Caboose

I just got back from a trip to visit Aine in Minna. Tammie is now on her farewell tour, so I thought I’d catch up with her there in case I don’t manage to see her elsewhere.

Minna is in Niger state (that’s Niger state, Nigeria, not the Niger Republic, they’re pronounced differently), one of the shari’a states and coincidentally also fairly backward. In fact Minna is also home to former dictator Ibrahim Badamasi “I organised the fairest election Nigeria’s ever had but didn’t like the result, so I cancelled it” Babangida, who is probably going to stand for president next year. He can certainly afford to buy his way into the presidency with all the money he stole while in power.

On the way back today I went to the motor park in Minna and joined a bush taxi there. One seat remained to be filled. The first sign of trouble was when the car had to be moved to the other side of the motor park so that the last passenger could order people to load his luggage for him.

It was a large man in Hausa outfit, complete with a skinny old lady who I think was his mother. The bush taxi driver was also taking his mother along, a very large non-Muslim lady, he had put her in the front seat. The Muslim “big man”, let’s call him Alhaji Wawan Banza, insisted that he couldn’t possibly sit in the middle row with me, his mother and another woman. After a little bit of discussion he ordered me to come round and sit in the front, which immediately irritated me more.

Then I discovered that his plan was that I should sit on the handbrake, while he reclined in comfort in the front seat. I told him that this was not going to happen and suggested he might enjoy sitting on the handbrake more. Further discussion in rapid Hausa. I added the occasional contribution, suggesting that the other passengers (mostly non-Muslim women) should stand up to Alhaji and tell him where to go.

Instead another man was ordered up front for the “middle seat”. I squeezed into the middle row of the wagon, the driver’s mother was taking about about a third of the seat all by herself, leaving the rest for another large lady and myself with Alhaji’s mother’s bony backside digging into my leg.

We then set off on our three and a half hour journey to Kaduna. I was seething, and continued to seethe all the way back. In fact I’m still annoyed now (you can tell, can’t you?).

I very nearly told Alhaji exactly what I think of him and people like him. I’ve come to believe that it’s that degree of selfishness that has caused Nigeria to end up in the state it is. I could have explained that I fervently hope that one day all the people who now cower and say “yes, oga” will rise up and put these people in their place. I didn’t.

Having a go at this particular idiot would have just been throwing my weight around and I doubt it would have had any effect apart from making me feel a little bit better. He would probably have argued that it’s his culture, or his religion, and that I have to respect it.

I’m starting to think that despite all VSO’s training on cultural sensitivity, in reality I shouldn’t respect some of these things. What if it’s this “culture” that’s causing Nigeria’s problems? What if tiptoing around cultural issues is subjecting the voiceless masses of Nigeria to more years of suffering?

Oh well, no-one said it would be easy working in development…

By the way, if you want to find out what Alhaji Wawan Banza means you’ll have to find yourself a Hausa dictionary.