I can bathe and wash my hair in the cold running water. NEPA brought light in the night – between 11pm and 5.00am – power that is useful for charging appliances and not much else. Still it means that when I make the journey into Fantsuam to upload the blog, it should be almost finished. One day... one day ... the internet will come to Kagoro.

As I type I’ve just noticed the black kerosene soot on one of my fingers which brushed the side of the small pan as I poured the hot water into a mug for my morning cup of Milo. Later today I’ll be taking the large jerry can into Kafanchan to get it filled up with kero at the local petrol station so I’m well supplied with fuel for the lights and stove. The price is down N10 per litre from a couple of weeks ago.

But the list of things I’m not going to miss has pretty much run dry.

And the indicator on my computer battery, exhausted after 100s of charging cycles is also getting low and will die on me again any minute.

I can hear the children playing around the compound. The rattle of a distant grinder (the chief’s grinder opposite is momentarily thankfully silent), the cluck of a chicken, the crow of a lazy cockerel and oh –a car just drove by. The first in about 45 minutes.

Now all I want to hear is the rattle of the water through the pipes.. The cold cold water. Perhaps the prospect of a hot bath will make the return to the UK all worthwhile?

Calculus

2010-08-12T08:24:00.025+01:00

Or more specifically, integration and differentiation.

That’s what occurred to me when I looked at this group photo of today’s disbursement to Kafanchan’s Rehabilitation Centre in nearby Takau.

"Integration" because this is a pretty good example of Fantsuam’s ‘integrated model of rural development’

The whole group had recently undergone microenterprise training which had motivated them to apply for a group loan from Fantsuam Foundation.

But in addition to business training and microfinance services, you may recognise Steven and Peter (3rd and 4th from the left) – who recently graduated from our Computer Certificate class at Fantsuam Foundation .

A close up of the shot from the JAWS graduation

"Differentiation" because of the variety of people in the picture.

Starting from left to right – Joshua is a shoemaker. Until now the small amount of capital he had allowed him to make three to four pairs of shoes a week that he would take to local Kafanchan market to sell. The loan will allow him to buy more materials and make more shoes.

Grace disbursing Joshua his first cycle loan of N5,000 (just over £20). Grace is standing in for her colleague Sarah whose centre this is. Sarah was involved in an okada accident last week and has a head injury. We wish her a speedy and full recovery.

Dauda next to him is a tailor. Also trained at the Rehab Centre he’s been making and repairing men’s and women’s clothes for almost 10 years. The loan will allow him to diversify and buy a goat.

Steven and Peter work at the centre. They and their wives received the loan in order to boost the farming business.

Dauda signs for his first loan

Next to Peter are the two Christianas who together rear chickens which they fatten and sell at Kafanchan’s weekly pig market, arguably the largest in West Africa.

A colleague helps Christiana James sign for her loan with a thumb print.

In front of the Christianas is Andrew Chiroma, mobile bookseller and one time Nigerian Salesman of the Year with Worldwide Educational Services Ltd who he started working with in 1998 after retinal pigmentosa forced him to abandon his BSc in Sociology. As well as selling books, Andrew is a master bookbinder which reminded me of my days at the London College of Printing attaching end papers and applying gold leaf to foredges. Ah those were the days.

Next to Christiana in the yellow is Casmir N Bobai (left) – also a mobile salesman, he visits local villages on their market day to sell phone recharge cards when demand is high. Like so many things in life, the more you buy the cheaper they are. With the loan Casmir will be able to get a better margin – make more money – on his business. I’ll be looking out for him at Kagoro this weekend.

But to be honest, they are not the only sorts of integration and differentiation that this disbursement reminded me of. I’ll let you think about the other types yourself but let me give you a hint. If you start going doing the paths of first principles, rates of change and dx by dy, you’re on the wrong track.

I prefer this sort of calculus.

AFTERWORD
In Nigeria peanuts are called groundnuts. Taken in the grounds of the Rehabilitation Centre, you can see why.

DEDICATION

This blog is dedicated to Michael – Fantsuam’s – and in particular – the Pink Ladies’ driver who tragically died last week a few weeks after being involved in a serious motorbike. He has left a huge hole in the heart of the Fantsuam and Bayan Loco communities. We pray for his young family, including wife, his twin girls and baby daughter Esther born this year on Easter Day.

"The House that Jack Built"

2010-07-30T08:30:00.024+01:00

Well we actually did it. Not long ago I wrote a blog entitled ‘Screen Saviour’ about the Fantsuam Academy’s forthcoming computer training course for the visually impaired. Last Saturday three blind students sat and passed the online Computer Certificate exam. The first three visually impaired students to do so in Bayan Loco. Probably the first in Kafanchan and very likely the first in southern Kaduna State.

Fantsuam Academy has already migrated its Certificate exam on an online learning platform (Dokeos) which meant that no special arrangements had to be made for visually impaired to take the exam once they were familiar with JAWS screen reader software.

(Left) The three students concentrate hard whilst taking the exam.

Their efforts paid off as they proudly (and delightedly) hold up their certificates.

But, like the house that Jack built, there’s a lot of people, from across Nigeria – and the world - that have been involved in getting to this stage.

An initial workshop on inclusion by VSO volunteer Monique Beets, currently serving at the Demonstration School for the Deaf in Kaduna, encouraged VSOs to consider which groups were currently actively excluded from their programmes. This gave me the idea of ensuring the visually impaired were included on our computer course.

Monique at the VSO North West Patch Meeting held in Jos last November, in the days VSOs were allowed in Jos.

A Small Grant from VSO UK gave us the resources to start. Another VSO colleague, Paul Wildenberg, put me in touch with his mother who works with the visually impaired in Holland.

Industrial action at Paul’s partner organisation in Yola in the far east of Nigeria coincided with our JAWS training course so Paul used the downtime to visit Kafanchan to see the training for himself with a view to starting a programme in his own state

Paul’s mother gave me the contact of another former VSO Nigeria volunteer Jan Bloem who now works in Holland for Freedom Scientific, publishers of market-leading JAWS screen reader software.

Left - meeting up with Jan at the VSO office during his flying trip to Nigeria

Below: visiting Jan's former colleague Scholastica (left), manager at the JAWS-equipped Computer Resource Centre at the Ministry of Women Affairs in Abuja.

Jan put me in touch with Danlami Bashru of the Anglo Nigerian Welfare Association for the Blind (ANWAB) who generously donated five JAWS licences which meant that we didn’t have to spend the whole of the VSO ‘small grant’ on software but could pay for expert trainers, Braille books and scholarships for students.

My Kagoro friend Jonathan introduced me to his former Gindiri classmate Obeya who introduced me to his current University of Jos colleague Femi Oridupa who’s a JAWS expert. Together Femi and Obeya trained not only our visually impaired students but also Fantsuam Academy instructors who will be able to teach the courses in the future.

Meeting Obeya for the first time with other former classmates of Jonathan at Gindiri School for the Blind in Plateau State

At Fantsuam Foundation Academy staff John Iruaga and Kelechi Micheals helped the course get off the ground whilst Academy instructors Keziah ad Fidelis learnt themselves how to use, and train JAWS.

The Fantsuam JAWS team, left to Right: Fidelis, Obeya, Peter, Keziah, Stephen, Jonathan, Femi and John

So this is the start. But where does it go in the future?

The good news is that Femi was recently elected Class President of the University of Jos’ Special Education Department, the first handicapped student to stand for, let alone win such a post. He aims to make computers accessible to all visually impaired students in Nigeria by 2020. He might just do that but he’s going to need help.

Obeya is already involved with a NGO helping the handicapped in his home state of Benue when he’s not at University. Obeya’s still trying to get his hands on his own laptop computer so that he can really learn JAWS well but in the mean time, he’s spreading the word and focusing on getting to complete his Special Education degree.

I heard yesterday that Jonathan will be returning to Secondary School on 12 September with sponsorship from the State of Kaduna to help him complete his schooling to give him a chance at further education.

I would like to think he’ll be one of the students working towards Femi’s 2020 goal in years to come. He hasn’t his own computer but is planning to spend as much time as possible using the JAWS computers at Fantsuam until he can get hold of one of his own.

I wonder who’s going to manage his football team – Rock United whilst he’s away at school?

Jonathan – I hope you’re reading this!

Jonathan (back row, 3rd from right) with his Rock United before a game.

Stephen and Peter are due to be enrolled on Fantsuam’s Computer Diploma course and at the Kafanchan Rehabilitation Centre where Stephen and Peter work, Fantsuam has already delivered microenterprise training to 20 children and adults and, as a result, a second loan group is in the formation. It may not be computers for all, but it’s definitely empowerment.

But for me one of the greatest achievements of this course has been the impact of ‘mainstreaming’. Because of discrimination and stigmatisation of handicap in Nigeria, the visually impaired are rarely seen except perhaps begging being led by a small child across the streets of Kafanchan or any of the country’s other towns and cities.

For the last four weeks, all the staff, students and other beneficiaries of Fantsuam have become accustomed to having Femi, Obeya, Stephen, Peter and Jonathan around at Fantsuam. Seeing them walk confidently across classrooms or the compound sometimes with a guiding stick, sometimes without.

We’ve spent years in the West learning that the handicapped are just ‘normal’ people. The process is just beginning here in rural Nigeria.

Hopefully our story at Fantsuam is just a small part of the tale that realises Femi’s dream that all visually impaired university students will have access to computers.

Dreams of Leaving

2010-07-21T13:27:00.013+01:00

Now here’s a question for you:

Who do you have most sympathy for: someone who you think (by your standards) should be feeling sorry for themselves, or someone who just does feel sorry for themselves, whether you think they should or not?

This is a question that occurred to me during the VSO Leavers’ Forum which I attended this week. Yes folks – it’s almost time to leave Nigeria.

It was during one of the sessions about ‘reverse culture shock’ and the process of moving ‘home’ that this thought popped into my mind. VSOs are encouraged to embark on a process of Global Education, that is, to raise awareness about development issues. To be prepared to deal with and discuss different attitudes constructively.

Leavers’ Forum: eleven of us will be leaving in the next six months. It’s not easy to contemplate. Leaving our lives here and going back to lives – and hopefully jobs – back home.

I constantly struggle with the whole goal of ‘development’. So many development projects – invariably dictated by the ‘West’ - seem to be trying to achieve a brand of economic advancement that we have seen back at home. Infrastructure, material goods, health care (oops America), TV and the like. These are things that are valued in the west and therefore we feel that people who don’t have these things are somehow to be pitied and every effort made to give them those things.

So you see a mud hut, a half naked child covered in dust or a disintegrating wall and think ‘poor people’.

It would be impossible to think the people living in the house on the left are more in need of our sympathy and help than those in the house on the right...

But I think it’s such a pity that the west has got so tied up in material, physical value that it really has lost the value for the human things in life. How much is it worth that a four year old can walk a kilometre to school alone every morning (and back) without a care in the world? That goats, chickens and other assorted livestock can wander the streets unfettered without their owners fearing they may be taken (a public flogging is quite an effective deterrent for anyone caught stealing a goat as we discovered last week). That, in communities where poverty is extreme, people will regularly give the very small amounts that they have in order to help someone whose need they perceive to be greater than their own. That communities, families and children can amuse themselves perfectly well without books, TV, or Sony Playstations.

So which kids do you think are generally ‘happier’?

The UN’s Millennium Development Goals measure ‘poverty’ and under-development by how much money someone makes each day or whether they are ‘employed’.. Whether or not children ‘attend’ primary school and whether they can read. Whether there are the same number of women as men in ‘waged’ employment.

Why doesn’t the UN put more value on humanity? On family life, farms, learning about life. Are these things so worthless?

All life is valuable. And when you don’t have material things, the human side becomes so much richer. And what really should be more valuable to us humans?

Unfortunately the west has already done the damage. Countries like Nigeria have the worst of both worlds. Their wealth and materialism in the cities is reaping the same destruction on human values as they do back home and the urban influence is seeping back into the villages and undermining the precious ‘traditional values’.

I’m pretty sure it won’t take me long to settle back into a materialistic lifestyle: I’m already looking out for a good job (and if you think that’s a hint, it is) that will keep my car running and my gym subscription paid. But I’m not looking for a job in ‘development’.

Somehow I feel that by taking a job in the UK in ‘development,’- the agenda of which seems to be driven almost exclusively by the Millennium Development Goals - I’m somehow saying that my way of life is better than those of the communities we’re developing. That I should be feeling sorry for them because they don’t have what I do. And that I should therefore be working to give them what I have instead of placing a greater value on what they have.

Now don’t hit me for this – but let’s consider colonialism. That was (often but not always) bringing better education, healthcare, infrastructure and standard of living to colonies in order to benefit the colonialists. And frankly I think it worked (value for money-wise) a lot better than the billions that are pumped into development initiatives each year, ostensibly just to help less developed countries develop themselves.

Discussing colonialism with citizens of some former colonies. The difference in Canada was that the colonials never jumped ship and left the colony to itself. Look where it got poor Canada

Having said that though, ‘development’ is changing. Fantsuam is working on two DFID sponsored projects that use local participation to decide what communities want in terms of improved education and healthcare. Let’s hope the funders really listen and give the communities want they want: not what the funders think they should want or think they should need.

This is where VSO is so incredibly valuable. Its model as an international volunteer recruiting agency is pretty unique. Unlike the Peace Corps or equivalents, VSO volunteers come from all over the world. From India, East Africa, Philippines, North America and Northern Europe. Sure we’re bringing skills to partner NGOs across the world that need those skills but VSO isn’t really telling anyone what to do. It’s not saying my way is better than yours. And whose way would ‘mine’ be anyway? It’s not about sympathy. It’s not really even about ‘development’ in donor context.

As VSO themselves say – it’s about ‘Sharing skills and changing lives’. Sharing everyone’s skills and values and, in the process, changing everyone’s lives. I hope for the better.

(Right) 11 VSO volunteers from Kenya, Canada, Uganda, USA, India, Ireland and the UK get taken out for a ‘farewell’ dinner by the VSO Nigeria programme staff.

Now whether that all means that I’ll be feeling sorry for the international footballer who’s in rehab because he can’t take the pressure of money and fame... I’m not sure. What I can say is deep down inside, I’m sure he’s more troubled than many of my neighbours here in Kagoro. So – who deserves my sympathy more?

I’d suggest that footballer applies to VSO but he’d probably get rejected.

(Left) We felt it too as this Returned Volunteer fought back the tears as she described the feeling of leaving your placement, knowing there’s a good chance you’ll never see most of the people there again.

Life in a Sickle Cell

2010-06-18T16:57:00.020+01:00

Sickle Cell Anaemia – these are words which most Britons will recognise. In fact I’m sure they would be recognised by most societies that have large population of West Africans. Except perhaps in Kafanchan, or indeed much of rural Nigeria.

It is estimated that 25-30% of Nigerians are carriers of Sickle Cell Anaemia which affects 150,000 of the country’s births every year of which perhaps only 2-5% will survive beyond the age of five. Yet Global Sickle Cell Centenary Day was celebrated in only two of thirty-six Nigerian states. I’m proud that one of those states was Kaduna. I am even prouder that the event that took place in Kaduna State was at Kafanchan’s very own College of Nursing. And my pride over-floweth when I say that that event was organised by Fantsuam Foundation.

The arena event at the Centenary Sickle Day Celebration in Kaduna State

I cannot claim any part in the success of this event which was led by the zeal and passion of Fantsuam chief executive John Dada who earlier this year established the Kafanchan Sickle Cell Support Group. Helping with the event were 60 of Fantsuam’s trained GAIYA volunteers as well as numerous members of staff from the clinic and HIV department with assistance from the Kafanchan General Hospital and College of Nursing.

John Dada (left) with FF Director of Operations Kazanka Comfort (right) and GAIYA Programme Manager Akin Arowolo who mobilised the 60 volunteers

In a country not renowned for its time-keeping and organisational abilities, the event started sharp at 10.00am with all proceedings complete by 12.10pm, 10 minutes after the scheduled closing time. In that short period 1,300 visitors from all walks of life had learnt more about Sickle Cell, hundreds of children under 5 had been registered for testing (we’re waiting for the final numbers to come in) and they and their mothers had been given presentations on the condition by Fantsuam staff and volunteers.

Fantsuam clinic staff Mama Madaki and Mama Isa register children for testing on the back of an okada (left) whilst registered participants gather in the College's library for their counselling and testing (right)

Presentations which described what the condition was and how it was caused, how couples could get tested to determine if they were carriers and thus, know their chances of conceiving a sickler child, and how to manage the condition to prolong and ease the lives of children and adults living with the condition. In another room hundreds of children were being tested, the number limited only by the number of test kits available.

Clinic staff and Sickle Cell specialist Mrs Owodi takes one group through the basic geneology of Sickle Cell in the library's patio whilst visiting Sickle Cell counsellor Paulina Shehin explains to another group indoors.

In the field in the centre of the College’s wide compound amongst invited guests and members of Fantsuam’s Sickle Cell Support Group, the wife of Kaduna State Governor Patrick Yakowa was giving her support to the event, international medics were holding forth, and College Students were enacting lively dramas.

(left) Michigan State University was represented at the event but the doctor from the US was too busy testing and counselling: the audience inside the library was his priority whilst he was ably represented by his colleague outside. (right) Fantsuam was delighted to welcome First Lady of the State of Kaduna, Mrs Patrick Yakowa. In his sincere vote of thanks John Dada confessed that, though he had invited the Governor, his target had been his wife.

(below) Theatre students from the Kaduna State College of Education in Gidan Waya act out a drama about a couple wanting to get married. They celebrate when they learn they are compatible.

But for me, the highlight was a speech by Senate candidate and former Federal Minister of Finance, Mrs Nenadi Usman.

Mrs Usman’s third child, Bilkisu, is a sickler. She is eleven years old. Mrs Usman and her husband have always been very healthy and never spent a day in hospital. Even for highly educated Nigerians, it was not usual for couples to get tested before conceiving. It wasn’t until Bilkisu was five that the couple discovered the cause of their last daughter’s constant illnesses.

Mrs Usman pleaded with couples in the audience to get tested before marriage, to avoid the pain of having to see your child suffer terribly, with no real chance of relief, because of a precaution that you didn’t take. She related how on one of numerous hospital visits, wracked by the pain caused by Sickle Cell crisis, her daughter had asked: “Mummy – why is this happening to me? Is it my fault?”.

Mrs Nenadi Usman speaks from her heart about the impact of Sickle Cell on her family

The Usmans are lucky that just one child is affected. One member of the Kafanchan Sickle Cell Support Group had had six children. Four of which were sicklers. All of which were dead by the time they were 30.

Mrs Usman not only pleaded for couples to get tested. She also urged parents to get their newborns tested so that they could learn how to treat and manage the condition which need not be fatal.

The First Lady and Mrs Usman witness a test on an under-five.

But what really gets me is the lack of awareness about Sickle Cell in this part – and probably many parts – of Nigeria, if not West Africa. I’m pretty sure that all West Africans in the UK are encouraged if not, forced, to take sickle cell tests before marrying. At some stage, most people in the UK would have come across some sort of Sickle Cell awareness raising – perhaps a TV programme, article in a magazine or street collection.

My Fantsuam colleague made a good point: today it’s all about HIV/AIDS. The funding, the promotion, the awareness. HIV affects everyone. As Mrs Usman said: “Sickle Cell is black people’s disease.”

But it’s a widespread and serious condition that affects millions. It's not only preventable but also treatable.

Most sickler children die from preventable complications. As well as being sickle-shaped, sickle red blood cells are also hard causing them to block blood flow as well as many more extreme forms of ‘crisis’ which can involve increased susceptibility to infections, kidney failure, chronic and acute pain episodes, and stroke.

Children affect by sickle cell tend to have similar features including a distended belly often caused by severe damage to the spleen.

Yet despite these alarming facts, Sickle Cell Anaemia is low on the agendas of international funding agencies which ultimately set the agenda for all those organisations which rely on those agencies for funds.

Kafanchan is a lucky town. John Dada acts first and then hopes the money comes in. He sees a problem and deals with it. He doesn’t wait for the agencies to develop a support programme. I sincerely believe it’s the reason for Fantsuam’s success (and I almost put ‘phenomenal’ on there, but that would be arrogant). All of the Foundation’s most successful and enduring programmes have come from responding to a local need rather than an external funders’ Request for Proposal.

So far, the success of the programmes has proven its worth and the support has arrived.

John Dada delivers his vote of thanks to the speakers and invites them to finish the afternoon attending the College's library where the 'real' work was being done.

Now we need to hope that the money comes in. To equip Kafanchan General Hospital’s new Sickle Cell treatment centre with doctors, test kits and drugs and to support wider awareness raising.

2011 is general election year in Nigeria which may have had something to do with the number of politicians at the event. Let’s hope some of them, and the press that attended the event, take the story back with them and support Sickle Cell awareness.

To have fewer children dying unnecessarily, to spare the parents the pain (and cost) of constant hospital treatment, and to help those with the condition live longer, more comfortable and fulfilled lives.

The gathered press corps - a rare site in Kafanchan!

Members of the Kafanchan Sickle Cell Support Group. Mrs Leah Kyaris (right) is the Secretary of the Group. Mrs Kyaris is also a sickler.

Driving me crazy

2010-05-31T13:37:00.014+01:00

I’m not a particularly religious person however every time I put the key into the ignition of our old Peugeot I send up two subconscious prayers: First that the car will start, and secondly that I will reach my destination for the day without mishap.

I was struggling to think what occurs to me when I get into the car in the UK apart from ‘is there petrol in the tank?’ and if reserves are low, how many wheelbarrows of cash (OK my credit card) will be needed to re-fuel?

I have(by choice) become the designated driver for the VSOs of Kagoro (now 5 of us, shortly to become 6). I bring home those that wish to work beyond 4pm in the evenings and drive everyone to work in the mornings, saving our driver Michael a trip out every day (and some fuel).

The Peugeot coming up Waterboard (apologies for the recycled pictures. My camera's still out of action but hoping a new one will be delivered with the next batch of new volunteers in 2 weeks!)

Whilst cars in Nigeria work the same way as they do back home (although the steering wheel is on the ‘wrong’ side), driving is oh so different. There are three main factors that make this difference: 1 the cars, 2 the roads, and 3 the drivers (and I’m sure some would argue, 4, God).

The cars in Abuja actually pay a very close resemblance to those back home with perhaps an over-abundance of shiny black Toyotas (all varieties) which seem to be the government’s brand of choice. Notwithstanding, an employee of the Nigerian Standards Agency did confess that his department was investigating whether Toyota was actually sending its ‘Friday’ cars (i.e. the ones everyone throws together quickly so they can get away for the weekend) to Nigeria.

The cars outside of the cities are something else entirely having been recycled to a degree that puts Blue Peter into the shade. One has to question the economics of these, as I’m sure the long term costs of constantly repairing mechanical parts that are years past their sell-by dates dwarf the costs of alternatives. However the bottom line is that most people simply don’t have enough capital in one place at one time to do any differently.

'Recycling': this bus had just deposited 15 passengers visiting Fantsuam's Attachab site

The fact is that because of this, very few people have cars, even the old jalopies. If they need to travel most rely, quite happily, effectively (and more cheaply) on public transport.

And the problem is, despite the very best efforts of the Federal Road Safety Commission – Vehicle Inspection Office, some of these vehicles could hardly be described as road-worthy. At least with Fantsuam’s old Peugeot I have a good idea of when the brakes were last seen to. Although having said that – I should say thatI have a good idea of when we last PAID to have the brakes seen to... Given our recent wheel balancing efforts I prefer this latter statement.

Although I have never been in a commercial vehicle when the brakes have actually failed, I have been in a bus in a rainstorm where the driver spent the whole journey from Kafanchan to Kagoro with his head stuck out of the window because the wipers didn’t work. On about 10 occasions the vehicle that I’ve been in has simply given up the ghost at some stage during the journey necessitating the driver to flag down alternative transport and negotiate with the drivers to take us to our destinations (yes – there is a system!). And returning from Abuja last week, the smell of fumes was so overwhelming that I couldn’t help wondering whether the previous owner had chosen his car as his preferred method of suicide.

But frankly who can blame the state of the cars when they have to travel on our Nigerian roads? Luckily the main road from Kafanchan to Kagoro is really very good without I think (and I am now surprised myself as I think about it) a single pothole in its 10km stretch. It is exceptional.

Over recent weeks I have had to visit nearby Manchok on several occasions. We have four loan groups in Manchok. Two groups are excellent clients completing loan repayments promptly and ready for a repeat disbursements. One group is a shocking payer – specialising in creative storytelling and downright lying. Both groups require regular visits.

The Kagoro-Manchok road is littered with potholes that would challenge Matti Tirobustinen (OK I made that up – but think champion Finnish rally driver), despite it being the link road to the brand new Jos road,. Every time you get the courage to push the speedometer to 50km an hour – wham - a slew of potholes confronts you that seemingly offers no safe passage through despite the full width of the road being available. Kerdunk, wheel bounces (hopefully) across pothole and shock absorbers do overtime. One arriving Canadian VSO was terrified when the taxi driving us from Abuja to his placement visit in Kafanchan started chicaning across the road at high speed.

You see local commercial drivers know exactly where the potholes are on any 300km stretch and will be well versed on possible high speed routes through them (you just hope that there isn’t anything coming in the other direction as the route will frequently be on the wrong side of the road). I’m getting better on the Manchok road.

And now it’s the rainy season we have extra challenges for both tarred and untarred road. For the tarred road, rain disguises the depth of the potholes as they become glassy pools of water (never be fooled). On the untarred road it presents the question: will I get across that without being bogged down (I've got stuck only twice so far this year)?

It’s funny I remember being genuinely nervous, I would go as far to say frightened when, on holiday in Morocco a couple of years ago, we found ourselves on a dirt road under construction on a remote hillside. At the time I was concerned that our trusty hired Logan Dacia (‘by Renault’) wouldn’t make it across. However I have since learned that cars are much more manly than we urban dwellers give them credit for.

The dirt roads of Bayan Loco are terrible. Other formerly tarred road with remnants of tarmac are even worse because of the differential weathering of tarmac versus mud. Kafanchan okadas charge passengers 20-50% more to drop to Bayan Loco in the rainy season. I recently slid off a road not 100 metres from Fantsuam into a nearby ditch whilst turning a corner by simply underestimating the slipperiness of the mud. I could go on but I’m sure you get the picture.

A culvert being dug on Waterboard road. Not too dissimilar from the one I slid into last week.

Do you have the picture? Make it worse. By a factor of about 10.

However having said all that, bad roads are Nigeria’s answer to ‘traffic calming’. And I’m afraid the average Nigerian driver needs calming. The most dangerous road around us is the well-built Samaru-Kaduna road. Hardly a pothole anywhere along its winding, 300km length, I have known – directly or indirectly – three people killed on this road in the last 18 months.

'Traffic calming' on the main road close to Lokoja, a breakdown presented a photo opportunity although the camera really does not do this road justice!

Because of the usually terrible condition of the road surface, few drivers ever get the opportunity to drive really fast. So when presented with a clear stretch of tarmac, drivers put their collective feet down to the floor, regardless of the limits of their own vehicles (see above) and indeed – of any other traffic on the road. Overtaking at high speed coming up to blind rises and sharp bends is very common.

Up against the reckless speed merchant, who (often) is believing that it’s simply God’s will if he, his vehicle and its occupants ploughs head on into an oncoming articulated lorry, are the incompetent drivers who simply do not know how to drive, and the nervous drivers. I think both believe that if they’re travelling at 30kph they are safe. Let me tell you now, you are not.

Cars travelling at such slow speeds are treated with the same disdain as okadas (bikes) and simply overtaken without hesitation. And if the first vehicle overtaking is only slightly faster than the one they are overtaking, someone (usually an Opel or Jetta driver from Plateau State, don’t ask me why) will overtake them without warning. You see you CAN get THREE cars alongside one another on a normal road without killing anything (as long as there’s no pedestrians on the hard shoulder).

On the good tar roads in Kagoro, local residents regularly build bumps out of mud across the road (as the Brits call wonderfully – sleeping policemen) to keep their children and livestock as safe as they can.

But driving here is part of the truly great Nigerian tapestry of life. I was going to say that road travel was what I was most concerned about when coming to Nigeria. But I don’t want to tempt fate. It is still what I’m most afraid of. But as my VSO friend Rich says in his own (highly recommended, and unlike mine, picture rich) blog on the same subject:

“Transport in the UK is dull”.

Update I: Teleri and I had to come into work by public transport this morning.. I think I may have locked the car keys in the boot. Now all I need to do is to find a spare Ford Escort boot key (don’t be confused by the fact the car’s a Peugeot – that’s recycling for you). That or a crow bar.

Update II: for those wondering what happened to the HiLux - it's here and working very very hard at business whilst the Peugeot ferries VSOs back and forth... Pictures to come soon..

Power to the People

2010-05-24T21:43:00.005+01:00

There’s a new white person in town. We’ve seen him in his white HiLux a couple of times on the drive into work. We’ve never met him however we do have a clue to who he works for: his HiLux has a PHCN logo on the side.

PHCN stands for Power Holding Company of Nigeria, or the company formerly known as NEPA (Nigerian Electrical Power Authority). NEPA was familiarly known as ‘Never Expect Power Again’. Re-branding has not managed to throw off the reputation. PHCN stands for ‘the Problem Has Changed its Name’.

After more than 18 months in Nigeria, most of it spent in the dark in Kagoro, I don’t know what it was that suddenly inspired me to write about NEPA as I was trying not to notice what was going on in the road in front of me as the public taxi hurtled us towards Abuja on my way to a meeting there?

Whether it was that morning seeing the elusive white PHCN man for once out of (but leaning against) his HiLux in the new PHCN building site next to the Strategic Grain Reserve on the Flour Mills Road. PHCN is building a new transformer, allegedly to ‘transform’ our experience of electricity. Huh. I have more faith in... well in England winning the forthcoming football World Cup.

Maybe it was the election fever I managed not to catch from the UK and, with Nigerian Presidential elections due next year, have been advised by VSO to avoid discussing in public. Bear with me:

You may (or may not) be aware that Nigeria’s President recently ‘died’ after about 8 months completely out of the public eye. This meant that our Acting President, the wonderfully named Goodluck Jonathan, was finally inaugurated as President Proper, this within spitting distance of an election year. All around posters are going up advertising the local senate candidates; disused and unearthed petrol station storage tanks have election slogans painted across them. The local headquarters of political parties are receiving a fresh coat of paint and solar street lamps and road repairs are suddenly appearing as incumbents jostle to justify their re-election.

Politicians in Nigeria are not elected on the basis of manifestos: they are elected on the basis of ‘agendas’. Yar Adua (RIP) had a Seven Point Agenda . Kaduna State(former) Governor Namadi Sambo (he’s now national Vice President alongside Goodluck) has an Eleven Point Agenda , Dr Emmanuel Eweta Uduaghan Governor of Delta State has a Three Point Agenda, Nasarawa State Governor Aliyu Akwe Doma has a Thirteen Point Agenda (no hyperlink there: I don't really think you're hurrying to check these agendas out are you?)..

High up on most politician’s agendas is power: the electric variety. However few states, if any, have made any progress. Certainly not Kaduna State despite the promise “to spend over two hundred and forty-nine million naira for the development of Major Dams to generate Hydro Electricity in the State”.

I have been urging anyone that I can speak to (without incurring VSO’s displeasure), to encourage candidates standing for President next year to stand on a One Point Agenda: Power. Forget about everything else. I think about this every time I see some election activity.

Or perhaps my my mind wandered to electricity in jovial memory of the PHCN man coming to our door on Friday morning demanding that the Pink House’s NEPA bill is paid: all N6,000 (£30) of it else we get cut off. Cut off? Well as you can imagine we laughed.

There has not been enough electricity to the Pink House in the last two weeks to charge my electric toothbrush. This is not an exaggeration. I think we have seen the lights on for a total of about 45 minutes – usually during broad daylight when frankly it’s not very useful to us.

However whilst having no electricity at night is an irritation rather than a real nuisance for us VSOs, the power supply situation is crippling Nigeria:

All secondary school students take ‘Computer Science’ classes and, despite the government supplying computers to most schools, very few students will leave school having used one. Computers need electricity and most schools simply can’t afford the cost of running generators.

I had a friend who was a paediatrician and surgeon at the local, large-ish general hospital. When I asked him about the power position at the hospital he told me that if he has to do a caesarean section, the generator is turned on for 15 minutes.

Any local business that relies on power (and you just think of a business at home that doesn’t) either has to spend the majority of its day idle or spend large sums of money on generators and the fuel to run them. Generating power at a few kilowatts at a time is incredibly inefficient. How can the businesses hope to compete?

If you go to a business services centre to print documents there will be two prices: one for when there’s power and one, usually about double, for when they have to run a generator.

I recently learnt that the reason that mobile phone networks are unreliable – even in cities – and service is simply cut off for hours (or in rural areas, days) is because someone either didn’t fill the standby generator that powers the radio transmitters or stole the fuel or money for the fuel to fill it.

No point in most businesses harnessing computers to run their accounts, keep customer records, or do all of those things that modern businesses rely on in the ‘West’. You simply can’t rely on the computer being available when you need it. Consequently the accounts departments of most Nigerian businesses are drowning in ledgers (and accounts clerks) that wouldn’t look out of place in a Dickins’ novel. Trying to work out facts and figures about your business can take weeks, processing thousands of manual records.

One Friday before a bank holiday our cashier spent five hours at a bank trying to withdraw the cash to make a disbursement to a group of rural clients. The systems were down and whilst the banks do run generators, I’d lay a bet on the power supply being behind that glitch.
The list goes on and on..

How can progress be made under those conditions?

I’m in Abuja right now, writing this from the Crystal Palace, a reasonably priced middle of the range hotel. The lights have gone off and on twice in the last 4 hours. The hotel runs a generator pretty much constantly which I can hear buzzing away in the background over the music in my headphones. Whilst the power situation in big cities is considerably better than places like Kafanchan, it’s still by no means constant. The density of buildings combined with the wealth to maintain generators means that nights in residential areas are polluted by the hum of generators (Kagoro is blissfully silent, and poor).

There’s a vicious rumour going around that Nigeria exports electricity, and reliably, to Niger, Cameroon and Benin. I have no evidence for this but it is so commonly reported it could be true.

Please Presidential Candidates: a One Point Agenda.

Electricity like this country deserves. Then Nigeria has a chance. And a bloody good one at that.

Goodluck?!

Rome away from home

2010-05-03T10:57:00.018+01:00

For those of you that might be thinking I’d snuck back to Europe without telling you ... this is not indeed a picture of Rome, or any city in Europe.

This is a tiny snapshot of one of West Africa’s largest cities: Ibadan, located about 60km away from Lagos in Oyo State in the south west of the Nigeria. Perhaps some of you are thinking that I’ve definitely been in Africa too long to even consider that this might look like Rome however there are a number of other reasons that Ibadan – appearances not alone – reminds me of Rome, a city that I have been privileged to spend some time in.

I travelled down to Ibadan to attend the wedding of a friend of a friend... obscure you may think – but a connection a lot closer than many of the couples who are considerably surprised to see a white person showing up for their happiest moment.

‘Travelling’ really is travelling in Nigeria: in this case 11 hours in a (s)lightly air-conditioned bus across roads that, between them, could pick up prizes for the best in Nigeria (a short stretch of brand new tarmacadam in Ekiti State), most post-holed (all the other 300km of roads in Ekiti State), most dangerous (Abuja-Lokoja – mentioned before) and most devoid of rules (Ibadan Expressway, although this might be an ‘also-ran’ as there’s a lot of competition).

I’m sure the story would not be that different driving from London to Rome after negotiating German autobahns and more provincial Italian strade.

The bus deposited us under a crowded overpass late on Friday evening from where we found a bus to take us to ‘Roundabout’ in Mokola in the very centre of Ibadan. I’m not quite sure how ‘Roundabout’ got its moniker as (a) it’s not a roundabout (b) there are about 50 other similar junctions/roundabouts in Ibadan so I’m not sure why this one stands out. However there you are.

After a swift couple of meat pies at ‘Tantalizer’ – Nigeria’s answer to KFC but so much better named, we began the search for accommodation that took us from one side of Ibadan to the other (no mean feat). Unfortunately no suitable accommodation was forthcoming so our extremely gracious host took us back across town to his place, a peaceful suburb on the ‘outskirts’ of town graced by silence and almost continuous NEPA, both relatively rare in any Nigerian city.

The traditional Yoruba engagement party and civil wedding went without a hitch, though once again I’d made the dire error of going to a wedding without small change and spent most of the time desperately trying to avoid all the ‘tolls’ that the groom’s side were required to pay on behalf of the bride. I did manage to earn myself about N200 in N10 notes dancing at the after-party but by then, it was too late.

Having covered the traditional engagement formalities, the couple make a quick costume change before heading off the the local registry office.

Challenging the groom and his men to a dance-off.....

My earnings

The next few days were spent visiting friends and relatives around Ibadan which is where I got the feeling for Rome:

Ibadan is a huge ‘small’ city. Unlike Lagos, or even Abuja, which have cosmopolitan centres filled with people from all over the country and even the world, Ibadan is Yoruba. Somehow there’s not the stress and tension of Lagos with a more friendly, laid back attitude. Anyone who’s spent time in Italy will appreciate the comparison between the Romans and the Milanese. I rest my case.

(Left) A serious game of Ludo taking place metres from Ibadan’s ‘Roundabout’ nerve centre in Mokola, whilst there’s none of the insane Lagos congestion in the busy market area of Bodija (centre), close to the University of Ibadan (right), Nigeria’s first.

And, like Rome, the locals will always be able to find you the best places to eat and drink offering great company as well as refreshment.

A group of students gather for palm wine at ‘Profs’ (2nd from right) situated down a pathway in the University of Ibadan’s leafy campus; a local Mokola restaurant where I got to eat the best amala and bean soup in Ibadan.. made by Mama Raheem, pictured here in her roadside kitchen.

And for the occasional luxury there’s the hill top Premiere Hotel. A hefty N300 entry fee however cold Star and a peaceful environment.

And one thing both Ibadan and Rome have in common is history: or should I say the term ‘historical’. All Nigerians I have spoken to describe Ibadan as a historical city and as you travel around amongst the trademark rusty roofs that cover virtually every building in the city, you can’t help but think what it must have looked in the days before the old stone buildings with their fine ornamental windows, doors, pillars descended into today’s decay.

Perched on a hilltop the grand Mapo Hall is a favourite venue for conferences, church programmes, wedding, barmitzvahs (ok - perhaps not so many of those), whilst Ibadan's Adamasinga Stadium (previously Lekan Salami - name kinda goes with the Italian theme I thought?) hosts Ibadan's Shooting Stars, one of Nigeria's top football clubs.

Ibadan is also hilly – you notice this sitting in any battered public transport vehicle struggling up frequent inclines or (more worryingly for me) switching the engine off completely to coast down a busy urban street to conserve fuel before deftly joining the two ignition wires under the steering wheel to re-start once the bottom is reached. And no visitor to Ibadan should miss the tremendous view from Bowers’ Tower – a viewing tower situated on a hill in the very centre of the City.

A keke driven by Suraj, more comfortable and safer than an okada, cheaper and more manoeuvrable than a cab: the view across Bowers’ Park from the tower, definitely past its prime. My friends venture to the very top of the tower to get the best view.

And in fact, as Suraj, the keke driver told me, “Ibadan is built on seven hills”. Remind you of another city?

Screen Saviour

2010-04-09T13:10:00.020+01:00

About this time last year my world was shattered... Or should I say my laptop screen was shattered. Here in rural Nigeria, as a VSO, it amounts to the same thing. Our laptops are not only tools for work, but provide entertainment in the form of music or films in the dark, NEPA-less nights, and allow us to access the outside world when we’re lucky enough to have an internet connection.

However today I discovered that a laptop with a broken screen is incredibly valuable... to a blind person.

In its ojective to make its computer training classes accessible to the blind and visually impaired, Fantsuam Academy is working with two inspirational students studying Special Education at the University of Jos, Femi and Obeya. With support from VSO, which encourages all its partners to “mainstream” disability, and Freedom Scientific, publishers of the market-leading screen-reading application ‘JAWS’ (Job Access With Speech) the Fantsuam Academy will be offering subsidised JAWS training courses from June 2010. Sight impaired graduates of the JAWS course will then be able to then join Fantsuam’s regular computer Certificate and Diploma classes.

In the Fantsuam compound with University of Jos students Femi and Obeya

I first met Obeya when Jonathan invited me to the Old Students Association programme at his former school, Gindiri School for the Blind.

Jonathan (left) and Obeya (right) with other former Gindiri students.

Obeya is partially sighted and before securing his place on the Diploma programme at the University worked for an NGO for the disabled in his home state of Benue (home of the world’s best mangoes, but that’s another story). I told him about Fantsuam’s GAIYA volunteer programme which he then made time to attend when he was passing through Kaf and we kept in touch.

When in Jos last year I visited Obeya at the University where he introduced me to Femi, and Femi introduced me to JAWS. And that was really the start of it. This week Femi and Obeya visited Kafanchan to demonstrate JAWS to Fantsuam’s instructors, my blind friend Jonathan from Kagoro, and Steven, a blind microfinance client who works at the local Kafanchan rehabilitation centre.

Femi and Obeya with a group of Fantsuam’s instructors, Fantsuam intern and my blind friend Jonathan

But let’s get back to the screen: the screen on Femi’s computer is blank. Black, broken, caput. But that doesn’t make any difference to Femi. He only needs to listen to his computer and have a working keyboard.

The class sees the screen projected onto the wall behind Femi. His own laptop screen is blank.

Obeya doesn’t have his own computer at all although he’s desperately trying to raise the N25,000 (about £100-£120) to buy a ‘fairly used’ computer for himself.

There are another 50 visually impaired students at the University of Jos, most of which are enrolled in its Special Education course which is a leader in the country. However there is NOT ONE computer in the University’s computer or CISCO labs that has screen reader software installed on it. Femi is the ONLY visually impaired student that has his own computer.

Anyone who has blind friends or worked with the blind knows that the impact on daily life can be pretty minimal when equipped with the aids now widely available in the West. Indeed even without those aids, normal life resumes as I discovered on my visit to Gindiri School for the Blind in Plateau State.

Hostel life for Gindiri students is exactly the same as for their sighted counterparts around the country

But those aids are expensive and out of the reach of virtually every visually impaired Nigerian. Obeya has spent years trying to afford an old Braille machine to help him write and make notes despite both a Braille machine and a tape recorder being a requirement for all visually impaired students at the University.

Now please consider: how many of you out there have ever seen a computer discarded or yourself written-off a laptop because the screen is broken in some way? I myself know that replacing my own screen cost almost a third of the price of the basic computer.

So – before you write off – or see someone writing off a computer because its screen is broken – think twice. And if you can’t get the old computer out to Nigeria, please ensure that it gets to someone blind near you who perhaps can’t afford one of their own.

As for me – I’m learning JAWS. Next time my screen goes – I won’t need it either!

Pictures: Jonathan and Steven get a private lesson in JAWS from Femi and Obeya; Femi and Obeya pose with Fantsuam Academy instructors.

Femi and Obeya’s visit coincided with that of leading This Day journalist Reuben Buhari who travelled down from Kaduna to find out more about Fantsuam Foundation.

(Left) Reuben's (right) surprise at seeing and hearing a screen reading application for a first time; (Right) Reuben takes time to interview Steven, one of Fantsuam’s microfinance clients who hopes to benefit from the JAWS course in June.

AFTERWORD: The biggest cost of delivering the JAWS course will be the course notes in Braille. We would like to give the Materials Centre at Gindiri the opportunity to produce them however we would be pleased for any support - financial or in kind - that would enable us to produce these vital course notes for the students. All suggestions gratefully received!

Seeing the world through new eyes

2010-04-02T08:25:00.025+01:00

I flew into New York for the first time on a crisp, clear blue early Spring day in 1981. The flight path went directly across Manhattan and I’ll never forget how my excitement at seeing the stunning skyline of skyscrapers was tinged with disappointment in that ‘it looks just like it does on the television’.

That is one thought that I can almost guarantee will never cross the mind of a visitor to Nigeria, Nollywood aficionados excepted of course.

Seeing something for the first time, whether it’s dramatic alpine scenery, the hustle and bustle of a busy street, or a village in rural Nigeria, has always been a delight for me. I think that some of the motivation to come and volunteer was to be able to see things for the first time. Things that I wouldn’t have seen before on the television or in movies.

I’ve been in Nigeria for almost 17 months now and, as an excursion to nearby, but very rural Zakwa today proved, there are still always new sights to see, and new experiences to savour. It’s not my first time to Zakwa, but it was for Teleri who accompanied me to the dedication in the local ECWA church of Fantsuam’s Field Officer Grace’s four children.

The day involved a lot of walking but thankfully a lot less waiting than your usual Nigerian ‘event’.

Here are some pictures of a typical weekend day in rural Nigeria.

After a 20 minute dusty walk up from the main road through the harmattan haze we arrived in the wide, rambling village of Zakwa, and met up with Field Officer Sarah – I knew where her house was (at least I thought I did) and she knew where the church was.

... meeting up with friends and neighbours along the way – busy with weekend chores or on their way into church.

After the minister regained his composure having realised there were two white women in his congregation, the dedication for Grace’s family began about half way through the 2.5 hour service.

After the speeches, the drums start to roll and the choir starts to sing as the congregation file up the aisle to drop their Naira in the bucket and congratulate the family. Richie, son of another Field Officer snaps the occasion with his phone.

After church we followed the crowd, many carrying their chairs from the church, across the fields to Grace’s house where a party was taking off complete with canopies and PA system. Teleri and I were invited into the house for some tasty jollof rice and beans porridge washed down with a mineral before being ushered outside to join the rest of Grace’s Fantsuam colleagues under the marquee whilst the kids jostled for a spot with a good view of proceedings.

And then the programme began with the cultural dancers....

.. and the professional ones, i.e. the ones dancing for money. Notice the fistful of notes about to disburse over my shoulder.. Before Grace and her family step up for the official family group photo.

We left before ‘Item 7’ on the programme (well, we’d already had ours earlier) and accompanied Sarah to pay a return visit to her mother-in-law who’d sheltered me and ten small children from a rainstorm almost one year previously.

Passing through compounds and greeting her friends, we had some fine views of this pretty village half of which surprisingly (since it's about 20 minutes drive away) comes under the Kagoro chiefdom.

Awww cute little piglets... and not so cute little girl with sharpened hoe.. Children in Zakwa employ impressive tools in the forage for sweet potatoes. In Kpak Kagoro they just use sticks.

Soon we arrived at Sarah's mother in law's house: she and her family greeted us warmly, grateful for the pictures that I had sent with Sarah following our last visit. However this proud kaka insisted that I retake her picture, this time with both of her slippers on.

As soon as the camera comes out, the kids line up to be snapped behind a large basin of filling, the by-product resulting when extracting the locus bean from its pods..

But it's getting late and it's a long walk back to the main road so Teleri and I say our goodbyes and start off back down the dusty track.

If music be food

2010-02-26T10:57:00.014+01:00

I like to dance. I’ve always been the first on the dance floor at weddings, not put off by being the only person above 9 years of age: for me being first means you have the most space on the dance floor to enjoy yourself, and it's when the DJ’s playing the really good tunes to get people dancing. Besides which I simply can't help myself.

I always tell people that I learned to dance in Nigeria. It was at the tender age of 15 amongst the expat kids of 1980s Kaduna that I had my first chance on a dance floor that wasn’t in the common room of my Sevenoaks boarding school, Walthamstow Hall. To the strains of Kool & the Gang, Earth Wind & Fire, Sister Sledge and the rest of the genre now commonly known as ‘80s Skool Disco’ (including the first ever rap song – Sugar Hill Gang’s Rappers’ Delight’ that I have been known to recite in full with a couple of bottles of Star inside me), I began appreciating the uplifting nature of a good beat.

And boy do Nigerians know a good beat.

I challenge anyone to sit for 15 minutes in a Nigerian bar or ‘night club’ (and I use the term loosely) without starting to ‘chair dance’. Whether it be foot tapping or shaking the shoulders and fists in time with the music, the rhythm’s gonna get you.

Nigerian men really know how to dance and they enjoy it too. No dancing around handbags for women here!

You’ll find music, singing and dancing at all the cultural events and weddings where traditional music and dance group, or women’s fellowship choirs, will fill the air with irresistible beats and wonderful harmonies.

(From left to right) - Batadon Day in Manchok; dancers from Bayelsa (Delta region) at the Abuja Durbar; some of the girls of the Vincent Kawai Memorial Foundation praise the Lord in song and dance.

Our very own Victoria makes an appearance in the main arena of Kagoro Day 2010 with her Women's Fellowship, whilst another group helps celebrate an album launch in a local church

What makes it even better for me – Nigerians love to dance. No more ‘lonely on the dance floor’ with the kiddies for me: there will always be several men, women or children who will get up and dance at the slightest hint of an opportunity. And, although the adage ‘white people can’t dance’ I’m afraid to say, really is true, just being a bature means that you will be appreciated.

I justify my attendance at the weddings of people I’ve never met before by knowing that I will be invited up to dance by the MC and, if I oblige, I will earn much more than my plate of rice and a mineral by the money that will be ‘sprayed’ onto my forehead (occasionally stuck into my eye) by other well wishers.

My fame as a dancing bature is spreading: as I was depositing my motorcycle helmet for safe keeping with the security guard in the front lobby of Kafanchan’s Oceanic Bank a couple of weeks ago, the guard, after exchanging the standard greetings asked: “So when are you going to dance for us again?”. “Excuse me?” I countered. He replied: “Don’t you recognise me? I was the MC at the Send Forth at the Fantswam Resort – you danced for us. You really tried!”

Dancing at weddings, Send Forths and Engagements with friends and colleagues!

I'm not the only one to dance at weddings: couples dance down the aisles, to the receptions and out of the church: this is real dancing for joy!

In addition to being a nation of dancers, Nigeria is also a nation of musicians. With little employment available, and a lot of talent, virtually everyone is looking to make it big in music. Not so different from at home, but with even fewer options available if you don’t succeed. The big challenge is how to stand out? How to make music your livelihood?For every one successful artist in Nigeria, I would think there are several 1,000s of unsuccessful ones. But it just takes something to stand out.

Local Kagoro musician"Best VD Boman" is hopeful at the launch of his gospel album. His nephew Steven sings amongst the dancing audience as he celebrates winning the Vincent Kawai Talent show in 2008. His album is due for launch this Spring.

I’m hoping my that blind friend Jonathan – or let me get his 'handle' correct: J T Shadow – is one of them. Not only does he have some talent, he’s brassy and puts himself out there, and he’s blind. When he shows up at radio station in Kaduna or Abuja having travelled there, sometimes by himself, to promote one of his songs, the DJs really sit up and take notice and sometimes, just sometimes, offer to play his songs without demanding the airtime fee which can run into several 1,000s of Naira.

JT Shadow and his crew performing "Selector" at the Gimalex Talent Event in Kagoro Town Hall

CLICK HERE TO LISTEN TO "HEADIN 4 DA TOP"

Here’s a link Jonathan’s debut song, recorded in the first two hours he had ever spent in a recording studio. Whilst not heading for the pan-African number one slot quite yet, you wouldn’t be that surprised to hear it on the radio.

These songs were made possible with the help of a Jos-based producer called V.I.C. who I was put in touch with via a volunteer musician friend at Fantsuam. A recording artist as well as producer, V.I.C. will often contribute to the backing vocals of the songs as he’s done with J T Shadow’s ‘Headin for the Top’ as well as my current number one favourite, ‘Ma Time’ that he recorded with his nephew, Jizzle.

CLICK HERE TO LISTEN TO 'MA TIME' BY JIZZLE FEATURING V.I.C.

Now I don’t claim to be a hit-spotter (although I will mention that I had no doubt that Gary Numan’s ‘Are Friends Electric’ was going to be a hit when I first heard it languishing in the low 30s in the UK Pop Charts in the early 80s) – however I can’t stop listening to "Ma Time" which I find positively addictive. V.I.C. hasn’t yet had time to promote it however he has given me permission to feature it on this blog.

I’m also not a music expert and frankly I sometimes feel a bit of a fraud trying to help Jonathan with his music aspirations when I can barely tell my ‘gangsta’ from my ‘hip hop’, but I think this number has potential.

Let me know what you think? And, if you feel in need of a change from Brit Pop (OK I know that’s a bit out of date) or whatever is hitting the charts where you are at the moment – do check out some of these top Naija jams which I have no doubt you’ll be able to find on Napster or iTunes. Here in Nigeria the concept of digital copyright is about as rigorously applied as the Highway Code so all these songs are freely available but I know you can all afford them so give those Naija artists the royalties they won’t be able to earn in their own country!

Naija – it’s our time to shine!

My Naija favourites:
I dey hear – Danjuana
Koleyewon – Eedris Abdulkareem
Money – M.I.
Yori Yori – Bracket
Cool temper – J Martins
Good or Bad – J Martins
You don make me fall in Love – D’banj
Do Me – P Square
Hotter than Fire – Sheyman Ft. Dr Pat
Sayo – Bigiano
Wahala dey – P Square
Bumper to Bumper – Wande Coal

The Rivers of Babylon

2010-02-08T08:25:00.017+01:00

Peanut butter and jam: two things that shouldn’t naturally be put together yet Lord knows millions of people, particularly in North America, swear by this unlikely combination. This thought occurred to me as I contemplated another odd combination which has become part of home life in Nigeria: toilet seats and duct tape.

You must understand that at the time I thought this, I was looking at the toilet in the other half of the Pink House into which Teleri and I moved yesterday. Whilst the four of us ‘Pink Ladies’ get on famously, it was beginning to get a little bit cramped in our existing accommodation, particularly when we learnt that Teleri would be extending beyond her initial three month project window. And serendipity helped us along the way, when our colleague, good friend and neighbour Mr Shinggu landed an excellent job in his home state, making the other half of the Pink House (now called the ‘Yellow Flat’ see picture) available for us.

With two bedrooms and one bathroom, it’s not quite as well appointed as the ‘Pink Flat’ which sported two bathrooms and three toilets, however the rooms are large, airy and bright. However with a bed being the only furniture in the bedrooms, no fittings to speak of in the kitchen and an incredibly tired old sofa in the corner of the cavernous living room, it was difficult to believe that the house been continuously inhabited, although admittedly, by men.

The Yellow Flat and the Pink Flat in the shade of Kagoro Hill

Men who would not (and clearly had not) questioned a toilet seat that had at least 4 cracks across it, none less than 3 inches long. Back to the duct tape: early on in our Nigerian adventure, us delicate flowers had all discovered the ability of cracks in each of the three toilet seats in the Pink Flat to pinch softer regions of our anatomy more aggressively than an angry crab.

However the solution was readily on hand: duct tape (left over by former VSO, ‘acanuckamuck’ Glenn). This wide, reinforced and colour- compatible plastic tape, provides a durable, comfortable and, not unattractive (wait til you see the toilets!) solution to the cracked toilet seat problem.

However the toilet seat was just one aspect of furnishing our new home. With no Ikeas, Habitats or similar to be found in easy public transport distance from Kagoro, the solution is usually to find a local carpenter who, for less than the price of a “SVALBØ” basic cabinet will knock you up a set of shelves or a wardrobe.

That was certainly our experience when we first arrived in Kagoro where we discovered an excellent local carpenter who produced good quality items including wardrobes, shelves and bathroom cabinets. Very, very sadly one night he was bitten by a snake on his way back from a party across fields and died.

So in this move the search was on again. My sisters in the Pink Flat fortunately came to the rescue having got chatting to such an artisan – called Babylon- at a local joint. So passionately did Babylon speak about his commitment to carpentry (despite being a couple of brugutus worse for wear) they thought he would be worth an introduction. Things got better when our new, improved guard who is reliable, diligent and never ever with a hint of alcohol on his breath, said that Babylon was a neighbour.

So we arranged for Babylon to come and price the job on the Friday morning prior to our Saturday move. I’d wanted to see him earlier so the work could be completed on Saturday, and Lady Luck waved her magic wand once again when the guard met him on the way home from duty the previous evening and brought him back to the house. Slightly drunk again. This should have been a warning sign however carpenters are not so easy to find at short notice, particularly not those that came with referees: always important when they will be in your house.

We agreed a bargain price – causing me to comment to my sisters that alcohol does certainly not sharpen one’s negotiating skills - with a bonus to be offered for completing the job by close of play Saturday.

Babylon arrived (sober) at 7a.m. on Friday morning and collected the money for the materials. By our return on Friday evening my wardrobe and bathroom cabinet had been relocated from the Pink House and a shelving unit for the kitchen was well on its way. I think ‘shonky’ is the best way to describe the kitchen shelves which I did not hesitate to point out causing Babylon to whip out his plane and sander to try and make good.

Shonky shelves...You can see why I had my doubts?

Teleri chopping vegetables at the only existing piece of 'furniture' in the kitchen

Before he left that evening, Babylon said that he needed more money to get the better quality plywood from which to make the kitchen cabinet.

I remonstrated that I was reluctant to do so given that I wasn’t convinced by the quality of the workmanship, let alone the materials. I also accused him of raising the price unnecessarily to extract more money from me and he looked downcast and said: “Mommy I would never cheat you”. With our reliable guard standing by, I conceded and handed over the additional N1,000 but reiterated again and again that I expected a quality outcome. “Of course mommy, of course”.

Saturday arrived and I had moved virtually all of our belongings into our new home by the time Babylon turned up at 9am, still without aforementioned sheet of plywood. He spent a short time finishing the shelves before leaving for Kafanchan to collect the wood. Before he left he pleaded for help getting treatment for his sick daughter who was suffering from ‘catarrh with dysentery’ (OK – perhaps that was another clue). Being a soft-hearted type, I duly helped.

It was during the three hours or so that he was in ‘Kafanchan’ that the toilet seat contemplation took place and by the time he finally arrived not only was that repaired, but I had also filled all the water butts, hung the mosquito nets, scrubbed and rinsed the bathroom floors and successfully concluded surgery on the (almost unused) kerosene stove.

As Babylon walked through the front gate toting the large sheet of bendy plywood on his head, his spirits were much improved, and clearly not just from the anticipation of creating a really special piece of furniture for me. But by then it was too late to just send him straight home as he’d been warned when he was originally commissioned. Oh if only we’d followed our own instructions.

Leaving him at work with the plywood, I made a quick trip to Kagoro’s Saturday market to pick up fresh vegetables, bread and fruit but by the time I returned, the damage had already been done. The plywood had been cut and cobbled together so badly that there were barely two straight edges to be found and at least half the nails were protruding in places they should have not been.

I brought all this to Babylon’s attention however I was not buying the downcast ‘sorry mommy’ look. The least that he had done was ruin a perfectly good piece of plywood. The worst was fraudulently extracting extra funds not only for materials but also for his sick daughter: funds which he subsequently drank. He started fumbling over the pathetic excuse for a cabinet trying to ‘make good’ but his attempts were so clumsy that we feared more damage and indeed personal harm would be done if he continued. He was sent packing immediately with half of his agreed pay, no ‘on-time’ bonus and harsh words from me.

This cabinet would struggle to register a 'Pass' in an 'O'Level Woodworking exam...Nails protruding, layers delaminating and structurally unsound... Oh dear.

Unfortunately Babylon’s situation is all too common in Kagoro.

Drunkenness is rife amongst men and women. Scarce Naira that should be saved for school fees, medical bills and – well food for the family – is simply drunk. Our local Catholic parish priest Father Richard lamented on the increasing incidence of liver cirrhosis causing untimely deaths living further impoverished widows and orphans.

So far, Alcoholics Anonymous has not been added to the list of Fantsuam’s ‘integrated model of rural development’ however, and I mean this seriously, perhaps it should? There are so many direct enemies in the fight against poverty: unemployment, inadequate education, lack of infrastructure. However all too often some of the basic building blocks for ‘development’ like paying for health care and school fees, let alone responsible parenting, are foregone to alcohol.

When a friend you often see drunk approaches you asking for money to fix a shoe or make an essential journey, it’s all too easy to preach: “Well if you just saved what you spent on alcohol....” however of course the solution's not that easy. Life for most in Kagoro is not that easy. Many people will have less than N50 (20p) a day to spend, will be unemployed with bleak prospects, craving a family but being unable to support one. Drink is an easy ‘out’ to plaster over the problems albeit temporarily.

We too, the girls of the Pink House could buy a new toilet seat. But we prefer duct tape. It’s easier.

As Teleri comments: it’s all about coping mechanisms and priorities.

Joie de vivre

2010-01-23T14:03:00.005+01:00

I started writing this blog two weeks ago.. Two weeks is a long time. In between a devastating earthquake shook Haiti killing hundreds of thousands. And around 300 people were killed during violent clashes in Jos, the nearest city to Kafanchan.

This is the second time Jos has erupted since I’ve been In Nigeria. The first time it happened in November 2008, I knew Jos as a neighbouring city, which we had visited three weeks before during our VSO In-Country-Training. Then, as now, the tangible impact on Kafanchan and Kagoro has been minimal. Peace continues to reign locally and it’s only the news of the violence which disrupts our daily lives.

However now Jos is a place that I visit regularly at the weekends. A city where many good friends live.

Friends including my partially-sighted friend Joshua who phoned me last Tuesday morning. His trembling voice masking the gun shots in the background as the violence threatens to engulf the university hostel campus where he stays. He texted this morning to say he’d been evacuated home to the south of the country. I’m so relieved he’s safe however I know it’s a massive disruption to his studies on the Special Education degree at the University of Jos. When will he be able to return and who will pay the fare?

Friends including Victor who gave his time and talent to produce my blind friend Jonathan’s music tracks. He called Jonathan when hostilities escalated last Tuesday morning to let him know that the curfew was now 24 hours so he wouldn’t be able to come down to Kafanchan to meet him. I contacted him later to share my concerns. After a day I received a reply:

“Sori 4 my silence, i’ve been out of credit & de 24 hrs curfew aint helpin. We’re fine tho we lost sm friends & 1 of my family houses was burnt down.”

My very good friend Julius: when I called late on Tuesday evening he reported that he and the other men from the local community were on guard on one side of the main route into Jos to warn of any overnight attacks. The community on the other side of the road was ‘burning’.

My Muslim colleague who had learnt that his brother, who’d been missing for 24 hours, had been thankfully found in a hospital although with a head injury. The rest of the family had fled their home.

A director of Fantsuam who learnt that a former neighbour had been killed whilst returning to his burnt house to rescue his belongings.

But I didn’t know any of this when I started writing two weeks ago: I was planning to post a short, upbeat report about how cicelyinnigeria is being featured to promote VSO, to promote business schools and I hope, to promote Nigeria.

As I write this I am indecisive about clicking the ‘Publish this Post’ button: I love this country and its people; I love being here and I find it very difficult to publish something that I know will fuel rather than dispel the public’s image of Nigeria, that was already suffering before Mr Pants Bomber hit the headlines so vividly over Christmas.

Should I take advantage of the fact that very few of you may even be aware of this latest unrest as the entire world’s press is focused on Haiti? It was very tempting. But I’d rather be honest. Besides the honesty, this blog is like my diary and I can’t ignore this significant event in the interests of PR.

What I struggle to understand is why this violence happens.. again and again. A common theme emerged from friends and colleagues after Mutallab’s arrest: “He’s not Nigerian: Nigerians love life too much to commit suicide”. This same theme predominates comments of the 113,000 members (as of now) of the Facebook group “Get us off that list: Nigerians are NOT Terrorists”. And it’s a fact suicide rates are incredibly low.

I often struggle with the objectives of my own volunteer work in ‘development’: can we achieve economic development without the trappings that have burdened those so-called ‘developed’ (or as I have said before, ‘over-developed’) countries that most of us are familiar with? Societies where stress levels frequently overcome a human’s love of life? Where the concept of a “family” or “community” hardly exists in fact?

Living in a country where, despite massive hardship, people love to be alive, is in itself invigorating and fulfilling.

On the converse, the challenges of Nigeria, and indeed much of Africa, could also be rooted in this: if you’re generally happy, why bother forcing change? Inshallah.
Tensions are still high. Reports of ‘massacre’ fuel those tensions in communities around the country. I pray that the Nigerians’ very real love of life, the love that makes this country such a great place to live, can overcome resentment, revenge and hatred.

And if that doesn’t work – let’s hope Nigeria wins the Africa Cup of Nations. Nothing like a football game to unite a country.

Tayters in the mould

2009-12-29T22:21:00.007+01:00

Whenever Nigerians come up to me and ask me if I will ‘take them to my place’ I always say that they wouldn’t want to go there because it’s really cold. But do you know what? Despite saying that repeatedly I had actually forgotten just how cold it is.

As BA 082 from Abuja waited on the tarmac at Heathrow for our plane’s parking spot to be vacated I gazed out on the grey, drizzly twilight of 4.30pm on a English winter’s evening, having just been told that it was 1 degree outside, and turned to my Nigerian neighbour (albeit from Birmingham) and said: ‘Welcome to Britain’.

I can honestly say that the only culture shock has been the weather. But boy – has it been terrible. Apart from messing up two out of three of my plans to meet up with friends, it is simply depressing. I even failed to find the beauty in the snow-trimmed garden and clear blue skies.

Even cheese, chocolate, cable TV, and gin and tonic have failed to capture my excitement. Things that I was craving don’t seem to be so special now I’m here and I suddenly realise how it is incredibly easy to live on what you have rather that what you’re used to.

What’s more important are the people that you see and what’s been really nice is that we’re all just the way we were before I left. OK I probably talk even more than I used to (is that possible?) to tell people about Nigeria however after about 5 minutes that novelty wears off and it’s back to being just regular family and friends.

However I have found that my year in Nigeria has changed a few things about me:
- I burst out laughing whilst walking along High Holborn in Central London in the middle of a blizzard when the thought spontaneously popped into my head: “All white people look the same”. The bature residents of the Pink House know this as we’re continually getting mistaken for one another, but it hadn’t actually occurred to me before.

- I don’t get so angry or stressed any more: when the miserable Leather Lane hairdresser harrumphs audibly when I ask her if she could actually ‘dry’ my hair (as opposed to leaving it damp) before I step out into sub-zero temperatures, I just smile and put up with it. I was also not bothered by the fact that our preparations for Christmas ‘lunch’ meant there was no possible way it would be served before 7pm.

- I don’t need TV: I think I have watched about 3 hours in total since I’ve been in the UK. The slightly worrying thing however is that I do spend more time on the internet. It’s more interesting.

As I write this blog I realise that I haven’t taken any pictures of the family outside Christmas. In addition the camera didn’t make a single appearance as I visited my oldest friend Deborah and her family in the winter wonderland of her home in Chorleywood.

Thankfully though we had a very special friend with us for Christmas this year – who does snap like a true Nigerian, probably because he is one. We were very lucky that Billy, son of Mama Laraba, a nurse at Fantsuam’s clinic, was able to join us for Christmas. I travelled up to Luton to collect him from his digs at the University of Bedfordshire where we bumped into his neighbour Norman, also a resident of Kagoro, who was running the other ISP in Kafanchan before coming to do a BA at the same university.

We spent the whole of Christmas Eve all together – driving around the sights of central London (unfortunately not stopping as parking is too expensive and parking attendants too diligent), before making a trip to Canary Wharf (one of my favourite tourist spots of London!) and my local Sainsbury’s in North Greenwich to stock up for Christmas.

Billy and Norman standing yards away from the Greenwich Meridien that had unfortunately closed early for Christmas; Two freezing Kagorians standing on the edge of Greenwich Park. Slight warmer Kagorians on London Bridge with Tower Bridge in the background.

Showing off my very own Sainsburys at Greenwich Peninsula

Having dropped the shopping off at my father’s in East Dulwich, we returned to the City for the Christmas Mass and dinner at St Magnus’.

Billy tucking into his first Christmas dinner, and then snapping with my sister Belinda and Father Philip, priest of St Magnus.

My sister and I spent the next day taking our time to prepare a delicious Christmas dinner featuring roast goose, roast duck, red cabbage and all the trimmings topped off by a holly-trimmed and flaming Christmas pudding. And the assembled party spent into the wee hours opening presents... well opening my niece’s Susanna’s presents. And I have to say that she was an absolute angel: maintaining a lively and exceptionally good humour until 2 a.m. in the morning. Not many three-year olds you can say that about.

Belinda starts carving the goose... as the duck looks on surrounded by the trimmings; Billy with my father.

Pulling Christmas crackers across the generations: grandpa and granddaughter, as I present the flaming pudding (it is.... really).

On Boxing Day, we discovered that there was no way for Billy to return to Luton via public transport (so unlike Nigeria where I remember no problems returning from Gidan Waya to Kagoro on Christmas Day), so I travelled with him to visit his uncle and aunt in Stratford: the couple, who have been in the UK over 20 years and have 5 children, are ECWA missionaries. Much more needed in London that Kagoro, I can assure you. It was wonderful to spend the afternoon with them, discussing Kagoro and the family and I very much hope that they will visit the Pink House if/when they travel back to Kagoro next year

I’m finishing this blog from the Giraffe restaurant in Heathrow’s Terminal 5 departure lounge, enjoying ‘fries with skins’ and a large glass of a South African white wine after a tasty but very unsatisfying sushi salad. I’m looking forward to a big, filling semovita dumpling when I get back! And that’s not the only thing I’m looking forward to... I can seriously say that I wholeheartedly prefer a cold shower in a hot climate to a hot shower in a cold climate. Outside it’s 5 degrees centigrade and raining. Not allowing for delays, in approximately 12 hours I hope to be in Kagoro.

To be in the Pink House: next to no electricity, intermittent running water, kerosene cooking, screaming children and barking dogs, greeting everyone you meet with a smile, being asked (as I’m sure I will!) for a ‘Happy Christmas’ and having ‘baturia!’ shouted at you as you walk along the street.

BRING IT ON!

Oh yes.... And the sun.... the warmth.... AFRICA.

PS for my readers who aren’t from London – ‘Tayters in the mould’ is Cockney rhyming slang. I let you guess what the last word rhymes with......

An alternative Christmas gift?

2009-12-07T11:14:00.016+01:00

I don’t usually count myself as one to be influenced too much by what I see on TV however I must confess that Top Gear’s systematic, yet unsuccessful attempts, to destroy a Toyota HiLux in 2002 have lingered deep in my memory.

(Left) Top Gear's Toyota HiLux that was driven down steps, crashed into a tree, drowned in the English Channel, had a caravan dropped on it, crashed through a small wooden building, hit with a wrecking ball, set on fire, and placed at the top of a tower block while being demolished, yet still started and ran (although the chassis is cracked and the body is holding it together). Ref: Benjiya

Unfortunately Fantsuam's only vehicle, a Nigerian-made Peugeot 504 whilst hardy, does not exhibit similar levels of stamina.

In December 2008, I wrote one of my first blogs about the journey down the ‘Follow the yellow sand track’ to Kono, one of our more remote microfinance centres, and how our ‘trusty’ old Peugeot only broke down, what was it, four or five times?

Right: Half way back from Kono, still 2 hours from home and the Peugeot is getting its exhaust pipe re-welded and idling mended and ......

Exactly one year later and our reliance on the battered old workhorse has become too much. The frequency of its breakdowns is not only threatening Fantsuam’s finances but also preventing us from reaching the rural communities that need us most. Field officers lives are put at risk having to travel long distances on the back of under-powered motorbikes driven by reckless youths, and loan repayment rates are suffering when we don’t reach our clients at the appointed time on the appointed day to make a collection.

Reaching communities like Kanem has become more difficult where roads and bridges are not really designed for road-going vehicles

A loan disbursement in Zankan: the Field Officers know they can reach their appointments on time and safely when there’s a car they can rely on

One trip to Kono in the dry season nearly destroyed the Peugeot. We can’t even attempt disbursements to this remote community during the rainy season.

So having had enough of talking about needing a new vehicle I set about finding one: there is a bit of a chicken and egg situation when an organisation like ours needing a big capital item: you don’t have the money to pay for it but you don’t know how much money to raise until you’ve found it – and by the time you’ve raised the money – someone else has bought it.

But Fantsum and its beneficiaries (and its volunteers!) cannot wait forever.

Kagoro's Waterboard Road is more suited to children’s tyre rolling than tyres attached to cars which it destroys at will

I called a friend in Jos, the nearest centre of car dealers, and asked him to look out for a suitable vehicle. Well when I say ‘suitable’ there was only one vehicle that I could think of that could take the daily punishment of the Bayan Loco and Kagoro Roads. Only one vehicle that could be mended by the roadside with a spanner and some good luck. Only one vehicle that was ‘man’ (or should I say ‘Jeremy Clarkson’) enough for the job.

After searching the streets of Jos high and low, we found our car: an eight year old HiLux, with all the original engine parts and body work intact; with a double cabin to carry field officers or international volunteers and at a good price: N1.65 million (about $10,500).

But there’s the problem. How to pay it?

So the ‘Bring the HiLux home’ campaign starts: a HiLux belongs on the rutted roads of Bayan Loco. The SUVs of Europe can only dream about the ruggedness of Africa, or more specifically, Kaduna State Nigeria.

A HiLux whose life will be worth living: a HiLux on the streets of Jos is like a qualfied and trained astronaut whose skills are being wasted at a supermarket checkout. A Fantsuam HiLux will be a fulfilled HiLux: bringing loans, business training, health counselling and testing and internet services to the remote rural communities. Saving lives and securing livelihoods. Every ounce of its famed ruggedness being put to the test.

And you can help.

If you'd like to help give this HiLux a chance to help Fantsuam and its many beneficiaries - you can make an online payment here. Very many thanks to our partner organisation Dadamac for making this facility available so quickly. Any donations made by UK tax payers will qualify for Gift Aid.

Unlike the Top Gear HiLux, this HiLux will save lives and change lives for the better.

Out of Sight

2009-11-17T13:58:00.015+01:00

Some months ago a young blind men stopped to talk to us as we were enjoying a beer at Rebecca’s bush bar in Kagoro. We’d seen him before – standing completely still about 5 metres away from us. I’d always wondered what he was up to. Just standing there not moving. He’d simply been listening to us. And when he summed up the courage he came to talk to us – he knew our names and where we were from. He introduced himself as Jonathan, a well-spoken, outgoing and chatty young man.

I quickly became friends with Jonathan who lives in a small, simple compound in the street behind Rebecca’s with his mother Esther, younger sister Esther and brothers Vincent and Moses. Both his father and his uncle who subsequently married his widowed mother are ‘late’ and buried, as is the tradition, under the porches in the compound. Jonathan’s passions are music and football.

Jonathan became completely blind aged 9 when his childhood bout of measles went untreated. In his early teens, a bature missionary in Kagoro discovered Jonathan – and sponsored him to attend a blind school run by COCIN (Church of Christ in Nigeria) in Gindiri, not far from Jos. He did well at school, being one of only 5 pupils selected to attend a special maths programme in Abuja. At Gindiri he also learnt his talent for football. I’ve seen Jonathan take penalties in the small compounds of friends and send the ball firing past the goal keepers, out of reach of their outstretched hands.

Last week Jonathan invited me to accompany him to the Gindiri Old Student’s Association (GOSA) workshop where I was given a glimpse into the place that made Jonathan the confident young man he is today.

We set off after an hour’s wait at the small Kagoro motor park as we waited for the large old Peugeot to fill. At Barkin Ladi, just outside Jos, we changed vehicles and were joined by Ladi, a blind woman travelling on Nigerian public transport with an overnight bag and her year-old son Israel. We later learned that she was the financial secretary of the Gindiri Old Students Association (GOSA). Forty-five minutes we changed vehicles again, this time at Mangu. Nine of us entered an extremely battered old Peugeot without any internal fixtures (e.g. door handles and anything else you can think of) apart from seats, and a strong and not entirely pleasant fishy odour, before another blind person joined us and made the car full so that we could leave. Daniel was also a member of the GOSA committee and he and Ladi quickly recognised each other and began discussing the weekend ahead

Whilst it was only three years since Jonathan had finished at Gindiri, Daniel and Ladi had both been there in the 80s however all three knew exactly when the car had made the nine kilometre journey into Gindiri, past the Plateau State College of Education to the entrance of the large COCIN compound which houses not just the school for the blind, but also boys’ and girls’ secondary schools and a seminary.

Our first stop was the “Gindiri Materials Centre for the Handicapped” where a small team make and source the equipment , books and other teaching aids needed by the school. Before long a small crowd of GOSA members, staff and officials was meeting, greeting and generally having fun on the small porch.

Congregating on the Materials Centre porch; Jonathan and other GOSA members; and Jonathan with our travelling colleagues Daniel and Ladi.

Materials centre manager Mr Thompson and his team, including Joshua (right) an artist who creates relief versions of technical drawings and diagrams for the blind students.

Jonathan and Ignatius led us from the Materials Centre to the Boys and Girls compounds, past the well where a crowd of students was collecting water to take back to their hostels. Unusually, but not unsurprisingly, it took some time for them to realise there was a bature in their midst but they were excited to meet me and very friendly. Watching the children from a distance laughing and joking as they were hauling the water, place it in large buckets on their heads and walk back to their compounds, you would have had no clue that every one was blind.

The children wave good bye as we make our way to the boys’ hostel where a young man brings water to help a small boy finish his job doing the washing up.

Capable of housing at least 80 boys, many of the rooms were empty, or only holding one or two sets of bunk beds where Jonathan and Ignatius told me there would have been three or four crammed into each small room in their time. It was unlikely that there had been a significant change in the causes of blindness – mainly river blindness caused by a parasite and common in the northern states, and measles. Ignatius suspected that parents were increasingly hiding their disabled children from public life. Additionally though the facilities looked neglected and I couldn’t help wondering if a basic lack of funds was behind the drop. Despite it being 2pm on a Friday afternoon, I could not see any lessons going on and met at least one Braille teacher who lived on the compound who was no longer working.

From the boys hostel we walked across the school grounds, past the girls’ hostel and the large overhead water tank that had been constructed to pipe water around the school. Unfortunately it relied on a mechanical pump which, for one reason or another, no longer functioned, so that the well was once more in use whilst the tank lay in disrepair. Soon we reached Jonathan’s destination, his teacher Mr Obadiah, who like many of the other teachers, lived with his family on the compound. Obadiah had been an inspiration to Jonathan and they greeted each other fondly.

The road through the school, and Jonathan with his science teacher Mr Obadiah and his two young sons.

Nigeria is not an ‘accessible’ country. Unlike Europe or the US, there are next to no facilities for the disabled, limited training opportunities and even fewer chances of employment. Many disabled children are simply hidden away, prisoners in their own families’ homes. Even in its dilapidation, Gindiri was a remarkable place where disability is, well I guess, simply ignored.

It’s not that there were any physical allowances for disability: as uneven roads as you’ll find everywhere, buildings littered with high, irregular steps, no railings: in fact I can’t actually think of a single feature that would have catered for any type of handicap. Yet everyone – the blind and the physically handicapped – copes. In fact it’s more than coping: they are living lives that appear to be as full as many Nigerians will get to enjoy.

I now know how Jonathan walks around the rutted and irregular streets of Kagoro without a cane or any other guide other than his memory. He does his own washing, plays with the kids and gives as good as he gets in any argument with his older friends.

Since 2008 VSO has had a policy to 'mainstream' disability through all of its programmes. Fantsuam's first step is to try and make our ICT training computers accessible for the blind, and to employ a trainer who can teach our students to teach the blind how to use computers. It's just a small step however, as our Programs Director John Dada always said, every long journey starts with a single step. If we can achieve anything like the level of acceptance and inclusion, and empowerment at Fantsuam that they have at Gindiri, we will have come a very long way!

AFTERWORD: Jonathan would love an audio football (i.e. a football with a bell in it!) for Christmas. If anyone knows how to get hold of these - please leave me a comment. In spare moments I've looked on the internet and it's not as easy to find as you might think. When I told him I this morning I was going to ask - he was very excited. Please don't let me down!

AFTER AFTERWORD: Thank you to all those who have left comments with help or emailed me directly with offers of footballs. You are extremely kind and Jonathan will be so delighted!

Happy Anniversary to me!

2009-10-25T11:42:00.010+01:00

I’ve been sitting at my desk for about 3 hours this Saturday morning – trying to work out how to start writing about my one year anniversary in Nigeria?

Hmm – I think the only way to get started will be to describe my deliberations:

The first thing that came to me this morning, exactly one year after arriving in Nigeria – was how lucky I am.. In fact as I would go as far as to say ‘blessed’! My VSO placement (Fantsuam) is pretty much as good as it gets in Nigeria (if not across the world); coming here with 2 other VSOs made a huge difference to the settling in process; Kagoro is (agreed by most VSOs who’ve visited) the best place to live in; I’ve never (yet) been sick or involved in a traffic accident or any crime (a big touch wood on those) in addition to which I’ve been privileged to meet some wonderful people and visit some beautiful places.

Kagoro – possibly the best place to live in Nigeria – well we think so!

Fantsuam Foundation – effectively fighting poverty and disadvantage in southern Kaduna state: me in the Fantsuam compound on my first day;

Program Director John Dada addressing the opening of Kafanchan’s first Children’s Parliament in Bayan Loco; Midwives undergoing Fantsuam’s GAIYA (‘Gift of Labour’) training; a Fantsuam Field officer addressing a new group of microfinance clients

Mama Madaki providing health training to a new microfinance group; local kids surfing the web in Fantsuam’s former Children’s Computer Club; all the staff of FF visit Attachab – our ‘permanent site’

Some of the beautiful places we’ve visited: the extravagant Durbar at the Abuja Carnival; Assops Falls on the way up to Jos: Badagry ‘Point of No Return’ close to Lagos;

On the way up to Afi Mountain in Cross River State; at the start of our tour of the ancient Nok culture; a reservoir close to Kaduna

Then I started thinking about what the impact has been on me? My first thoughts were the changes in what I do, rather than who I am. I can cook well on kerosene, have no qualms navigating the most hectic Nigerian motorpark, I love wearing Nigerian clothes, am quite happy to take cold bucket baths and live without electricity (TV, fridge etc.) and I positively relish a good plate of freshly pounded yam and egussi soup.

Evenings at the Pink House start with cooking by kerosene lamp (what a difference a flash makes!)

washing up by kerosene lamp, and going to bed under the mosquito net, by kerosene lamp.

Freshly pounded yam at the Rockside Hotel in Gwantu. Delicious!

First time in braids at a friend’s wedding party; meeting with a group of Corpers in Kagarko; with the recently turbanned (First Class!) Chief of Kagoro; attending a chiefs’ turbanning in Mangu – Plateau State; being greeted by revellers at my first Kagoro Day

One thing that strikes me is how consistently happy I’ve been. With the exception of when I discovered the horribly cracked screen on my computer, I struggle to find a time when I’ve been unhappy. Sad yes – when colleagues and neighbours have died unexpectedly, when our communications tower fell in a storm, and when proposals that we know would make a difference to our local communities are turned down. Perhaps sad sometimes, but not unhappy.

Living as a VSO in Kagoro and Kafanchan is not an ‘easy life’, but ‘difficult’ does not equal unhappy. So what equals happiness?

Since I’ve been in Nigeria, I think the main source of happiness comes from helping to make other people happy, which in the midst of so much struggle, is easy to do. That probably sounds a bit trite, but I think it’s true. I think the unhappiness – or certainly lack of happiness - of many in the ‘west’ derives from always judging yourself by what other people have, and therefore what potentially you could have, but you don’t. Striving for a bigger house, the better car, recognition at work that you’re performing better than your colleagues, taking more foreign holidays than your neighbours. When I’m on Facebook I see my colleagues in Europe or North America bemoaning the fact that the TV has broken down so they can’t see the next instalment of X Factor, or grappling with trying to select which primary school their child should attend. Stress coming from having a dinner party for ten to cater for or the fact that they had to wait for two hours in an NHS queue.

Whilst we’re ‘volunteers’, with a stipend of about £100 a month (a king's ransome here), we have a very comfortable roof over our heads, and food to eat every day and no children to worry may die or be permanently disabled from malaria, typhoid or a common childhood illness.

A ‘sannu’ from a bature can brighten up a young child’s day. N10 (4p) for a stick of sugar cane is like their Christmases all came at once. Helping a young unemployed man with N200 (80p) to put enough credit on his phone to make a call to a friend or potential business contact is so invaluable. Teaching a work colleague how to use Excel or execute or mail-merge on a word-processing application can bring gifts of a chicken.

Kagoro neighbour and Fantsuam nurse’s son Billy with his British visa: he’s now doing his Masters at the University of Bedfordshire having worked 10 years to get there. He’s having a great time but is very cold and but kept warm by some of my family in the UK who rustled up some winter clothes for him; the kids at the bottom of Waterboard Rd. Just happy to have their picture snapped; Twins Husseina and Hussana – my screen saver: it brings a smile to my face every day;

Kagoro neighbour and friend Jonathan: untreated measles when 9 left him completely blind. He was sponsored through blind school by a missionary and is now trying to make a career as a rap artist in Kafanchan as well as helping his local community however he can. We discovered we can make my laptop speak and the typing skills he learnt at school allow him to use the computer; Once a month, the children of the Vincent Kawai Memorial Foundation in Kagoro receive a special meal. On this occasion a visitor from America brought them pens for school which every one of them held onto tightly whilst wielding a fork or spoon with the other; Gifted students in Kafanchan are delighted to attend a special weekend programme run by Mohammed, a GAIYA volunteer.

Children in Dangoma in Kaninkon Chiefdom are so excited that a bature is visiting their village and taking their picture; Whether it’s stickball, jump rope, Uno or simply reading from the ‘Teach Yourself Hausa’ book – my room mates Laurie and Dori bring delight to the children of our neighbourhood whenever they have time.

And when people with so little, can be so bright and cheerful – what can someone like me possibly justifiably feel sad about?

Nigerians are extremely giving – certainly around here. They are always looking to look after others. I have good friends earning less than £50 who will still take every opportunity to tip a less fortunate security guard or lend money to a friend. Whilst we sometimes get frustrated by our young neighbours demanding sweets, they will often offer us their oranges (admittedly more often than not plucked from our tree), sugar cane or ground nuts. They give what they can.

In the past month my room-mates have introduced me to a film that I had never heard of before called ‘Pay it Forward’. It is a bit sentimental however it has a wonderful philosophy at heart: if someone does something for you – don’t 'pay them back' – pay that favour or gift forward by giving to someone else. If everyone follows that principle the gift just keeps giving.

Maybe that’s what keeps Nigerians relatively happy in the midst of so much poverty, mismanagement, inefficiency.... as long as they can give something to someone.

I don’t know how long this honeymoon here will last – every day I’m expecting it to end and some form of ‘reality’ to hit home, however until it does I wake up every morning giving thanks for all that has brought me here, and everything that continues to inspire me. I wish I could change some of the desperate conditions around us: the dilapidated infrastructure, the poor sanitation that leads to death amongst the vulnerable, a struggling education system that leaves young minds craving education. But as long as I feel I can help even just one person at a time, help them to feel as happy as I do, then I think I will stay happy!

Thank you Nigeria!

Now all I need is for the immigration authorities to let me stay for another year... but that’s another story........

Afterword: It’s now 9:30 in the evening and, whilst writing this in the dark as we haven’t seen NEPA for about 2 weeks, I knocked over a precious glass of red wine. I can feel a bit of irritation starting to set in.....

Corpers

2009-10-24T16:13:00.005+01:00

Last Wednesday I found myself seated on a high table in front of about 150, young Nigerians dressed in matching T-shirts, trousers, jackets and shoes, hailing from all corners of the country.

This was the exit seminar for the Corpers of Zonkwa District, batch C, who were due to ‘graduate’ from their year’s Youth Service.

Corpers’ are members of Nigeria’s National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) – an institution established in 1973 to bring young Nigerians together and to prevent a repetition of the bloody Nigerian civil war of the late 1960s.

Although (I recently learned) youth service is not technically compulsory like national service, employers expect all graduates to be able to produce their Youth Service certificate.

After attending a month’s orientation in regional NYSC camps, the Corpers can be sent anywhere in the country to their ‘Place of Primary Assignment’ (PPA) which could be in a school, local government, NGO or other organisation (including Fantsuam!). It is not at all uncommon for a Lagos city boy to be posted to a rural backwater like Kafanchan, or indeed even further into the bush.

I had been invited to speak to the group about “Marketing yourself: How to create a results-oriented CV” by Corper Akin – King Corper of the Kafanchan area (I think the official title is Corpers Liaison Officer, but I think King Corper sounds better). Akin is also a Fantsuam volunteer and friend. I feel a particular connection with Akin as, when he’s not being a Corper or a graduate student, he’s helping run his father’s Lagos print packaging factory (I think all my readers will be aware – but for those that aren’t – my entire career prior to VSO has been spent in the printing industry).

Me up on the top table of the assembly hall of the local Government Secondary School in Kagarko where the Corper event was being held

In addition to Corpers’ primary assignments they are also encouraged to take on volunteer projects in their communities, in line with the Millennium Development Goals. However the motivation of Corpers to undertake both their compulsory and voluntary roles varies greatly: after I had delivered my 15 minute ‘lecture’ which featured a section on how to best describe ‘work experience’, one cocky Corper stood up and asked how they were expected to include work experience in their CVs when they’d spent four years at university and one doing Youth Service.

A group of graduating Corpers from the Kafanchan District. Akin's taking the photo!

Fantsuam has had the privilege of working with Corpers like Akin who, in addition to their PPA, has three additional teaching jobs and has initiated a project in the region to improve the quality of drinking water in order to reduce (from over 50%) hospital admissions from water borne diseases. This, by anyone’s measure, is a huge amount of work experience for someone fresh out of university. It is not always the case though, and there are other Corpers who will turn up at their PPA in protest and use every opportunity to avoid responsibilities. It’s the same as youth around the world! However it is really inspiring to see those who really seize their opportunities.

And they need to: every one of the 2,500 Corpers that completed their year of service in 1973 were snapped up by recruiters. In 2009, that number of Corpers will be in a single batch graduating from one of the smaller states. There are probably between 100,000 – 150,000 Corpers arriving on the job market every year. Many do not find jobs and this is one of the reasons that VSO has started working with NYSC on the ‘Corper Plus’ programme which complements both VSO’s National Volunteering Programme and the NYSC Programme in Nasarawa and Kwara States, adjacent to Abuja’s Federal Capital Territory (FCT).

From the advertising literature, the Corper Plus programme is:

“a one-year volunteering programme, which gives young people the opportunity to give back to the society and contribute to raising the standard of education in Nigeria. Volunteering on Corper Plus requires you to provide selfless service without monetary gain or financial incentives. This programme harnesses the energy and enthusiasm of exceptional graduates to provide leadership and motivation to students in schools and at the same time it transforms those graduates into inspiring leaders ready to excel in their future careers.”

“Without monetary gain or financial incentives isn’t quite true”: there is a monthly stipend of N12,000 a month and ‘modest’ accommodation. N12,000 is more than non-graduates earn at FF (and right across Nigeria) in full-time jobs and they need to pay for accommodation out of that salary.

The requirements to qualify are not easy though: it’s not for every Corper that finds themself out of a job. Selection for Corper Plus is based entirely on your ability to demonstrate a high degree of proficiency in the following competencies and qualities:
• Values diversity and respects opinions of others.
• Humility, Respect and Empathy
• Flexibility, Resilience, Knowledge and Leadership
• Planning, Organising, Problem solving and Self-evaluation

It occurs to me that it would be helpful to instil this spirit of volunteering into the over-developed countries currently struggling with recession and high unemployment?

How much does it cost to print a 15 page report?

2009-09-29T15:27:00.006+01:00

“Nigeria presents a unique development challenge. Its striking income disparity – so much poverty in the midst of so much wealth – is difficult to comprehend and must inform any attempt to alleviate poverty.”

This sentence comes from the introduction to Fantsuam’s strategic plan, a document which is currently under review as part of the organisational development process we are undertaking.

Today I unexpectedly came face to face with that disparity although having said that, the fact that I was in Abuja should have given me a clue as to what to expect.

The Nigerian Communications Commission’s Universal Service Provision Fund which is supporting our Community Communications Centre has requested a (printed, bound including colour pictures) progress update by today. The last two days have been the Sallah holiday marking the end of the Muslim fasting period of Ramadan. Getting printing done in Kafanchan at the best of times can be a challenge so I took the decision to take the electronic copy of the document down to Abuja and get it printed and bound near to the NCC.

Friends familiar with Abuja directed me to a cyber cafe inside a petrol station next door to the NCC. Unfortunately they couldn’t do the whole job so directed me to a smart but small business services centre about 100m up the road in Gana Street – adjacent to the very wonderful Schwarma King restaurant.

As I walked inside I was anticipating the delicious chicken schwarma that I would treat myself to when the job was done. I was courteously welcomed by uniformed staff, and I enquired if they could do colour printing and binding and was assured in the very best London accent (Ada from Willesden Green I subsequently learned) that it was possible. A price list was displayed but I didn’t tot it up immediately. I mean – how bad could it be?

Well 20 minutes later with a neatly bound document containing 6 colour pages and 9 black and white pages (i.e. 15 sheets of paper printed one side only), I found out: N2,710. That is about £12 or more than half of what one of the two Pink House security guards (working continuous 12 hour shifts) earns in a month. I was actually in shock: similar to when a hairdresser in New York told me the nice haircut and highlights I had just received cost $120 (this was two weeks after I’d given up my job and decided to go to business school).

My utter disbelief caught the attention of Ada who explained that that was what you paid to get a job done properly -and remember – everything came straight off a clearly displayed price list – no bature prices here.. And she was right: the air-conditioned Maitama Biz Centre had continuous power supply and good quality equipment fully charged with toner (a week previously a colleague had had to visit three business centres in state capital Kaduna to find one that actually had toner in the colour printer). All the staff were polite, knowledgeable and well trained and, whilst I struggled with how I was going to explain the cost to Fantsuam’s CCC project manager (in the end I decided that I was too embarrassed to attempt claiming the full amount) I could understand Ada’s point of view.

But this is where the contrast is really clear: let’s say the worst paid security guard in a quiet rural backwater of the UK is earning... £10,000 a year (£850 a month)? Imagine paying £500 for one 15 page, desk-top printed and plastic comb-bound document.

Forget ‘London weighting’ and the difference between a pint of beer in Bolton compared to Berkeley Square, this is real income disparity.

I’m also convinced that it is this that is behind Nigeria’s reputation for corruption: put yourself in the position of a middle manager civil servant struggling to raise a family and home on – say N15,000 (£50) a month. Someone comes along and offers you 10 or 100 times that much to put a contract in their hands. Suddenly you go from a position where a car could only be a pipe-dream to where it might be a reality. The implications are life-changing.

Of course for every life-changing bribe that is accepted, there are hundreds which are merely giving in to greed. But if everyone else is doing it, why shouldn’t you? Think of it as English people’s attitude to water preservation before water meters were put in. You could save water but it didn’t cost you less and any way everyone else was not saving water so why should you?

I think this will ring some bells with anyone who kept abreast of the MPs' expenses scandal in the UK parliament this year..

A colleague who had worked in East Africa commented that corruption is rife across the continent – it’s just made a lot more obvious in Nigeria. Nigeria’s reputation for corruption is infamous but it’s not a country of dishonest people. Quite the opposite.

Solving the corruption problem will be very difficult unless the disparity is reduced. Whilst there are people who take six months or more to earn what someone else would pay for a small round of drinks in a smart bar, money will always be more powerful than anything else and with that will come corruption.

Progress?

2009-08-23T15:24:00.004+01:00

A few weeks ago I finally visited Kaduna – and number 2 Bosun Close*, home to the Brown family from 1979 – 1982 when my father was running the Kaduna office of the British Council. The visit was fleeting: I and a couple of Fantsuam colleagues were visiting NITEL – the Nigerian telephone company, to look at the possibility of co-locating our equipment on their communications masts rather than adding to the proliferation of individual towers, usually holding only one or two small radios, that litter small (and large!) towns of Nigeria.

But that’s another story...

After a fruitful and interesting visit with the NITEL General Manager and a host of his colleagues at the NITEL state headquarters, we took a quick detour to Bosun Close* which I had surprisingly managed to find on a map of the town (finding the road was not as surprising as finding the map itself).

First we passed the concrete shell that belied the former glories of the local Durbar Hotel. Only a couple of minutes’ walk from our house, my sister and I would congregate almost daily at the large and crystal clear pool with other expat kids from all corners of the world (Germany, Grenada and Lebanon, English made up the main contingent).

I don’t know the full story, but it appears the Durbar was a victim of Nigeria’s – shall I say ‘complex’ (for want of a less descriptive term) politics. It appears the Durbar was owned by Sani Abacha, former Nigerian head of state who ‘died’ in office. Since then the place has been stripped bare but there appears to be some dispute over ownership (or something...) so that this prime plot of real estate remains derelict and disused.

A 15-year old me making faces at the camera man. Today the Durbar is just a rusting, empty shell. Thanks to Jared for digging out my old photo album and scanning these pictures to remind me what it used to be like.

The first left took us into Bosun Rd* and moments later I made out the battered street sign which stood between high security walls on both sides of the road. Bosun Close* – here we were.

It appeared that the compound had not been divided up as many people familiar with the growth of Kaduna had warned that it would be, however a huge wall and iron gate stood between me and our former home. A colleague accompanied me up to the sleeping security guard and politely explained the bature’s somewhat strange request.

A short conversation took place in Hausa which my colleague then translated: this was now the house of a recently taken wife of a big local alhaji and as a result the occupants were in purdah which prevents women from being seen by men. The guard disappeared inside the compound to ask if I, a lowly woman, might be allowed inside and a few moments later he reappeared with another young man who invited me to step inside the gate.

...into a building site. Whether a result of the application of ‘Nigerian time’ to building contracts or a lack of attention to finishing, the whole compound looked unfinished although a shiny big Toyota was parked in the drive of the house suggesting it was definitely occupied. I struggled to tell whether the house was completely new or re-modelled on our former home. Although substantially bigger, it was of similar design and proportions.. However unfortunately it really wasn’t our house. The compound was devoid of the trees and greenery that had been so diligently (hmmm...) tended by our former gardener Yakubu, whilst rubble lay in small piles all around.

2 Bosun Close in its later livery in 1981 (it was blue and white when we first moved in) and in 2009, naked and bare.

The side view through the fragrant frangipani trees in 1981 whilst our bungalow neighbour seems to have been undisturbed over time.

I was reminded of this change to our former home was last weekend during Fantsuam’s ‘Vision & Strategy’ workshop. As a review of a comprehensive strategic planning process that happened two years ago, the objective of the workshop was to highlight the changes that the commuity, the region and indeed the country, was experiencing to ensure that our strategy remained relevant.

Whilst Abuja grows and the cars get bigger and the parties get fancier, the infrastructure in the rest of the country is deteriorating: schools are falling apart and teaching standards are sinking. The railways are rusting and the roads are disintegrating. It’s true there are more health clinics but it appears levels of public health are declining. Electronic banking means that the people who used to travel around with huge bundles of cash don’t have to any more so there’s been a noticeable decline in the number of armed robberies however farmers in rural areas can’t get hold of fertiliser for their crops and farming remains predominantly at the subsistence level.

West Africa’s largest oil producer and electricity generator (and electricity exporter) can’t even begin to meet the power needs of its own population stifling businesses and progress.

When I saw the old photos again it really brought home to me the lack of real progress that Nigeria has made. This powerhouse of Africa, recently lost its African oil crown to Angola and was snubbed by Barack Obama on his recent African tour in favour of Ghana.

All over Nigeria you meet individuals trying to get Nigeria back on track: from Fantsuam’s own John Dada, to young friends from my village who are determindly trying to do whatever little they can to improve the lives of their communities. Fantsuam’s GAIYA volunteering programme is key to driving this commitment.

But how much will it change when the lights don’t work, there’s no public transport, rural salaries are typically less than $150 per month and preventable and treatable diseases like typhoid, cholera, hepatitis and malaria are killing daily? An enthusiastic GAIYA volunteer at the Foundation has started a project to improve the quality of drinking water in and around Kafanchan – a fairly sized regional town: his research has shown the 54% of rainy season admissions to the Kafanchan General Hospital involve water borne diseases. His plan is ambitious and I know he will do everything he can to change those statistics.

But for everyone looking to help the community there are five looking to help their own. "Helping your own" is a key element of the strong (extended) family values that have been a powerful and important tradition probably for thousands of years; something needs to change now in order for Nigeria to change gear and move forward. It’s difficult to comprehend how Nigeria has failed to prosper despite the intellect, drive and resourceful-ness of its huge population and despite the wealth of its natural resources. It’s also difficult to understand how it will be lifted out. But it must be lifted; although the question is how far down it has to go before coming up.

I am waiting. Real progress will come. It must come.

Lagos

2009-08-09T12:31:00.025+01:00

I still quite can’t decide whether I want to go back to Lagos or not.

The ladies of the Pink House recently spent a week in the big smoke of Nigeria, Lagos, having been invited to the wedding of the senior son of a Kagoro neighbour who had taken a southern (Yoruba) girl for his wife.

Lagos is something else. Much like Marmite – you either love it or hate it.
On the plus side: it’s lively, everything is happening there and you can buy anything you want (with the right money) or see anything you want.

I got this picture from the internet but it's a fairly good representation of Lagos!

The downsides are that the traffic makes London’s Hyde Park Corner at 5pm on a Friday evening seem positively serene, everyone is operating at a speed and volume not seen elsewhere in Nigeria (except of course the traffic), aggression seems to be constantly bubbling under the surface because of stress levels and frankly, it’s noisy and dirty and there aint that much to see.

Unfortunately you’ll have to take my word for much of that: we were too frightened of ‘snapping’ much of the city in case we inadvertently captured something official (most of which it is illegal to photograph and might result in camera confiscation) or were asked for money to pay whoever happened to wander into the picture.

During our four days there we experienced many sides of Africa’s largest city: we spent the first two nights with VSOs in the less salubrious neighbourhoods of Ogba and Iba, the last two in the haven of Ikoyi Island.

Celebrating arriving in Lagos after the 9 hour (public transport) bus journey from Abuja with very cold (N400!) beer at Ogba's Excellence Hotel as we await the arrival of our VSO friend who lives locally.

In Ogba we were visiting a VSO staying with a family in a ‘middle income’ housing estate. One of their friends treated us to a slap-up meal of chicken, guinea fowl, rice and salad whilst another gave the three country visitors beds for the night. The latter had recently returned from Dartford, Kent (about 10 miles from my home in London) and the next morning we sipped our tea out of mugs from the ‘New Wine’ church which opened in a disused Odeon by the Woolwich ferry about 5 years ago. It’s a small world.

The next day we were visiting our second VSO colleague in Iba who lives, with another Ugandan VSO and housegirl, on the ground floor of a house belonging to the chairman of her NGO. This bordered a ‘low-income’ housing estate which we walked through to the delighted greetings of shop keepers, children and passers-by alike. She's a popular girl!

Having left our bulging rucksacks at her house, we quickly visited her tiny HIV/AIDS NGO based in two rooms on the first floor of a small commercial building, before she dropped us off at the hectic junction of Ayang Ibar from where we caught a bus to Badagry, the centre of Nigeria’s former Atlantic slave trade, situated about half way between Lagos and Benin.

The town's two museums, both on the shore-front, tell an abbreviated story of the horrors which were inflicted here and overseas as millions of Nigerians were despatched to Europe and the Americas, bound with heavy chains and loaded on board slave ships.

Our guide Mr Bode takes us around the small museum of the Badagry chief 'Mobee'. Apparently 'Mobee' is similar to 'have a cola nut' in the local language which greeted the arriving colonists. Unable to understand, they thought this was who they were being introduced to and the name stuck.

At the Mobee Museum you can 'try on' slave chains. They are extremely heavy.

Dori and I pose with Mr Bode in front of the tomb of the first Chief Mobee who does not seem to have been a casual bystander to the lucrative slave trade being carried on from his town.

It was interesting to me how the museums were candid about West Africa’s slavery origins in the Saharan slave trade, that had been in operation for several hundred years previously. Also surprising was the strong link between the Portuguese, Nigeria and Brazil. Lagos is actually a Portuguese word (many of you will know Lagos in Portugal) which I'm sure describes the many lagoons which surround the capital.

The highlights of the tour included Nigeria’s first ‘storey building’ and the place where Christianity was first preached however any future visitors should ensure that they make time to visit ‘The Point of No Return’.

The monument marks the location of the spreading tree under which missionaries first preached Christianity in Nigeria.

The tree fell in the 1990s however Christianity remains very very strong in this part of Nigeria. The are rows upon rows of huge 'prayer city' churches on the roads leading to Lagos: often smart conference centres accommodating 1,000s at a time, nestled amongst the squalid poverty of the suburbs.

Badagry is protected from the ocean by a sandy island to which slaves were ferried in small boats before a 1km walk to them to the wave battered beaches and awaiting ships on the other side.

On the boat across the lagoon, I chat with a young woman who is studying at Ibadan's School of Business & Aviation Management whichwas having a study tour of the area that day (I'll let you make the link between Aviation and slavery). I discovered that she was almost a neighbour from Plateau State, which just east of Kaduna State. We disembarked and walked the 15 minutes across the island to 'The Point of No Return'.

It was at this point that the captives would catch their last glimpse of their homeland. Today, tourists can take the walk themselves to the monument and only imagine what it must have been like as you cross the clean white sands of the beautiful palm-fringed beach.

Our return journey from Badagry to Ayang Ibar was punctuated by no less the eight police and customs' check-points as the authorities look out for illegal imports from the country of Benin which is less than 50km away (and a bit cheaper than Nigeria). A female passenger's bag was thrown off the bus and she was asked to follow. It transpired she had not declared fabrics she was bringing in. She boarded the bus again 20 minutes later, still apparently in possession of the fabrics although, I dare say, a few Naira lighter.

On Friday morning we left the rawness of the VSO placement locations through often stationary traffic (the infamous Lagos go-slow, still grid-locked at 11:00am), seated five-abreast in a cramped bus, as we made our way for the calm and tranquility of leafy Ikoyi Island and the accommodation arranged for us by our Kagoro neighbour and father of the groom. We transferred into a taxi at the busy CMS motorpark and, having got away with simply a laugh when we offered water to a policeman who, having stopped our taxi, gestured his cupped fingers towards his mouth and asked what we had for him, we arrived in the large colonial compound of an empty government guest house where the very sizeable Kagoro contingent, that had arrived earlier on chartered buses, was camped.

However the bature were not being asked to bunk down with the other villagers as we were taken next door to another, identical guest house that was occupied by a colleague of our host who very graciously offered us full use of the facilities including satellite TV, airconditioning, hot and cold running water and, to top it all, a brand new Toyotal Corolla and driver.

For my American sisters, the first stop was a fast food joint to get a burger or pizza, delicacies unheard of around Kafanchan and the young driver Jones, negotiated his way agressively (as you must be here) around the growing Lagos traffic to a Chicken Republic where we chowed down on pizza, fries and Coke. Seriously - a very real treat!

That was followed by a brief stroll along Bar Beach - where we believe Jones had to part with N500 to a group of 'area boys' to ensure safe passage of both us, and the shiny new car (although he vehemently denied it). Finally we repaired to the former premises of the Ikoyi Club, once, I am sure, a very exclusive social haunt but now just a very pleasant but somewhat dilapidated roof terrace bar over looking lawn tennis courts and a suya (grilled kebabs) stall.

Returning to the house, we were offered another dinner by the maid, Margaret, which we regretfully turned down (since we were full of beer and pizza) but asked if our outfits could be pressed in preparation for the highlight of the trip - the wedding!

Because of the long distances travelled, the families had fitted in all the ceremonies into a single, action-packed day which started at 06:30 on Saturday morning as the Kagoro contingent took buses from Ikoyi Island to the Festac home of the bride where the traditional Yoruba engagement ceremony was to be held.

We met up with my friends Esther and Peace from Kagoro at 06:30 on Saturday morning as we waited for the buses to take us to Festac along with the 40 or so guests that had travelled from both Kagoro and Calabar for the event.

The bride's family was not quite ready for us when we arrived, so the cultural dance group that had been bussed in from Kagoro for the event started performing outside on the street as the ladies joined them in the traditional Kagoro 'samba' dance.

Laurie and Dori pose with our very good friend and neighbour Mrs Aka'ahs or 'mummy', and Dori snaps whilst Laurie and I pose with 'daddy'.

We were very priviledged to be invited to the part of the ceremony involved with paying the 'bride price'. I say priviledged: there were three 'toll gates' to pass before we could enter the compound, each manned by feisty mamas who took their traditional duties very seriously. The groom's parents were the first to make their contribution. TIP: bring small notes.

The samba band ushers in the groom through the gathering throng, and later relaxes during a lull in proceedings.

The gifts from the groom's family are assembled as his mother and father wait anxiously to see whether 'the price is right'.... Actually it's all pre-negotiated with a 'wish list' submitted by the bride's family, but technically negotiations could re-start at any time!

The vocal MC (who, we were frequently told, has been doing this job since 1978) loudly instructs the bride to thank her parents for everything they have done to bring her to this point. Her expectant fiance waits as she embraces tenderly with her mother whilst her father wipes the tears from his eyes.

Next the bride is covered and presented to her husband who seems relieved that they got the right girl. Next she is asked to select a gift from those presented by the groom's family. She selects the Bible. Good girl and clearly a wise choice. Her family then announce that the cheque for the bride price will be given in full to the happy couple.

The guests are fuelled up on fried chicken and delicious yam porridge before squeezing back into the buses which, as a long convoy, make their way across to the the Church of Our Holy Family causing traffic mayhem as they get lost at least twice amid unmarked 'roads under construction'.

Once Laurie and Dori have managed to find material to cover their bare heads and we are seated in the huge church, a beautiful and perfectly printed Order of Service tells us that the ceremony will be presided by none other that Monsignor Matthew Kukah, an extremely highly respected individual from the Kafanchan area. Proceedings are timed perfectly to ensure that Father Kukah leaves on time to catch his plane to another speaking engagement.... in New York.

The bride and groom are joined by their parents and the minister for photos inside the church as the service concludes although the red digital display above the bride's head continues advertising forthcoming church events in 2 foot high letters as it has done throughout the service. The photo session continues outside.

The grooms' men look on coolly as the Kagoro samba group once more do their thang in Lagos surrounded by village people. You can take Kagorians out of the village but you can't take the village out of Kagorians!

Then it's back in the buses to the reception which takes place at a resort on the edge of Festac Town. It appeared that members of the public had filled up the tables under the marquee so many of the wedding party headed for the public areas, where, for the price of a beer, we watched the stretch limo draw up from which emerged the newly wedded couple who danced up the aisle to set off the celebrations.

More than 12 hours after we had left that morning, the Kagorians were dropped back at their residences on Ikoyi Island. Exhilirated but too tired to even take advantage of the satellite TV, a hot shower and sleep beckoned quickly although earplugs to drown out the sound of the samba group that had started up again next door.

The next morning we met up with VSO friends in Shoprite – one of Lagos’ answer to Bluewater (i.e. a modern shopping mall). In retrospect, I was very pleased that the ATM machines would not dispense cash from my UK credit card, although I still managed to spend just about all my spare cash on two large bags of crunchy breakfast muesli and a potato masher, and therefore had nothing left over for the, surprisingly excellent quality arts and crafts of the market at Lekki Beach. Definitely worth a visit, though preferably armed with cash.

From the market we squeezed into a taxi to take us to the pretty Alpha Beach. Six passengers plus the driver was clearly too much for the aging Jetta which gave up the ghost about 100 metres from the beach, where another ‘toll’ (N200 per person) was extracted by the 'area boys' before we settled into a small bar to drink Star, eat grilled fish, and watch the beach’s goings on.

The entertainment ranged from rides and photo opportunities being offered on smart horses for a fee and young people frolicking fully clothed in the raging surf, to intoxicated youths in the neighbouring bar acting like rugby players after a significant victory and 15 pints of real ale (indecent exposure and urination were involved if you cared to look).

On the same subject, none of us will forget the priviledge of paying N20 (or in some cases N50) to squat on a rubbish heap behind a building in order to ease ourselves with any degree of privacy.

Posing for photos and downing Star to help us forget our toilet experiences.

Finally our day was rounded off by a visit to a former VSO, now working for an NGO based in the Niger Delta. As a poor evacuee from her former home of Port Harcourt, she is being housed in the 'guest house' of one of the oil companies that supports her organisation. We sympathised with her as we ate fresh baguettes, brie, liver pate and downed any drink we could think of alongside the crystal blue pool in the centre of a manicured lawn fringed by frangipani trees on Victoria Island. However the good news is that the oil company concerned has just been taken over and she's going to have to find some permanent accommodation so she won't be an evacuee any more.

Monday was travel day and we quickly accepted Jones' generous offer to drive us to the Cross Country motorpark at 6 the next morning. Clearly, driving to public motor parks is not something that senior public officials do very often so unfortunately, after several U-turns and double-backs around the Jabba district of Lagos, we arrived at the terminus after the first Abuja bus was filled.

Three hours later the second bus left - admittedly full of huge apologies from the bus company and supporting prayers from the pastor who reminded us that he had waited to ensure that our bus was sent off with God's blessings, as I pressed a N20 note into his hands.

I had reason to recall his words about everything happening for a reason, when we passed the first bus, broken down in a fairly remote location outside Lokoja and carried on our way to Abuja.

So will I be returning to Lagos? Hmmm.. On one side, I would be lying if I said that occasional access to genuine expat luxury and party opportunities are not a little alluring for a poor VSO based in a rural backwater of the north... Lekki Market with its wonderful (and reasonably-priced) arts and crafts and the white sandy beaches are a great treat which is just not an option here.

However getting from any A to any B (unless you have access to the Joneses of this world and an airconditioned car) is both a hassle and expensive, and the trip cost us more than a month's salary even though we only had to pay for two meals, and no accommodation during our visit.

This time we had a very good reason to go: I would not have missed the wedding for the world and I am extremely thankful to the Aka'ahs' for both giving us that chance, and accommodating us so wondefully during our stay.

As we drove up from Abuja on Tuesday morning, the first sight of Kagoro Mountain in the distance as we came over the brow of the hill just outside Kwoi, brought a huge smile to my face.

If I get another good reason - I think I will do. But perhaps next time I will fly.

Enough to bowl a maiden over

2009-07-19T14:58:00.008+01:00

I’m desperately trying to think of something to write for this blog: I’m sitting at my desk on a Sunday afternoon, having actually polished all my work off yesterday and this morning, but determined to stay glued to the internet to see whether English manage to polish off the Aussies in the latest Ashes test.

Apart from the fact that there is a serious chance that England will win (unless the Australians can pull off something substantially more impressive than England did at the 1981 Headingly test), I have now been quoted TWICE on the BBC’s test match commentary site, and feel slightly obliged to be on hand to attend to my adoring public again should an opportunity arise.

For those of you who have not enjoyed the BBC’s Live Action commentary – you don’t know what you’re missing. Don’t worry if you don’t like cricket. The web takes the place of Brian Johnstone and Jonathan Agnew’s (amongst others) wonderful radio commentary that I remember my mother trying to find on the World Service when in foreign climes or listening to whilst watching the UK TV coverage with the sound turned down.

Tom Fordyce’s hilarious written commentary is interspersed with contributions via text message and email from around the world: so far today we have had (mainly Brits) from Brighton, Dublin, Napa Valley, Charlotte (North Carolina), yachts off Lopud (Croatia) and Turkey, Kalkaringi (Northern Territories), Sydney, Cornwall, Connecticut, New York and of course, Kafanchan (Nigeria).

I was compelled to contribute yesterday after reading a comment from someone in a survey ship off the Angolan coast who was bemoaning the lack of chastened Aussies to gloat over. I had to show this amazing example of world-wide connectivity to a colleague who has recently joined Fantsuam who has not yet been introduced to the internet. His amazement and delight prompted me to share his wonder with the online cricket audience.

Max, offshore Angola, TMS inbox: "I'm on a survey vessel and there is only one Aussie on the ship but he doesn't follow cricket. I feel cheated."

From Cicely, Nigeria, TMS inbox: "To Max in Angola - at least you've got one. Here in Kafanchan, centre of Nigeria, we haven't seen an Australian for months. However I have overawed my cashier colleague at work, who (like the majority of people here) has never been online, by showing him how you can have live scores from a match (he'd never heard of cricket), online voting (clearly an extremely optimistic online audience) and comments from someone in the middle of the ocean, via the power of the internet."

From Jeff Robbins in Melbourne, TMS inbox: "Re Cicely, Nigeria - I don't believe the claim that your cashier colleague has not been online before. I have several emails from him telling me that I can make a fortune if I only send my bank details to him immediately."

In the 30 minutes that it took this conversation to travel around the world, Australia scored 33 runs whilst England took two wickets...

As the local ISP, Fantsuam has fantastic internet service which enables us to connect with just about anyone anywhere around the world, at any time. Last Wednesday we had an online Skype meeting with participants in Buenos Aires, London and Kafanchan and Abuja. The Abuja contribution was from a colleague sent there to represent Fantsuam at a Digital Bridge Institute conference from where he was online via wireless access.

Initially when preparing his presentation for the event, we’d focused on using ICT in development, however with less than 24 hours to spare, we realised that Fantsuam was to be a case study on how ICT supports the operations of a development NGO. We had a short brainstorming session with the Foundation's general secretary and one of the founders. It became clear that one of the key operational benefits is being able to connect with stakeholders (OK... well donors mainly). We can search for funding opportunities, submit proposals in double-quick time, conduct research to make proposals more informed and in-tune with donors’ needs and, at the end of the day submit and execute projects with less expense (phone calls, visits etc.).

On arrival at the Abuja conference, my colleague discovered that Fantsuam was really to be the star of the show. This small-ish NGO in the rural (or as we say – peri-urban) backwater of Bayan Loco, Kafanchan – making ripples on the Nigerian and international stages. I reckon if we had to put this success down to one thing – it would be the decision taken early on to invest in ICT and to keep up that investment over the years.

Our next step is to harness ICT to really drive economic development in the communities that we work in. We have recently scored several successes: our computer school’s reputation has students coming from over 30km away to enrol for bulging classes. We are now running Computer Certificate Classes from 8.00 in the morning until 8.00 in the evening. One of our ISP ‘cyber cafe’ clients has just applied for a microfinance loan to fund opening a second internet cafe and soon we will be setting up a satellite training school and cyber cafe in nearby Ungwa Rimi.

However, with the exception of the money Fantsuam's cyber cafe clients are making, it’s difficult to see how ICT is actually bringing $$$ into the community. We are now looking to change all that by using the internet, mobile phones and possibly radio to help the local markets work more efficiently. I’ll let you know how we get on!

More importantly as Ian Walker in Douala, Cameroon lets us all know that he is: "Putting off my crocodile with termite sauce dinner, stuck to the cricket text updates. The hunger for an Australian defeat is greater”, another wicket falls and Australia 120/4 chasing 500 and something.

I wonder if Fantsuam’s hotspot wireless access extends anywhere nearby serving beer?

Thanks to my colleague, co-incidentally head of our Zittnet ISP, for taking this celebratory photo. I Skyped him in his office to ask if he had time.

Well - you weren't expecting me to leave the computer and walk the 20 metres to get him were you? Another great benefit of the internet.

Abuja, Federal Capital Territory

2009-07-05T12:56:00.011+01:00

I’m sitting on the plush roof terrace cafe of the British Council in Abuja. Overlooking the noisy Maitama roundabout with Aso Rock looming majestically in the background, as a business day in Abuja comes to a close.

Aso Rock – pictured on the day of the Abuja Durbar last November. It’s tricky taking pictures in Abuja as virtually everything is a government building. Cameras are also banned from the British Council.

I found this website that’s covering world capitals that describes the city well

I came up to Abuja for a meeting with the Universal Service Provision Fund , a department of the Nigerian Communications Commission which has given Fantsuam a grant to develop a Community Communications Centre in nearby Ungwa Rimi, the village in which Fantsuam’s permanent site of ‘Attachab’ is located.

When I say ‘given’, I should say awarded. The letter came through at the end of December 2008 and since then Fantsuam representatives have been back and forth to Abuja delivering letters, guarantees etc. in order to secure the first tranche of funding. Each visit is N2000 in transport and a full day out of the office for an executive staff of Fantsuam. But that’s how business, or should I say government, tends to work.

This time I took the trouble to set up a couple of meetings to ensure that what we were delivering was what was wanted, and to be sure of next steps so to avoid wasting another month before being told something was not quite right. Apart from the project manager in charge of Community Communications Centres, I ensured that Mrs Jones, the lawyer was also there to look over the documents whilst we were there.

The NCC is in a stunning, architecturally exciting building, one of a few in Abuja. It is the very epitome of the corporate world with a large marble reception, ID tags, Otis lifts and suits. It’s always quite strange coming from public transport from Kafanchan into this rarefied air-conditioned world. I register with the friendly front desk staff who send me up to the floor for my appointment. The NCC is a building of long, arching corridors with marked and unmarked doors. After my third visit I know that you just ask for the person you want. You will find them eventually.

In the past such meetings have been perfunctory, however Mrs Jones was different. After studying the documents for some time to check the details were correct, she called across her assistant to make a copy, and whilst copies were being made in a distant part of the building, Mrs Jones and I started chatting. In VSO they train you about the importance of informal conversations to learn, network... well basically to get things done. I am extremely grateful to Mrs Jones for taking the trouble to chat, instead (as had happened before) the recipient of our letter sits in stony silence, answering mobile phone calls and rifling papers on his desk until the task is completed.

Mrs Jones went to university in Houston where she said she had the best of both worlds: the Western lifestyle without the cold. I have often cautioned Nigerians who yearn to be in the UK about the weather. Mrs Jones knew what I meant.

We talked about the project – about how the USPF was initiating a ‘bottom up’ programme: get the people, the communities to define the projects and then roll them out. Some people may see this as getting other people to do your work but as Mrs Jones pointed out, and as Fantsuam, VSO – and doubtless 1000s of NGOs around the world have discovered, that is the way to get the communities involved, to own the projects and to take an interest.

We talked about how Fantsuam could use the experience of other partners around the country who have been implementing CCCs to see what went well... and what didn’t. She gave me her card and asked about life in Kagoro. Despite her aversion to the cold, she was interested to find a place where it gets cold: well – last night I woke up cold despite being wrapped up in a blanket. She wants to find a cooler spot in Nigeria. Cooler than Abuja or Anambra – her home state – at any rate.

Shortly however the assistant returned with the copies and the conversation was curtailed. We parted promising to keep in touch. I for one intend to do so.

And so here I am relaxing on the breezy 3rd floor terrace of the British Council, waiting for my colleague to return from his own Abuja appointments so that we can return to Kafanchan. Where the beer may be warm but only costs N160 (not N400).

As I overlook the big roundabout full of shiny SUVs, (oh – and there goes a bright blue Hummer) green and white taxis of various ages, and not an Okada sight (they are banned within city limits), I hear violent hooting and look up to see an old Peugeot 504 being pushed round the three lane roundabout. Not pushed to one side, but right around a gyratory that would hold its own against Hangar Lane. I’m reminded that I’m still in Nigeria.

And in Abuja it’s easy to forget. It’s like many other purpose-built capital cities. Full of wide leafy boulevards bordered by government buildings and embassies. Cranes litter the skyline as high-rises (only up to about 10 storeys mind) and implausible mansions are built from the naira (and dollars, and pounds) sucked out of the rest of the country.

As I knew I had time after my meeting before my lift home, I decided to walk the few miles to Park ‘n’ Shop – a department store which, amongst its other qualities and abundantlly stocked shelves, sells vodka at N975 (about £4.50) a bottle...

As I walked, I had to hold back the greetings as I passed other pedestrians and, unlike Kafanchan, they were not offered. Every now and then a Fulani woman in traditional dress and hairdo walks past with the bowls used to make nono balancing on her head...but mostly it’s suits, high heeled shoes, dark sun glasses and grim faces that would look at home on London’s Bishopsgate in the heart of the City.

Another picture courtesy of the Abuja Durbar. A Fulani woman carrying her business on her head, whilst her 'backed child' cranes round her body to suckle.

Taxis constantly hoot as they pass me, hoping to earn a couple of hundred Naira extra from the bature, but I’m walking today. One of the new buildings is leaking cement across the pavement and I detour onto the road to pass another bature collecting her child from the local school. “Is this the way to Park ‘n’ Shop’ I say? “Yes,” she answers in a heavy German accent, “but it’s still quite a long way”. “That’s OK – I need the exercise,” I say. She understands. Most Nigerians don’t. Walking is what you do when you can’t afford the taxi fare. Coming to think of it, in Abuja, walking allows me to have another cold Star at the British Council rooftop cafe!

I pass a heavily armoured building. In fact I didn’t realise there was a building behind the steel walls, barbed wire and disguised entrances until I saw the announcements and instructions fixed to the glass fronted-noticeboards. Posters advising how to get British visas. Emphasising that if you go to Britain to study it’s for study. Not to live. This is the British High Commission. Not the welcoming environment of the British Council, although even here security is significantly higher than it was in 1979: I even had to leave my vodka at the front gate!

I finally reach the hustle and bustle of the malls in Wuse 2 district and the relative serenity of Park’n’Shop where I pick up a bottle of (delicious) Farm Fresh yoghurt, 3 tins of cheap tuna (how bad can it be?), Jordans Crunchy cereal with strawberries – two for one! And of course the N975 vodka... Or so I thought until I got to the checkout where the electronic till rang up N1,140. “But it said N975 on the shelf,” I remonstrated with the cashier who apologetically said that she’d been trying to get the staff to change it for ever. To her credit she even called a young man proudly sporting his Park ‘n’ Shop uniform over to complain... again. I doubt it will change. I still bought it though. A bottle of vodka for a fiver: still a couple of hundred naira cheaper than Kaf.

So from there it’s a quick taxi drop to the British Council where I register for use of the library and more importantly free (for VSOs) internet access before making my way up to the rooftop terrace where the story began.

Before long my colleague returns from his errands and I quickly pay – struggling to remain calm at paying 2 days’ salary for 2 beers and a small chicken shawarma (kebab). Still it was worth it.
We join the ‘go slow’ heading up the hill out of the City and towards Nya Nya – a sprawling satellite town outside of FCT and untouched by many of its regulations. Okadas weave in and out of beaten up taxi-buses, both of which stop unpredictably at the side of the road to pick up and drop passengers in front of endless small shop frontages, businesses in prime position to gain custom from passing commuters.

On the central reservation, amongst the choking fumes, a scattering of beggars and hawkers use the same principle. A young Muslim mother sits with two small children who, despite the cruel circumstances have bright smiles on their faces. Two old blind men recline, chatting and hardly really bothering to shake their collection cups at the vehicles crawling by.

Soon though the traffic starts moving too quickly to be lucrative for opportunistic transactions. Buildings become scarcer and vehicles older and less shiny and before long we’re speeding away along the three lane highway towards Keffi and beyond that, the road to Kafanchan.

Force of habit

2009-06-25T13:03:00.005+01:00

When did you last change the way you did something because of your environment? When I thought about any instances of noticeable change in my habits before I came to Nigeria, I really struggled. I remember that I fought hard against letting the word ‘leverage’ enter my vocabulary when I began to work at Accenture, but quickly became accustomed to working 12 hours a day (6 days a week) during my MBA at IMD.

I think the need to change habits is a function of choice. In London, very few customs are so entrenched that you really need to follow them. Indeed in London, society is so diverse that it’s hard to even identify specific local customs which one might adapt to: perhaps not speaking to people on the morning commute? So many conveniences are available that you can basically choose to do whatever you want, without having the environment dictate what you do. Whatever food you want to eat, what television you want to watch, what exercise you wish to take.

That’s not quite the case here in Nigeria and I started thinking about the things that I do differently, but habitually (and, might I say, usually happily) now that I am here. Here's a short list (and for those I will meet on my return - forgive my strange manners!).

Greeting everyone you pass (including total strangers): not to do so would be an affront (and if for any reason, you miss an opportunity to greet, you will invariably be reminded)

Using new phrases with ease for example:
- “on” or “off” the gen (turn the generator on or off)
- Climb a machine (get on a motorbike taxi)
- NEPA brought light (the electricity came on). NEPA took light (you can work that out).
- “He really tried” (he did a good job).... just to name a few
Happily taking a cold shower every evening as well as in the morning. This is such a habit that I forgot to turn on the hot tap on a recent visit to an Abuja hotel.

Staying (relatively!) calm when things are late or don’t go to plan. Any progress is good progress. The fact it’s not what was expected is not necessarily bad. Most of the time you can’t control events and everyone else knows that too
Asking questions completely directly – I have almost discarded British diplomacy: unfortunately politeness in terms of making a request merely confuses people. You need something, you ask for it.
Not switching the lights on: more often than not, it’s the (rare) click of the stabiliser in the kitchen, and if NEPA is powerful enough, hearing the hum of the refrigerator, that reminds us we have the option of electricity
Never watching television and not missing it: we don’t have a television – there’s not a lot of point. It’s fun to watch football or Top Gear when it’s showing on a TV across the bar at the New World, but otherwise I don’t miss it.
Drinking beer: when I was in London, given a choice between a cold white wine, a G & T, a red wine or frankly most drinks, a beer will come last on my list. Now all I ever drink when offered is Star. The leading local lager (and I don’t care what you Harp or Gulder fans say). And, warm, cold or positively hot – it tastes great!
Drawing the attention of bar staff by hissing. "Excuse me", "oi" are completely useless. A subtle hiss will be responded to across a crowded bar!
Eating only farm fresh vegetables and virtually no meat (the experience of buying meat is traumatic, killing it beyond our capabilities).

As I said, virtually no meat.

A plate of shingge (shingay) our neighbour Mr Shinggu (no relation) kindly offered us. This actually was the second time we've tried them and, with a crunchy delicate taste, a little like sweet pork, they really (and I know you won't believe me) are quite nice.

We haven't drummed up the courage for certain bushmeats... yet...

A neighbour prepares a bushmeat from the previous night's hunt for sale: apparently this isn't brugu (bush rat or grasscutter - apparently 'the sweetest meat')... although it looks like it could be to me.

From tiny acorns mighty oaks grow

2009-06-16T14:47:00.004+01:00

Last Tuesday the ladies (and gentleman!) of the Pink House joined their neighbour Mrs Aka’ahs at the dedication of the new building for her foundation, The Vincent Kawai Memorial Foundation who has as its mission: “Motivating and empowering the disadvantaged youth of Kaura Local Government to achieve their full potential”. Mrs Aka’ahs (Rebecca) and her husband are both indigenes of Kagoro, and love the village and its people, particularly its children.

In recent years they have been distressed by the degree of alcoholism and delinquency in the local youth. The vagrancy of small children running around unfettered and seemingly uncared for by their parents. The Foundation aims to help children and youths first see and then realise their potential, whether it be in music, business or other activity. Mrs Aka’ahs has been running a Tuesday afternoon kids club for several weeks now with up to 70 children gathering in her driveway for story-telling, singing, prayers and puff puffs, a local doughnut which Rebecca makes to perfection enriched with sugar and eggs.

With renovations at the new building completed, we attended the main launch along with about 100 children, 30-40 adults including the local church choir and local band. Speeches were given by the local Catholic Reverend Father Richard (from Kenya), the ECWA pastor from nearby Manchok and the local Kagoro Imam. Oh yes – and me, as a representative of the Pink Ladies.
The tiny acorns take their places bright and early for the start of the launch of the new building, which is no longer at 1 Water Board Road but, with road names the way they are, no need to change the signboard.

Laurie and Shinggu help organise some activities with the early-arriving kids before the main programme begins at the new site, not at No. 1 Waterboard Road, but still in Kpak.

Chairwoman and founder greets Father Richard who will perform the dedication; the two fathers consult on the upcoming programme.

Laurie gets the kids singing

Mrs Aka'ahs sits amongst her Kagoro children

With the speeches in Hausa, it’s difficult for me to relay the content. On my own part (with translation into Hausa provided by our neighbour Mr Shinggu) I started off by thanking the adults for the joy that their children brought us. Anyone regularly reading this blog will know that the children never cease (well, so far after 8 months) to happily greet us as though it was the first time they had seen a bature which can bring considerable joy to a heart heavy with a full day’s work and a trip on public transport back to Kagoro.

Father Richard makes the dedication;

I introduce a musical number before making a short speech on behalf of the ladies of the Pink House with Mr Shinggu acting as my translator.

However we know that the children enjoy us because we provide a diversion from the monotony and boredom of their day. Other Nigerian friends have told me how they never had a dull moment in their childhoods as their parents encouraged them to help round the house and farm in any spare moment. One of the problems we see is the lack of engagement by parents – even if just to give them a chore. Toddlers can be seen wandering, often half-naked, some distance from their homes with no adult supervision. Younger children will be seen carried on the backs of their slightly older sisters who seem to become the main carers. The Foundation hopes to enable both the children and their parents to recognise what the children are capable of and somehow provide some avenue through which to realise that potential.

Some parents take part enthusiastically in the proceedings (although later we were saddened to see them grabbing for donuts and drinks with greater effort and more force than the children); one of our local children Madaleine listens intently to a speech (probably not mine...)

The ECWA Women's Fellowship choir entertains the crowd, whilst Dori and I desperately try and get in shot - snap me! snap me!

Mrs Aka’ahs confesses that she is new to the NGO world and she needs all the help she can get. However she has the most important ingredients: commitment, passion and caring. She already has a team of about five young men who help her with the Foundation and the Laurie, Dori and I are happy to help when we have time off from the Foundation.
The smiles are everywhere when the songs are sung and the puff puffs distributed. Let’s hope at least some of these lively acorns grow into mighty Nigerian oaks!

One final group photo before the looming storm breaks!

Mast is up!

2009-06-13T13:55:00.005+01:00

Despite the Friday before last holiday being a public holiday in Kaduna State to respect the recent death in London of a former Chief of Army Staff, I travelled to Kwoi with our supervisor of accounts Mack, and microfinance field officer Sarah to disburse to two groups of clients; and back at Fantsuam they began to raise the new mast.

Fantsuam Foundation’s Zittnet department is one of only two internet service providers in Kafanchan, a town of I believe several hundred thousand. The radios on the mast provide services to three of the four local internet cafes as well as to local health clinics. In addition the provision of these services on a commercial basis helps Fantsuam to fund its own services on which the organisation runs, but more importantly, with which it trains the 500 or so students per year in its Computer Learning Centre to use the internet.

The mast falling on 21 April was a terrible, and expensive event, however Fantsuam moved immediately and dug deep into its scarce reserves to ensure that services were returned as soon as possible. Previously deep concrete foundations had been dug, and well watered by the rain, made a robust base for the new 160 ft mast. When we left for Kwoi on the morning of Friday 29 May, construction had not yet started however as we returned in the evening the mast was almost completed with only two sections remaining.

The 10ft foundation pit is filled with concrete. The sections arrive from Kaduna for installation and slowly but surely the mast reaches for the sky.

Once the mast was up, ZittNet's staff were shimmying up and down the mast to install the lightning conductor, aviation light and radios. New more powerful radios were added that enables Fantsuam to offer 'hotspot' services to clients around Kafanchan. Right now we need to try everything that we can to get back the money to pay for our new, higher mast.

Most importantly though - Kafanchan's No.1 Internet Service Provider is back in business!

Two weddings, two storms and a nightclub

2009-05-25T12:19:00.013+01:00

This Easter weekend my sisters from the Pink House travelled to Kaduna. I remained in Kafanchan preserving my finances for the big ‘travel’ next week when my friend Lizzy arrives from London for her Nigerian adventure! Laurie and Dori very much enjoyed their weekend, that started with the six hour train journey from Kafanchan (public transport by vehicle takes two hours, but the First Class train ticket was still N20 (10p) cheaper), however I also had an unexpectedly busy weekend at home with two weddings planned.

On Friday morning I caught a lift into town with Laurie and Dori and took the opportunity to use the day to catch up on my blog at the Foundation. So later in the day, when a couple of colleagues from work suggested a cold beer by another part of Kagoro mountain that I have as yet undiscovered, I accepted quickly.

A small group of us walked down the steep path (with a crate of beers and stouts) from behind the Chief’s Palace to a wonderful little pool where we kept the full bottles cool and relaxed, hoping that the moon would come up to light up the treacherous path back up. Luckily, no casualties were recorded!

The steep path to the tranquil pool, and a view of the small valley at the bottom... in the dry season

We stopped by at Auntie Pam’s restaurant at the nearby Palm Garden hotel for some rice and stew before the Kafanchan party headed back.

Having got my wedding dates wrong, I woke on Saturday with a full, and empty day before me which started at 7am by hand-washing six sets of the curtains in our main room and making sure all the water buckets were filled.

Once those chores were out of the way, I made a quick trip to Kagoro’s Saturday market before visiting our neighbour Mrs Aka’ahs to help her outline the strategic plan for her local NGO which aims to motivate and empower local youths to fulfil their potential, rather than wallowing in what could be considered to be a somewhat hopeless cycle of poverty and disadvantage.
Returning home after spending a delightful afternoon with Mrs Aka’ahs and her husband, I wrote down my recommendations whilst they were still fresh in my head and finished off the evening with ‘Slumdog Millionaire’ - which is a tremendous film although the story-line is at times slightly implausible.

So approached Sunday. I had arranged to visit one of Fantsuam’s field officers in her local village Zakwa at 13:00 to be followed by a wedding, close by in Garaje, of the son of the senior brother of our friend Pele who is developing the nearby Fantsuam Resort.

I spent the morning with another regular chore - scrubbing the six stone candles which filter our boiled water, ready for drinking. If you saw the sludge that congeals on the porous stone candles, you would understand why we bother with the filtering. I left to pick up transport to Kafanchan, where I had instructions to stop at ‘The White House’ (a local watering hole) where my colleague Sarah would collect me to trek to her village.

After a 20 minute walk in the blistering sun a friend of Sarah’s passed on an okada and offered to take us the remaining 500m which, given the steadily building heat, we were happy to accept and we soon dropped off at a simple compound where we were very warmly greeted by all the neighbours, Sarah’s six children and her dog Hina, who had escaped the barbecue, unlike its rigid brother that I saw roasting on one piece over an open fire in a neighbouring compound. I was offered a wonderful lunch of rice, beans and tomato stew complemented by some roasted ‘pig meat’ – the first I had eaten since being in Nigeria – and jolly good it tasted too.

Sarah and her husband, Michael Thomas; children in the Michael’s compound,

Hina – the one that got away, the five junior Michael children (L – R Comfort, Salvation, Jothan, Mordecai and Patience).

With the very generous lunch out of the way (I managed to eat about ¼ of the bowl they had provided for me) Sarah took me to visit her mother-in-law in a neighbouring compound. The heat inside her own small house had become oppressive and as we stepped outside the skies clouded over and shortly after greeting the aged kaka (grandmother) under the compound’s shady mango tree, the heavens opened and Sarah, her mother-in-law, I, and 10 small children crowded into the kaka’s tiny mud room to escape what appeared to be the closest I have come to a hurricane.

With mud floors, simple shutters and a plastic bag across the window, and no ceiling, the sound of the driving rain on the tin roof was deafening. I was just hoping the roof was not actually going to fly-off which had been the fate of many of the houses in the neighbouring village in the previous storm.

Child runs into the room for shelter from the storm whilst Sarah and her mother in law are already sheltering in the small dark room, being deafened by the rain

A self-taken picture (no-one else in the room knew how to handle a camera) capturing just a few of the children that were squeezed into the tiny room with us

As the wind blew the rain through all available crevices, the kaka placed a large plank of wood against the door to keep it shut and the 13 of us huddled on the single chair, her unmade bed, and a rickety wooden bench along the wall. The time was approaching for me to leave for my 3pm wedding so, as the storm lulled, Sarah and I said our goodbyes only to be turned back three steps later by another onset of rain. We were luckier 10 minutes later and we made our way back across the sodden fields with piles of fallen mangoes and other tree debris brought down by the storm littering our path.

Our single-shoed hostess greets us all farewell as the storm subsides

When we returned to Sarah’s house, her friend the okada driver was there again to take me to my next appointment – the wedding about 1 mile away in Garaje. The rain had made me about an hour late however it appeared that nuptial proceedings generally had been delayed and not long after I arrived and was offered a plastic chair, I was ushered across the compound to a sofa next to Pele who had invited me, one chair away from the bride and groom, whom I had never met before.

Such can be the attraction of a bature, particularly one that has arrived with one of the principal guests, however this reverence does not preclude the MCs from announcing that we would be leading the next (traditional) dance. I was delighted that my performance elicited not only cheers from the crowd but contributions of at least N500-worth of N20 notes stuck to my forehead (before quickly descending to the ground), the traditional way of recognising performances at events as well as contributing to the cause, in this case the married couple.

Although the compound had taken quite a serious battering in the preceding storm (the marquees erected earlier had been destroyed and taken down) action was lively and it wasn’t long before the 25 litre jerry can of palm wine arrived (or the bottles of Star for the bature, thankfully).

Taken from my seat on the sofa to the right of the couple I was in prime position to see all the proceedings including the guests...

The couple's first dance (to which guests are invited to spray the couple with naira), and the wedding cake on its special stand: the cake is iontroduced by the cake maker who explained that the blue colour was for Chelsea... I hope she agreed that first with the couple!

As it began to rain again, Pele took a small party back to his new venture, the Fantsuam Resort, built on a small hill overlooking the River Wonderful waterfalls. Although we arrived during darkness (and it was Pele’s arrival that prompted the ‘on-ing of the gen’) here are a couple of dy time shots of the resort during dry season.

After a couple of hours enjoying cold beer and grilled fish, with Pele and friends, he announced that he wanted to dance and took us to a location I could not have believe existed in Kafanchan. About 50 metres passed the NEPA roundabout which we pass every day, we turned down a bumpy dirt and arrived at a large steel gate in a high wall. A car in front of us was trying to enter but was turning back due to lack of parking space so we parked the car outside and went into the modern hotel compound with a spacious covered bar on one side and a dance hall on the other from which emerged thudding Naija beats.

However all of the party (two other friends of Pele’s also from Kagoro) were beginning to tire and and not long afterwards we all piled into Pele’s car for the trip back to Kagoro, and welcome rest.

And so the relentless social whirl continued on Monday, for I had yet another wedding to attend. My room-mates have dubbed me the professional wedding guest (or crasher - depending on whether knowing either of the happy couple is required to qualify you as a guest). I think I’ve notched up five so far.

Although it may be unbelievable to some who have attended regular (in particular) Nigerian weddings though a sense of duty rather than pleasure, I actually enjoy these celebrations, particularly where the happy couple really are really happy! Nigerian weddings are all about singing and dancing and a far better opportunity to express joy and happiness of both the couple, and their guests than most I have attended elsewhere.

Monday’s wedding was of a family member of our guard Yashen and I made my way down to Christ the King Catholic church, just in time for the marriage ceremony.

The band lead the bride and groom and the bridal party, dancing down the aisle.

The congregation joins in with the dancing

Once the service is over, the wedding party dances into the formal reception outside the church with more dancing as well as the traditional greetings, cake ceremony and other formal protocols.

As my host Yashen was busy with ushering duties, I had to make my own way to the reception and though not offered a place on the sofas on this occasion, I was quickly given a seat next to family of the groom who had travelled from Kaduna.

I attempted to leave half way through the proceedings as I had forgotten to bring any water with me and my mouth was parched. Although drinks (usually minerals) are served, this is left to the end of the occasion as the huge majority of the guests (and this goes for any event, be it wedding, send-forth, chief’s turbanning, or cultural festival) just pack up and go once the refreshments are served. Forget about what’s on the programme or who’s speaking – they will just up and leave.

I went to find Yashen for his invitation however he persuaded me to stay, luring me with food and drink. And I (as an almost native Nigerian) could of course not refuse! The ceremony itself continued for about another 30 minutes during which the atmosphere once again started heating up like an oven and the skies quickly blackened.
Just in time Yashen found me and escorted me to a house across the road where other women had met, again just as the storm broke. And once again we sat inside a (larger than last time) mud room, with a tin roof, this time with a group of 15-20 women, jollof rice and (in my case only) a few pieces of meat and a bottle of cold Star. Worth the wait!

By the time I had made it back to the Pink House – in need of a well earned rest and perhaps even another holiday – the girls were back from their adventure to Kaduna. A trip that I hope to be making before too long.

The kindness of strangers (and friends) - PART II

2009-05-11T13:56:00.013+01:00

So are you seated comfortably? Then we’ll begin ... Part II

So as Lizzy and I, squashed into the back seat, began to feel a little nervous about the night ahead, the young man introduced himself as Father Ben, Reverend Father of the Marist Brothers School in Ejule, half way between Ayangba and Idah.

Carelessly he mentioned ‘guest accommodation’ and Lizzy and I imperceptibly perked up. OK this nice young man was a complete and total stranger we had never seen before but he spoke good English and anything known (even just a face) was looking preferable to landing late, in a small Kogi State town and having to make do with the local flea-pit (which is far more literal in Nigeria than anywhere ever in the UK) and probably a dose of diarrhoea just in time for our long haul back to Abuja.

Casually (yeah – you think?) we enquired about prices. Father Ben just tilted his head, raised his eye brows and smiled. “It’s for guests of the mission, there is no charge unless you’d like to contribute.” Things were looking better and better.. We had no idea just how much better.
Father Ben made a few ‘phone calls on his mobile and then we settled back in our seats for the two hour trip, occasionally chatting but trusting that our tentative acceptance of lodging for the night had been understood. We reached Ayangba and Ben spotted a bus by the side of the road and asked the driver to stop. We read ‘Marist Brothers, Sacred Heart College, Ejule’. If we had had any doubts they were now well and duly quashed AND we were to get a lift to our destination for the evening.

Lizzy, Ben and I, plus another passenger from Enugu who was going in the direction of Ejule, loaded onto the small bus and drove the 20 minutes or so to the small town, discussing with the driver the locations and scale of the car wrecks in the previous week. We dropped the fourth passenger and turned off the road into the college where we were shepherded into the front sitting room and quickly introduced to the other Fathers and Brothers who all welcomed us courteously but enthusiastically.

After introductions, we were taken to the guest accommodation, generously supplied with groundnuts, fruit juice, water (for drinking and bathing) and asked if we would be happy for have rice and stew for dinner. We bathed and changed, and emerged refreshed, happy and frankly almost converted Catholics, for a short tour around the school grounds where the children were having their daily recreation hour. On every side activity was going on: football (both boys and girls), volleyball, general running around or sitting. We visited the boys’ dorms at one end and, following a rapid bell tolling, were greeted by the sweaty youths returning for evening prayers, whilst we met the girls already changed and rapidly donning headscarves for their own Vigil.

The girls getting reading for evening prayers are happy to pose with the bature

It would be difficult for Lizzy and I to describe the friendliness, peacefulness and downright joyfulness of the place. As they say here (a little too often I sometimes think) – Praise the Lord!

Then it was dinner time where we joined six of the brothers / teachers around the dining table, trying desperately to ignore Wrestlemania blaring on the TV. After a delicious and companionable dinner, accompanied by cold Star and cake, we made our way back to our room for a peaceful night’s sleep.

Breakfast in the morning was another huge spread of eggs, cereal and mangoes and our journey was made once again easier when Father Ben drove us back to the motor park in Ayangba where we loaded our rucksacks into another large Peugeot, only after Lizzy and I had carefully inspected and fully approved the deep tread on both back and front tyres. Thanks to the wonderful Ejule Marist Brothers and divine luck we were well refreshed, happy and ready for the (generally agreed upon fact) worst road in Nigeria: Lokoja-Abuja.

The car finally filled up about an hour later and we were relieved that the nutter who had been engaging us during our wait on a small bench in the shade of the car, was not in fact (as we had thought), the driver. Lizzy and I were once again in the very rear seat with the fragrant fumes of petrol (serious shortage in Abuja so passengers were bringing their own) and smoked fish wafting up from the boot. Lizzy was in the middle next to a lady who was ‘lapping’ a young child (as in: ‘lap your rucksack – there’s no room in the boot’ command) whom she regularly doused with squirts from a pure water bag (supposedly filtered water... in a plastic bag).

Even before we got near Lokoja, the road surface was appalling – frequently disappearing completely so that cars in both directions meandered carefully across the stretch of dirt picking out the flattest bit (and occasionally trying to avoid oncoming cars doing the same thing). Despite a couple of feeble requests from passengers to stop to buy from roadside hawkers, the driver concentrated solely on the road. However when the young toddler next to Lizzy said: ‘want shit’ (he can’t have been more than 2 and would still have been in nappies in the UK) the message spread like lightening to the front and the driver came to an immediate halt and the other passengers made room for the mother and child to exit. I confess I was extremely surprised when no more than a few minutes later the pure water bag appeared again, this time in place of a bidet, and the couple returned to the car.

Shortly afterwards I felt a familiar ‘jekking’: aged Peugeots’ first symptom of oncoming sickness (so much for checking the tyres!). It’s usually something to do with the fuel pump and causes the car to hiccough constantly in higher gears and then, as you change down, finally roll to a stop by the side of the road.Driver gets out – fiddles under bonnet (often involves sucking petrol through a tube) and tries again. Jekking restarts as soon as the gradient is uphill ... repeat process three or four times.

It's impossible that the road looks this good in the picture:

Finally another passenger (who, we subsequently learnt, has considerably more mechanical knowledge than the driver) gets out, tinkers under bonnet for about 30 minutes which at least allows the stricken vehicle and its passengers to limp into Lokoja at about 20km an hour. We thankfully reach a mechanic and the car is taken into intensive care whilst the passengers find any perch they can. There is no breakdown service or refund when mechanical problems occur to your chosen mode of transport. You simply wait for it to be fixed, or pay the fare again.

Our perch under a spreading mango tree was populated by a group of local men, including a severely disabled small man. Speaking extremely confidently and without any hint of a ‘give me something’ he was pleased to hear that I was from the UK as he was expecting a shipment of wheelchairs from London for him and his support group. After a short chat he politely excused himself and hopped off the bench we were on and crawled on his hands towards a beefy looking okada. Somehow he leapt up onto the seat and sped away – only then did we notice the stabiliser wheels.

Shortly after, a leashed monkey that had been loitering in a dark doorway was brought out into the yard and tethered to an exposed tree root. Lizzy and I were not sure what to do: a visitor to the Drill Ranch had a mission to release these pet (or possibly dinner) primates from their captivity. We don’t feel quite so strongly about animals however our decision for inaction was made when someone left a juicy bit of coconut for the monkey to eat which it just ignored until a young child thought better of the waste and helped himself. A monkey that stupid would not survive in the wild.

After about 90 minutes we were back on our way with our full car including small (quiet) child, petrol fumes and fish and about the embark on Nigeria’s worst road. Do NOT underestimate this statement. The Lokojo-Abuja road is a truly terrible road. Despite being one of three trunk roads from the south, its surface is about as predictable as a No. 37 bus (perhaps before Mayor Ken’s improvements). It is also extremely busy and littered with drivers of varying degrees of care for their cars. Those limping along carefully at 15km are overtaken without a second thought for oncoming traffic by less cautious drivers who themselves will be overtaken by the truly reckless who will be (ill-advisedly) using the less cautious vehicles as an indication of whether anything is coming in the opposite direction. In the three hours it took to reach the outskirts of Abuja we passed four or five (I lose count) accidents and frankly, I’m amazed it wasn’t more.

As we approached Zuba – our destination motor park on the outskirts of Nigeria’s capital city – I started trying to contact our hostess in Abuja with whom we’d arranged to visit the famous Abacha Barracks for delicious grilled fish. The breakdown had lost us a couple of hours and when we reached the bustling motor park, on the opposite side of town, the thought of two more modes of public transport to get us to our destination was not appealing. So having been surrounded by taxis offering drops (and using the now invaluable...”If I could afford....”) we finally agreed negotiated down to N1,000 and made our way along the highway towards deeply black skies and increasing winds.

Ten minutes later, as the car’s elderly windscreen wipers struggled to clear the torrential rain our driver (and many others) sought refuge by the side of the road. Whilst Nigerians are not the most cautious of drivers in good weather conditions, they will frequently stop and wait for a passing storm. By the time we reached Thessa’s, the queues out of town (towards the Barracks) were huge and we opted rather for a drink in town in one of Port Harcourt Crescent’s lively beer gardens, where, prior to travelling to Afi, I had found myself watching Champions League quarter finals seated next to an Arsenal supporter from Plumstead, less than two miles from my home in London.

After a jolly evening with expected and unexpected friends (it’s great place to bump into people) we went home ready for an early start to Kafanchan which we reached, with minimum motor park wahalla by 10:00 the next morning.

And then it was the turn of our Nigerian friends (rather than strangers) to look after us and continue to make Lizzy’s adventure even more unforgettable.

Our first stop in Kaf was the market – where Lizzy picked up some wrapper fabric which we delivered straight to my tailor Seth who promised a brand new ‘attire’ for her by Monday.

Lizzy with Seth who delivered, as expected!

On Thursday I left Lizzy at home to recover from the exertions of travel whilst I returned to my bulging email inbox. She was well looked after by the local kids and was (thankfully) not taken complete advantage of by the likes of Confidence, Marvellous, Divine and Blessing.

Kagoro card sharps pose for Lizzy, whilst she is seduced by cuteness

The kids look confused when, after continuously chanting "take our photo", Lizzy actually does.

Despite having taken the day off work on Friday, my birthday, I was up at the normal time (06:00) for a wonderful present opening session. Lizzy had brought many goodies from friends and family back in the UK. Books, necklaces and scrub gloves were all wonderful but, ever since picking up Lizzy from Abuja airport, my curiosity had been aroused by the large, but light, package wrapped in a black bin liner that was attached to her rucksack. One colleague had suggested it might be a lacrosse stick.

However it was something for which I was bound to find far more opponents in Nigeria: a spider catcher (complete with plastic practice spider) from my dearest sister who has arachnaphobia. Claiming not only to easily catch spiders at arms’ length, it promises that they will not be killed and can be harmlessly released. Hmmm.. we haven’t really succeeded in catching any yet (the practice spider is a little more sluggish than real ones) although the local children love it.

So started a busy birthday which proceeded with a morning trek up my favourite Kagoro Mountain accompanied by Marvellous and Jethro....

a slide down Konk Rock for Lizzy....

.....and afternoon spent chopping and peeling vegetables for little Victoria to brew into delicious jolof rice in a cauldron in the back yard ready to serve to the 15 guests who came bearing yet more wonderful gifts (including Danish butter cookies, red wine and a bottle of Vodka... simply fabulous and apparently a benefit of having your birthday on pay day).

Food and drink - waiting for the party ahead!

The next morning we were off early as a Fantsuam friend and colleague had offered to show Lizzy and I a good weekend in Jos: Nigeria’s ‘hill station’ and formerly a favourite of the Brits, now unfortunately better known for last year’s religious riots that killed more than 400.

There were few (well frankly for me, no) signs of the conflict as we made our way up the shiny new road from Manchok to Jos and we reached our carefully selected hotel by 11:00am and by 12:30 were on our way to the first destination, the swanky (well, for a VSO) Ibiza bar where we drank cold beer, ate delicious shawarmas and watched Chelsea beat West Ham. Then we went off for a late lunch/early supper to a local restaurant in town where we were (luckily unreliably) promised amala and draw soup. Whilst I am a big fan of many Nigerian dishes, this is one combination I struggle to love, well, even put in my mouth.

Amala is a grey starchy ball made from dried yam skins. ‘Draw’ soup’s other name is (quite accurately) ‘slimy soup’. Made from okra, it’s ‘drawing’ characteristic gives is a mucus-like quality which I more often associate with things that I don’t really want to eat. However as I said, luckily, amala and draw soup were ‘not ready’ so we had to make do with the very delicious semovita, egussi soup, jolof rice and stew.

The group moved from there to the Rock Brewery resort, a collection of porta-cabin guest chalets in a pleasant shady spot with a central area sporting a swimming pool, bar and pool table. You will all know that I am a BIG fan of Star beer. I have even been known to guzzle Gulder and Harp whilst leaving the more expensive Heineken to people that are paying themselves. Rock is a whole new ball game in the world of lager. The Nigerian equivalent to an ‘interesting’ home brewed ale. Let’s say to be reserved for the more adventurous beer drinkers that want a bit of – well not beer flavour anyway – with their beer.

We moved on to the pool table where my years in the printing industry (and its bars and pool tables) came to the fore, so that I was asked to ‘clean up’ the table as it was looking as though it would be well after the 21:00 curfew before the current challengers were able to force a result.

So of course it was curfew so we went home to bed.

Or perhaps... we went to a quieter part of town, very near to our ‘well selected’ hotel and partied the night away in a large night club filled with pumping Nigerian beats and more men with rhythm than you could find in London’s Ministry of Sound on a Saturday evening.

I’ll let you guess. And here’s some clues.

So having had an early night (you did guess right, didn’t you?) Lizzy and I wanted to take the opportunity to go to an African church service and were up bright on Sunday morning to attend the nearby St Christopher’s Anglican Church recommended by our friend.

St Christopher’s is not so much a church as a large room at the back of a large house. At 08:50 (for a 09:00 start) we arrived a few minutes before the pastor and about 40 minutes before most of the congregation. The lack of an audience did not deter the priest from starting, however I was beginning to regret the tales I had told Lizzy of festive church services as the standard C of E texts were rolled out and a traditional English hymn sung before a lady from the audience stood up to preach.

The room filled up as her sermon progressed however I did not notice too much as this really was one of the most eloquent deliveries I have heard in a church. Whilst focusing on suffering – in particular the suffering of the local Christians at the hands of the ‘sons of Ismail’ – and despite perhaps not being totally in line with my line of thinking, it was measured, well argued and excellently delivered. By the time she had finished the church was almost full, the choir and band had arrived and things finally kicked off. It's clear the congregation only turn up for the fun stuff.

An hour and a half later, Lizzy and left uplifted and happy – and about to renounce our new-found Marist Catholic faith back to Anglicanism. It’s the Living Faith ‘Winners’ church next. One for every week!

After church it was back to the hotel to pack up and then off to our friend’s house for a lunch and relaxation before making our way back to Kagoro via another friend’s fish farm, located on a beautiful quiet spot at the back of Jos where we enjoyed cold beer, good company and grilled fish.

Grilling fish with delicious Thai seasoning on an open fire

Lizzy eating a fish's eyeball while I relax with the scent of frangipani flowers

I think Lizzy’s status on Facebook when she returned to the UK just about says it all:

“Lizzy Hawkins has returned, unkidnapped (hah, doubters), from the friendliest place she's ever been and is finding London a bit quiet.”