Caboose

We stayed in bed until around 9am, to the accompaniment of creaks and groans from the bamboo beds every time one of us moved. The bamboo beds had looked like they might be more comfortable than sleeping on the floor, but after a night on one I wasn’t so sure. Both Dave and I had bruises on our shoulders and hips from contact with the beds.

I made breakfast, having brought porridge oats with me. Unfortunately we had left the sugar and tin of powdered milk back in Jos to save weight. I’d intended to buy a couple of sachets of powdered milk but forgot. So breakfast was plain oats boiled in water, tasty! I’d made plenty, so George helped to finish them off.

We’d planned a relaxing day of strolling around the local area, but as soon as George mentioned that people from Sukur often walked across to Cameroon Dave decided that was what he wanted to do.

Passing terraced fields with many people working in them we walked along another stone-paved path. George explained to us that the most fertile land is all owned by the king, so everyone else has to manage on the hillsides.

The views were beautiful and the heavy cloud cover meant that it wasn’t too hot. In a straight line it would be about 6 km, our route wound up and down and round the hills. Eventually we reached a dirt road that the Cameroonians are building to allow motorbikes to reach the border.

There was no sign of the border, no fence, no guards, not even a marker post. It seems that many of the Cameroonians farm on the Nigerian side and the Nigerians take their produce to the market on the Cameroonian side.

By lunchtime we were approaching the town of Roumzou, passing more people working in their fields and the local graveyard. There were three types of grave, Christian, Muslim and traditional. The traditional graves take the form of a mound covered in concrete, occasionally painted with the details of the deceased. On top of the mound are placed stones, in the shape of a gateway for men, I can’t remember what the symbol was for women.

Our first priority was to get some food after all the walking. George took us to a chop house beside the market. The locals mostly only speak French, Sukur and their own language but one man was keen to practise his English on us. I had fish stew and a kind of pounded maize lump. We then wandered on to a local bar, where I had a bottle of Top Pamplemousse, my favourite drink from my last visit to Cameroon.

George took us round to visit the local priest, a Frenchman, but he was out. As we left the town it started to rain, gently at first but becoming increasingly heavy.

The trek back took about one and a half hours, faster than the walk to Cameroon but much wetter. We were completely drenched by the time we returned to our hut. I didn’t want the inside of the hut to get soaked, so we stripped at the door and George insisted on taking our clothes away to wash them.

Despite the rain there were still many flies annoying us as we changed and then sat in the hut watching the clouds drift past outside. Later on we had some frankfurters and chicken luncheon meat with flat bread for our dinner.

Once the rain stopped the king stopped by for a chat, this time without an interpreter. We occasionally managed to get a vague idea of what he was saying by spotting one of the few Hausa words we knew but it was mostly guesswork.

In the evening we sat outside for a while, George had warmed up yesterday’s burukutu for us, it’s even more disgusting hot.

I saw the Sukur kingdom mentioned in the Bradt guide to Nigeria a few months ago and decided to go there. Dave decided to come along after his re-entry visa was delayed, meaning he couldn’t join Karin and Jenny on their trip to Niger and Mali.

We met up on Jos on the Friday evening and stayed the night at PW and the next morning took public transport to Maiduguri. We were a bit worried we wouldn’t make it in time because the car took hours to fill but in the end we arrived around four thirty having left Jos just after ten.

Father Leo had arranged accommodation for us at the St Patrick’s Catholic Cathedral in Maiduguri, where we were welcomed by Father Marcel. We had something to eat, went for a little wander around Maiduguri and then had an early night.

After an early start Dave and I took machines to Bama motor park and then squeezed into an overloaded Golf (which smelled strongly of cow) for the 45 minute and 250 Naira journey to Bama.

In Bama we stopped behind a bus that seemed to already be full and ready to leave, but the driver of the Golf spoke to the conductor and they managed to lever us in. Bama to Madagali cost another 250 Naira each and took about an hour.

At Madagali we stopped for our breakfast of crackers and cheese. This was a bit of a disappointment, the crackers had obviously been stored too close to the mothballs and tasted pretty horrible.

We were now at the point where the guidebooks said transport becomes difficult, but that just proves how little the writers know about Nigeria. We strolled up to the crowd of men, buses and machines at the side of the road and asked about buses to Mildo. There isn’t a regular service, so we chartered a minibus for 1000 Naira.

Our driver said that we should go and visit the District Head before setting off up the hill to Sukur. We dropped outside his house and waited for him to finish conducting the service, he’s also the local representative of the Catholic church and Father Marcel in Maiduguri had mentioned him.

Father Marcel forgot to mention that the District Head speaks no English, so we managed to greet him in Hausa and then stand around uncomfortably while an interpreter was fetched. It seems that you have to ask him for permission to visit Sukur.

Next the interpreter, Johnson, sent our bags round to the bottom of the path to Sukur by motorbike and led us on a more direct route to the home of the National Commission for Museums and Monuments guide. When we got there we found out that we were supposed to have a letter from the NCMM giving us permission to visit. We told the guide that the District Head had given us permission and he eventually relented and got us to fill in some forms.

From the guide’s house it’s not far to the bottom of the hill. We walked past a small hotel that has been built in the style of local buildings and fits into the landscape well, unfortunately there’s no water so it isn’t open yet.

We finally set off up the hill, Johnson had insisted on carrying my rucksack but Dave was carrying his own and not letting me forget about it. The path up the hill is quite steep but little stone benches have been built so that you can stop on your way up and admire the beautiful views.

Dave eventually relented and we took turns carrying his bag up the stone path , which had obviously taken a lot of effort to build but hadn’t been maintained much recently.

As we reached the first gate of the Sukur kingdom and the path levelled out it started to rain lightly. Fortunately the rain didn’t get very heavy, so we just kept going. Soon after passing the royal burial ground some mud-plastered huts came into view, the guest huts at the royal palace.

The guest huts are in an outer compound of the palace, where the king meets with his advisers and title holders. He has a stone throne, there’s a little shrine and a few large trees for shade.

At the palace compound we were met by a crowd of small boys and someone was sent off to fetch the king. He arrived and greeted us in Hausa, the writers of the Bradt guide must have met a different king who could talk to them in “broken English”. He made a speech that Simon (the NCMM guide) translated for us and we thanked him for his welcome.

Next we were taken on a tour of the palace, which isn’t what you might expect from the name. It consists of several dry stone walls and gateways, with a little compound of huts where the king lives with his wife. There’s also a hut for the king’s horse, a bull-fattening pen and the hut formerly used for dispensing justice.

Once we were back at the asked if we could stay for a couple of nights and everyone became even more welcoming. Various people were dispatched to bring things for us, a guest hut was opened and a young local man called George was assigned to look after us. I gave the king some presents we had brought: cola nuts and some Danish cookies. He seemed quite happy.

Johnson and Simon the guide finally left, Dave and I were getting very hungry by this point and were desperately waiting for them to go so that we could have lunch. Dave had brought flat bread, houmous and processed cheese slices. The only slight problem was that we were plagued by flies all day, I’ve no idea where they all come from or why there are so many but Sukur is full of flies.

A little later the king was holding a meeting and George was taking the minutes so we wandered around a little bit.

The local primary education board had built a school last year, which still looks very new. It also seems to be the centre of local social life on a Sunday afternoon, with boys playing football, young men with a stereo and older men playing cards and drinking some evil-looking local spirit.

After the school we wanted to get up to the top of one of the nearby hills for a view of the palace. In the end we managed to explain (in broken Hausa and hand waving) and were guided up by a small boy in green shorts. Near the top there was a lot of scrambling up big rocks, so the locals had the amusing sight of two big Baturis being hauled up by the small boy.

The picture above left is the palace, above right are our guide and some onlookers.

In the evening some more small boys brought water for showers and a kerosene stove was fetched from somewhere inside the palace. We cooked pasta with tuna and cheese and then sat outside as the sun set. George had brought us some burukutu, a kind of beer made from millet that looks and tastes a lot like mud, and also insisted on washing up for us.

We eventually retired to our hut and settled on our creaky and uncomfortable bamboo beds for the night.

I spent last week at the VSO office in Abuja, updating the “Welcome Pack” that new volunteers get on arrival in the country.

Some of the materials inside were in serious need of an update, especially the guide to Abuja which had been written over five years ago. Abuja has changed a lot in the last five years, particularly in the last year or so with all the demolitions.

It was slightly worrying when I asked for an up-to-date list of volunteers in country and was given a list that included people who left weeks ago and others who haven’t arrived yet! The electronic copies of welcome pack documents were scattered all over the network, making it difficult to be sure I had the most recent one.

While I was doing this work I was living in the VSO guest house, a small building on the VSO compound. This was obviously originally intended as the servants’ quarters (“boys quarters” is the local phrase) for the house that is now the VSO office. There are two small bedrooms, one used for storage, a toilet and shower and a filthy kitchen.

Bob and Karen were very kind and invited me round to dinner three of the nights, so I wasn’t even tempted to use the kitchen.

On Friday a group of us headed up to Jos, to meet Fathers Noel and Leo (the Kabba Boys) at the PW camp. It was Leo’s birthday, so we celebrated with a few beers.

On Saturday we had lunch at AfriOne in town and then half the group stayed to do some shopping while the rest of us went back to PW to watch Munster beat Biarritz in the rugby.

Nicole had bought some plastic “Hello Kitty” tennis rackets, various people tried to play but Ronan and Noel managed best:

That evening we went to a restaurant owned by a German called Walter, who had been at PW on Friday night. The restaurant, Felak’s, is in the bush just outside Jos and the food was fantastic. We had leek and potato soup, chicken with lovely deep-fried aubergine and cake with cream for dessert. There was also plenty of fresh bread and cottage cheese to go with it all.

The next morning Noel and Nicole went hiking, while the rest of us lazed around or attended Leo’s Mass.

After a lunch of pizza and pasta people started heading back home, Bob gave me a lift to the motor park and I then had what seemed like a very long journey down the incredibly potholed road back to Kaduna.

Sunday 19th March

I arrived into Abuja at around 8pm but the heat was still almost overpowering as I stepped out of the horribly air-conditioned plane.  The immigration desk officials were efficient and very friendly (thank god the Americans haven’t been training them!) and I was soon collecting my luggage and meeting Kevin.

As it was dark I could not see much as we drove into Abuja and to Radio House where we would be staying with Marebec for the night.  I met Marebec and Russell before gratefully heading to bed although 5am alarm call had been set!

Monday 20th March

Up very early and off the Jabi motor park (which is actually called some other name which no one actually calls it) to get a car to Kaduna where Kevin now lives.  My mum and dad had prepared me for the state of the cars and I think being half asleep made me distinctly relaxed about the safety of these vehicles.  We got a car quickly and were soon heading off.

We headed to NTI when we reached Kaduna and greeted the many security guards before dropping off the rucksacks in Kevin’s room before a greeting tour of all the staff in NTI, many who appeared to be asleep.  We then went into Kaduna for a look around the market and the city itself.  It was overwhemingly busy with people and traffic everywhere in no apparent order, not at all like British cities.

That evening we met some of the other VSO’s in the Air Force Club for a few beers and then for some dinner in the form of suya, which was unbelievably spicy, so much so it brought tears to my eyes!  It was then a white knuckle ride on the motorbikes to get a car back to NTI.
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When I move to a new place I like to walk around to get my bearings and develop a feel for where I am. So on Saturday I decided to go for a stroll around Kaduna.

After a morning of washing clothes I took a car to Kawo junction and then a minibus to the French Café. I had lunch there as a little treat after last weeks illness. They have a lovely bakery and even real coffee. The prices for the bakery products are reasonable, NGN 120 for a cheese croissant and NGN 150 for a mini-pizza, but they charged NGN 200 for a Sprite (usually NGN 35 in Kaduna) and NGN 300 for an espresso. Nearby was this sign:

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I’ve been meaning to do some research into road accident fatalities in Nigeria and have finally got round to it. People keep going on about how dangerous it is to fly here but I suspected the roads are much more dangerous.

Of course, statistics are difficult to get hold of and usually unreliable. The Federal Road Safety Commission has a little bar graph with some statistics (below). If you zoom in you can just make out that the deaths figure for 2004 was 5524, 15 people per day.

Take Bellview crash in October last year, in which all 117 passengers and crew died. The road deaths (from 2004) are equivalent to 47 Bellview crashes, nearly one a week. Given that it’s not uncommon for pedestrians or motorcyclists killed on the roads to be left lying I’d say it’s safe to assume that the road deaths are under-reported.

As a comparison, in the UK in 2004 the number of people killed on the roads was 3321 (source: Road Casualties Great Britain 2004). Given populations at that time of 59,834,300 for the UK (source: Office for National Statistics) and 128,709,000 for Nigeria (source: Unicef) that means that in 2004 about 1 in 18000 of the UK population and 1 in 23300 of the Nigerian population died in car crashes.

I’ve tried (but failed) to find statistics so I can compare the number of vehicles on the roads in each country.

After one last day of relaxing in Limbe Pete, Mary, Charles, Kay, Indar and I headed back to Nigeria. This time we took a speedboat instead of the ferry (the ferry didn’t sail on the right day), spending several hours hanging around the harbour waiting for the speedboat guys to bring their price down to something we could afford. We set off at about 1pm and had a mostly smooth ride, it was surprising how busy it was out at sea, even out of view of the coast. There were lots of tiny fishing boats and the occasional oil platform dotted around.

Three and a half hours later we arrived at Ibaka, a port on the opposite side of the river from Calabar. Pete dealt with immigration while the rest of us chartered a car for Ikot Abasi and stood around being stared at by the locals. By the time we got to Utaiwo, where the boats for Opobo leave from, it was dark but we managed to meet up with the group coming from Lagos anyway (Kim, Tammie, Tanya, Kate, Aine and Simon).

Due to our late arrival we had missed the boat regatta, so we sorted out who was staying where (girls at Pete & Mary’s, boys at Charles’s) and dropped off our stuff before going to Lady B’s restaurant for dinner. We moved to another bar for midnight, we had a chorus of “Auld Lang Syne”. The locals didn’t seem to notice midnight, they had been setting off firecrackers and guns all night anyway.

We had heard that nothing much would happen on the first, because it was a Sunday. Instead we went to greet Mr Bell-Gam and then Henry the boatman took us across the river to Ekereborokiri (I’d been before). This time the tide was out so we had to wade through the river mud to get to the village, where we were greeted once more by Steven Jaja.

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This afternoon we got back from our four day hiking trip on Mount Cameroon. It was lovely, although a bit of a slog in parts. Much more about it all once I get back to Abuja.

Hope everyone enjoys their New Year celebrations. I’ll be in Opobo Town with Pete, Mary and Charles.

An early start for the final day, a breakfast of Indomie, tea and hot chocolate and then off through more grassland, over low ridges, looking down on the clouds.

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Another bad night’s sleep, with the freezing draughts blowing across me. The view down onto the clouds from Station F was lovely though.

Fortunately day 3 is a short day, spending the morning walking from Station F down to Mann Spring. We passed the craters from the 1999 eruption, with a surprisingly varied landscape of cinder cones as well as grassland and patches of forest. Another surprise was how quickly plants are recolonising the eruption area, starting with lichens and mosses then the strange-looking “Mountain Flower”

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