Politics

Politics is the name of the game these days.  It’s 2012 and big change is everywhere you look.  There’s an Occupy Something in many countries, including Nigeria.  Aside from the Boku Crazies making threats and then inconsistently acting on them, the federal government has imposed a removal of subsidy from the Nigerian economy in an attempt…or what appears to be a veiled attempt…to stimulate the economy.  What this means for Nigerians is that prices are doubling from gas, to rent, to food, to bus fare.  Everything is doubling with the exception of the majority of the population’s income.  People organized for a peaceful demonstration beginning Friday, January 6. 

The strike lasted for a week and a half, and let me say I am relieved.  Relieved because it’s very difficult to stay in…no going out whatsoever.  And I couldn’t join the activities for safety’s sake and also for political reasons…echo Mamdou’s  (IFESH program director) words, “Don’t get involved in politics or religion.”  Yet, it was quite moving to see so many people come together across Nigeria.  Here in Abuja thousands marched and rallied at Eagle Square.  In Lagos even more took to the streets in solidarity.  The labor union had everyone shut down.  People did not go out, nor did they go to work.  Banks, stores, shops, etc., were all closed.  The strike was lifted for the weekend so people could replenish their supplies (food, mainly, and petrol from the black market).  A curfew was imposed in several states.  In the state of Kaduna the curfew was from 5 pm-8 am, and in Kano it was 24 hours…although people didn’t listen there and took to the streets anyway.

As the strike progressed throughout the week, it became less about subsidy removal, which the government reinstated, as the labor union sold out.  The price of a liter of petrol went from 65N to 141N and has been now agreed to stay at 97N.  Each day the strike went on, the country’s economy lost $32 billion.  But as talks progressed between the labor union and the nation’s leaders, the issue became less about subsidy removal and more about a call for transparency within the government and dealings with the country.  

Nigeria is number 2 in the world for corruption.  In 2011 they were beat out by Bangladesh.  Did you know...

After two weeks the labor union sold out.  They and the government compromised on a fuel price and things returned to normal.  Hopefully this event opened more Nigerians’ eyes to the power they have as a whole.  Their solidarity and peaceful protest were remarkable.  And although fuel prices will continue to creep up and corruption run rampant, more people are aware and vocal about it, and are  more moved within to work towards change either individually, as a community, or both.  Time will tell.

Turn It Off!--The attention, that is.

Abroad you have to accept the fact that you’re different. Like it or not, your cultural concepts, your appearance, your approach all define you and people of your race/country. The great thing about being abroad is that you have the opportunity to really shine, to be who you are without the judgment of others. It’s an opportunity to break out of your shell. However, the bad thing is (to me anyway), that in being so different, vastly different than in comparative Anglo cultures, your space is always a sideshow for others. Constant fascination. While this can be fun for a while, over time it becomes exhausting and one desires privacy, escape, and their own way…permission to do things your own way without explaining why to others.

Maybe I’m different. I value my own personal time, my space, being quiet and going within. I’m used to being alone a lot, not to mention independent. Here however it’s the opposite. It's a very social environment, and everyone knows your business, or tries to anyway. There is always something going on, and although I’m learning to open myself up, I find that the level of my interactions and how I respond to those interaction are dependent on how I think I will appear (as an individual, oyinbo, etc.) in my hosts' eyes.

I think that one of the things that most bothers me at this point in time is the cultural programmings here for how a woman should be, what’s beautiful and what’s not. To call someone “skinny” here is an insult. You’re ugly if you’re thin and fair (maybe not fair...not too sure about that one). I don’t mind being ugly according to cultural standards. What I do mind, what I REALLY can’t stand, are those around me trying to make it better, to fatten me up, to watch me grow and change according to cultural standards of what’s good and beautiful.

While I’m on a roll, I am losing my amusement with people teasing me, or their reactions to my actions. While I pride myself on my amusement and my ability to take things lightly, I find this ability lacking as people watch me when I eating, dancing, etc. The teasing and talking about what I do/don't do gets to be too much at times and makes me want to paint myself into the wall. I also don’t like people laughing when I try to speak the language. I know I suck at it, as I murder the pronunciation. And usually I laugh about it, and others laugh who teach me, but there are times when I try it in front of others who are colleagues and they blatantly laugh, it’s a little disheartening. It feels undermining in someway, and again, it’s not meant to be hurtful, but I don’t like it. I guess I need to say something.

What I struggle with is nicely setting up boundaries. People don’t understand here that fat on my ass will not sit up nice like on an African ass. They don’t know that my white ass grows to be a wide, flattened pancake should I try to fatten it up. They don’t understand that my body doesn’t have built-in muscle tone that looks like I’ve been working out my entire lifetime when I haven’t worked out ever. Instead, I have to work at it. Again, the differences, values, and adopting of such are well meant, but I am losing my neutrality and know my energetic bitch is showing herself in an attempt to set boundaries.

How do you set boundaries without being a bitch, without insulting someone? How do you get your message across without hurting someone’s feelings? This is what I struggle with.

Christmas in Yorubaland

It’s Christmas, it’s Christmas and I’m in Nigeria!!  Before I get to all the good stuff that happened on Christmas, let me tell you about my Christmas Eve night.

Now, if you’re Nigerian and reading this, you will call me bush.  I am bush in many ways, I know.  And I am ashamed to say it, but I scared myself shitless on Christmas Eve night.  The night was quiet, meaning we had a quiet evening at home after helping Mr. Dairo open his birthday gifts and share in the cake.  (Cake always seems to be eaten later here…I’m not sure why.)  We watched a Medea Christmas  (I think that’s the title) and to bed it was.  This is when the crazy bush in me begins to assert itself.  As I’m laying in bed, I think I hear gunshots.  These shots are random at first, and then come in quicker succession.  At first I pay them no mind, but they keep persisting.  I begin to listen to try to gauge their distance.  At times they seem very close, and at others they seem far away.  Because they are rather constant, and go on for an hour, not to mention that people came knocking at the door late in the night saying things we could not understand, I begin to freak out.  I move to the mattress on the floor and listen.  I do this for at least an hour and a half, having butterflies and shallow breathing imagining what I would do if robbers came to the village, or worse, if there was some Christian Muslim thing happening.  Finally, after sweating for some time, and being seriously scared  (more scared than I can remember in quite some time), I go to my hosts and tell them what I hear.  Bimbo, my host’s husband goes to my room and listens, and lets me know it’s fireworks.  On Christmas Eve it’s not uncommon for fireworks/firecrackers to be going off all over.  Boy, do I feel dumb, but I couldn’t help it.  Maybe I was being sensitive of what was to come.

The next morning, while heading out to our next destination (Osun state), news spread that a church in Suleja  (about an hour or so from where we live in Abuja) was bombed during Christmas morning service.  Not only was this close to home, our hosts knew people who witnessed the tragedy.  There were bodies strewn along the ground and the roof.  One man lost his entire family  (wife and three children).  Can you imagine?  On Christmas??  Of course Boko Harem claimed responsibility for the attack.  Apparently the bomb was detonated in a parked car somewhere nearby the church.  It was not a fun way to start Christmas.

Yet, despite that, I found joy in friends who adopted me quite easily into their family.  It truly felt like home away from home in a house full of joking brothers and sisters, a matriarch, and cousins running around playing and fighting…which gave me great, great amusement.

Many of the children were fascinated by me, and by the end of the day I wanted to take some home with me.  It was like I was a giant doll to them.  They were fascinated by my hair and skin.  They kept petting my hands and feet.  They even asked me if I had a belly button, and wanted me to prove it by showing them mine. 

Still in the village, but this time in Osungbo, I ate the most delicious food.  Again, I’ve been eating traditional Nigerian foods for some time…because that’s usually all that is served, yet it is here that I fall in love with pounded yam (akin to mashed potatoes, but different) and egusi soup  (sorry, can’t really describe egusi soup).  I even eat the liver in the soup.  And although I’ve come to a point where I’m more adventurous when it comes to eating food, I still draw the line at pomo  (boiled cow skin), cow stomach, gizzard  (although maybe I’d try gizzard…not sure yet), and various types of bush meat  (beaver, ant-eaters, etc.).

Bimbo’s family is so kind to me, a trait found in many Yoruba families, as they plan a special outing to Osun shrine.  Osungbo is famous for the Osun festival that happens in August.  This festival honors Osun, the goddess of Osun River, who was the queen and founder of Osogbo.  Osun is most renown as the goddess of fertility, protection and blessings. She possessed the ability to give children to barren women and power to heal the sick through use of the medicinal waters from the river.

Outside Osun Shrine

Monkey Feeding!

Osun is also known to be a mermaid by some, with lips of gold.  Her arrival is marked nowadays  (if I understand everything correctly) by the sighting of a goldfish each August, when they have the Osun festival.  However, one of my friends says that Osun has been captured and taken to New York.   Whatever the case, I am fascinated by Yoruba spirituality, and I have barely scratched the surface.

As we drive into to the grounds of the shrine, there is a visible shift in the energy.  All is lush, green, tropical, and tranquil.  Monkeys are everywhere.  Before entering the shrine, we actually stop to feed the monkeys.  We buy bananas and they come…some are shy while others are quite bold!  While I can’t remember everything the tour guide said,  I am touched by the beauty, architecture, and tranquility of the place.

We end the day in a joint.  Joints here are like bars, but better!  They are outdoors in open spaces.  You are surrounded by greenery, a laid-back atmosphere, and music.  The one we go to is owned by Bimbo’s sister.  It’s a small place in the village, with thick leafy trees and colored lights—giving the space a nice ambiance.  There’s African-style Christmas music playing on the combo.  We have beer, catfish, and peppe (short for pepper) soup.   Everything is so chill.  I enjoy hearing Bimbo and his brothers speak and laugh in Yoruba.  I also enjoy his brothers trying to speak to me  (some don’t speak English to often), laughing, and smiling.  I like it very much.  A very special Christmas indeed.  

Christmas Eve

It’s my host’s father’s 70^th birthday.  After hours of driving, we arrive safe and sound, yet super tired.  After socializing, dinner, and TV installation  (Mr. Dairo’s birthday present.  And in case you were wondering, many village homes have TV with cable.  They won’t have refrigerators, but they will have cable!), we are taken to our quarters.  We are staying in a hostel type of accommodation at a nearby college campus.  It’s a modest house with a kitchen, fridge, family room, bathroom, and two bedrooms.  There’s no running water or air, yet we do have electricity and ceiling fans.  Although the place looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in years, and despite the starkness, we have still water  (water put in buckets or drums for bathing and washing), a bed, and a mattress  (it is not uncommon for a person’s bed to be a mattress on the floor).  After a long day it’s time to pack it in.  I am exhausted.  And I sleep sooooooooo good.

I’m an early riser by nature.  My body automatically wakes up at 6 or 7 am.  Nigerians are early risers as well.  Except they are up and active by 5 am.  It’s about 7 am and I’m up, enjoying the quiet of the country, the birds, the chickens and the goats.  It’s definitely more arid here than in Abuja.  We visit Mr. Dairo’s house for some breakfast, and everyone’s busy.  Moi Moi (bean flour seasoned with fish, egg, red pepper and spices) is being wrapped in palm leaves, chicken is being roasted over the fire, yam is being pounded, stew is stewing. 

Parties in Nigeria usually have a program or agenda.  There’s traditional food  (but there’s traditional food everywhere, everyday), an MC, favors  (in this case a bowl with a happy birthday wish commemorating the celebration), and there’s (live) music.  Because we’re in the village, everyone is dressed native style for the party.  (DUH! People dress native anyway because it’s the village.)  As I’m seated, looking around, everything seems so surreal to me.  The dusty roads, modest houses, dry air, gentle breeze and blazing sun; the kids (baby goats) grazing away, chickens, the dark skin, different body types, variety of clothes, children carrying goods for sale atop their heads.   I am truly, truly in a different place.  This village in Kwara is far more rustic, quiet, and even quaint, than Abuja.  This is what Africa…Nigeria is to me.  And I can’t believe I’m here…grateful to be part of something so different…so foreign and outside of myself.

I have tuned out the MC.  I don’t understand what he’s saying half the time as it’s in Yoruba.  When the program is over  (finally), we get to have music!  The band who’s performing happens to be one of the teachers at our school and my host’s brother-in-law.  The music is traditional Highlife, which goes back generations and incorporates the styles of Jim Reeves, which surprises me.  Highlife incorporates a variety of instruments, including the talking drum, which I love.  The talking drumi s held under the arm and it yields an unusual sound.  When the singer is singing about a person, the talking drum provides inspiration—it communicates to the singer, telling him what to say about the person they are calling to dance.  And when they call you, you are to go up, dance and spray (throw) money on the performers to show your appreciation for their musical ability.  And then in turn, people come up from the crowd and spray money on you in appreciation for your dancing.  As a whitey, many Nigerians think Oyinbos  can’t dance...like white men can’t jump.  I always enjoy surprising them though, as they get a good laugh in discovering a white girl can move and have rhythm, although I still can’t go down low and make my butt move like they do.  That will take practice.  Despite that, I made a good chunk of change. Money spraying, dancing, people watching.  It was a good day.

Holi-daze

It’s 4 am and we’re off on a Christmas adventure.  It’s December 23^rd.  We were going to leave at 3 am, but decided against it to avoid armed robbers.  Yes, that’s correct.  There are armed robbers camped out on roadsides who will disguise themselves as policemen and/or block your vehicle at checkpoints, forbidding you to pass until you negotiate with them and give them what they want.  When I first came here I thought this was some kind of urban myth, but no, it’s very true.  We even missed some coming to Jos a few weeks ago.  If the roads are too vacant  (which they are either very early or very late) you are setting yourself up for travel trouble.

As we haul out we sing praises for our safety.  I am beginning to LOVE road trips…but I’m in the middle.  I hate being in the middle.  Seven hours of squishiness.  I think I can handle it. 

Traveling through Nigeria (and maybe Africa in general) is a lot like camping.  You want to be prepared for any situation.  You bring sanitizer, toilet paper, soap, your pillow, and your own set of sheets…amongst other things.  For example, if you need to use the bathroom during your roadtrip, you might be lucky enough to find a gas station with latrines…but they won’t have toilet paper or maybe they will have water to rinse your hands.  Forget about soap!  And if you don’t find a bathroom, you use the bush.  We are headed to “the village”, which isn’t really a village but more like your local small town.  Some have running water, some don’t.  And usually you are without electricity…unless there’s a gen (generator).  As we reach Lakoja, the capital of Kogi state, we know that we are halfway through our journey.  Along the way we have seen cars packed, and I mean packed full of people.  (These are really more like cargo trucks that have been modified into buses, replete with what look like reclining chairs.) The people in these vehicles are determined to get to their destination.  There are legs dangling out windows, people hanging off of the sides, people on top.  I WISH I had a picture of this one truck.  It was madness.

Can you see the monkey?

Just a side note, the holiday madness here is different than back home.  While people fight and line up for sale items, there are no sales here.  Instead, prices are jacked up to meet the demand of the season.  You’ll see queues of cars packed in and out of petrol stations, trying to get fuel before the prices skyrocket for holiday travel.  Then there’s the traffic.  Traffic here is no joke.  Nigerians are not very patient drivers.  If one side of the road is blocked from traffic, cars will go to the other side of the road  (with oncoming traffic) and continue driving towards their destination.  Never mind that this is the wrong side of the road.  Never mind too that this then creates a traffic jam on both sides of the road.  Never mind that people are cursing each other from their windows.  It’s normal.  A friend left 3 hours after us, at 7 am, …and it took him 5 hours to go through a spot that should have taken 2 hours time.

Another fascinating thing you find while traveling through Nigeria during the holidays are checkpoints.  There are many inter and intra state checkpoints…common to checking for bombs, security, and even immigration.  Checkpoints though, during the holidays are both annoying  (because there’s so many) AND entertaining.  Everyone gets stopped.  Along our journey to Kwara we must have gotten stopped a minimum of 10 times.  And each time we get stopped, and although these men are wearing fatigues, helmets, and carry AK47s, pleasantries are exchanged with a Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays sort of feel.  They might ask where we are going, and maybe they’ll inspect the vehicle or ask for papers.  But what they really want is money.  You are supposed to give these guys “small money”—anywhere from 50-100 Naira  (maybe equivalent to 40-75 cents) to pass.  This is expected.  One time we asked the guy to sing and dance before we gave him money, and he did!!  Before you travel, you need to make sure you have plenty of “small money.”  And if you don’t prepare, or have a run-in, you negotiate.  We never got pulled over and searched, thankfully, as my skin served as a kind hassle-free checkpoint pass.  Yet, others weren’t always so lucky.  I noticed one car with a policeman walking away with their Christmas chicken.  Not a frozen chicken, mind you…a live chicken that they had packed into their car to take with them for Xmas dinner.