Caboose

I’ve just finished reading Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight: An African Childhood, an interesting book about a girl growing up in Rhodesia/Zimbabwe. I found it a bit confusing at times as she sometimes refers to her family and other settlers as Africans, but then also uses the same word to refer to the indigenes of the countries she was living in.

The book also follows the common European/American habit of treating Africa as if it’s a single homogenous place. The settlers seem to be fond of declaring their love for Africa, based on living in one small part of it. It would be like saying you love Europe when you’ve only been to the south of France. My cynical side would say that they didn’t fall in love with Africa so much as with the lifestyle of being the ruling class.

I also recently read Ryszard Kapuściński’s The Shadow of the Sun (Penguin Celebrations), in the foreword he says:

[Africa] is too large to describe. It is a veritable ocean, a separate planet, a varied, immensely rich cosmos. Only with the greatest simplification, for the sake of convenience, can we say “Africa.”

These books reminded me how quiet it is at night here in Stirling. Lying in bed all I can hear are traffic on the A9 and the muffled roaring of the glass wool factory. In my house in Kaduna the air was full of the sound of crickets, frogs and all the other night creatures.

Since I got back to Scotland I’ve been gradually preparing for my upcoming trip (itinerary in this post). This has included finalising the itinerary, paying for it, shuffling money around, filling in forms and buying equipment.

I’ve now added some features to show maps of where I’ve been writing from recently, courtesy of the GeoPress plugin and Google Maps. I can also easily insert a map showing the location of individual posts.

Actually the plugin only worked erratically and eventually completely gave up.

I’m on my way home from a trip to Sweden, which will be my home from March. Unfortunately bus times have ensured I got to the airport far too early. Airports are not very exciting.

In fact it’s making me miss Nigerian motor parks, where there’s at least usually something going on. Catering options are better there too. Right now I’d love a plate of jollof rice and stew, instead of the chewy sandwiches available here.

Still, at least I know when the flight is due to leave, don’t have to wait for the plane to fill.

Yesterday Mum, Dad and my grandparents went for a trip to Aviemore and up the Cairngorm Mountain Funicular Railway.

As you can probably tell from the pictures, it wasn’t very warm at the top, 0°C, windy and snowing slightly.

I just went back and started updating the posts from my trip round northern Nigeria in July.

As well as a farewell tour I was being paid by Bradt to do the research for northern Nigeria for the second edition of their Nigeria guidebook.

I’m currently sitting in Schiphol airport, waiting for my flight to Edinburgh. I’m also in the slightly strange state of mind caused by not sleeping and eating meals at very odd times (dinner around 2330, breakfast around 0400).

One thing I’ve noticed on flights to and from Nigeria is that the Nigerians tend to wear Western clothes going to Europe and Nigerian clothes on the way back to Nigeria. I’m guessing that this might have something to do with the attitudes of European officials. For example, you may be less likely to get hassle from immigration if you’re wearing jeans than if you’re in full babanriga. On the other hand, Nigerian officials will treat you better if you look like a big man. I’m sure there are other explanations…

Later today I should be arriving at Edinburgh airport to be shocked by the change from hot and humid Abuja to cold and windy Scotland. Last I heard it’s going to be my sister, niece and nephew picking me up, should be fun. Will little Eve still recognise me?

I spent most of last night going through my house, deciding which things to take home, which to throw out and which to dash to people. Today is my last day in the office, so I’m tidying things up and emptying my desk. NTI have organised a send-forth dinner for me at the Arewa Chinese Restaurant tonight, so I’m going to have to pack my bags this afternoon.

So, next time I post here I’ll either be back in Scotland or on my way there. It’s goodbye to Nigeria (for now at least) and the end of my time as a VSO.

My next plan is a (short) round-the-world trip, the current itinerary is:

There won’t be any more pictures on this site until I get home, because some scumbag stole my camera. I may still be able to add the odd blurry and poor-quality picture from my phone though.

I had to travel to Abuja for a meeting with the new country director, so it was the usual early start to get to Kawo motor park. The Abuja car was almost full, so while we were waiting I hung around watching my rucksack in the boot. Thefts in motor parks are quite unusual but today I was being a bit more careful because mine was the only bag in the boot.

As soon as the last passenger appeared the staff from the NURTW (the National Union of Road Transport Workers, one of the major obstacles to effective transport in Nigeria) hurried us into the car and closed the doors. They left the boot open for a few minutes, during which time I couldn’t see my bag but could see uniformed union officials at the back of the car.

The journey to Abuja was uneventful, there was the usual morning delay at the expressway junctions for Kubwa and Dutse and the car was even more of a wreck than is normal.

Once I got to the VSO office I discovered that my little Sony Clié PDA was missing from it’s usual home in the top of my bag. I distinctly remembered putting it in there before leaving the house, so I was worried straight away.

A bit later I checked inside the bag, in case I’d put it there instead, to find an empty baby lotion bottle, an empty bottle of perfume and a broken Ericsson mobile phone! When I checked my camera case in the side pocket my camera had been replaced by an empty bottle of deodorant.

I spent the rest of the afternoon and the whole journey back to Kaduna fuming. I’m finding that living in Nigeria is making me an angrier person, today I was struggling not to give in to outbursts of rage. It didn’t help that all the union officials had cleared off home by the time I got back to Kawo.

As there’s a police station inside the motor park I thought I might as well report the theft, not expecting much from the Nigeria Police Force (except possibly an attempt to extract money from me). I was pleasantly surprised when the officer at the front desk was immediately sympathetic and helpful, hand-writing a form for me to write my statement and going out to try and find the union chairman.

It’s one of the problems of living in Nigeria, you hear so many bad things about the police that it’s a surprise when they do their job. The officers at Kawo have to put up with almost no resources and a crumbling, mosquito-infested station that has been half-demolished to put up a block of shops. The officer took my number and said he’d talk to the union officials and get back to me tomorrow.

Getting such a helpful response has calmed me down. I’m still angry but no longer snapping at people and growling.

The worst thing isn’t the loss of the camera or PDA, both were quite old and the camera was becoming unreliable and needed replacing. It’s the fact that the PDA contains my address book, so the thieves have access to that. If you get strange calls from Nigeria I apologise.

This coming after yesterday, when somebody tried to bribe me (can’t give any more details here). It’s like all the bad things people tell you about Nigeria have been waiting for my last month. At this rate I’ll be getting kidnapped next week!

I don’t hold out much hope of ever seeing my camera and PDA again but on a positive note I’ve discovered that at least one policeman in Nigeria is prepared to do his job without a dash.

We’ve finished our work at the South-South and South East zonal offices for now, so after an early start we got back to Kaduna around two o’clock today.

Returning to Kaduna was a little bit more interesting than usual. On the bypass – close to the Kronenberg brewery – a tanker had overturned, blocking one carriageway and most of the other one. A huge crowd had assembled, carrying plastic containers, presumably in the hope of getting some free fuel, some people never learn. The police and National Emergency Management Agency were just standing about, making no effort to keep people away from the spilled fuel.

Fortunately it didn’t smell like petrol, it might have been kerosene, so less likely to explode but still not something you want to hang around. The police directed us to drive right past the tanker, through the puddle of whatever it was. A few minutes later as we continued along the road a fire engine passed in the other direction.

Further round the bypass our driver discovered that he couldn’t change gear any more. We stopped and he fetched a mechanic. It seems that one end of the rod connecting the gear lever to the gear box had dropped off. While the mechanic was fixing that the driver had to change one of the tyres, which was pretty flat. Once the mechanic was finished I got to see how Nigerian mechanics clean oil off their hands, no Swarfega required. Just get your apprentice to remove the fuel line from the carburettor, suck out some petrol and spit it on your hands. The poor kid had to do this a few times before the mechanic was happy, I went and bought him a bag of water to rinse out his mouth.

Petrol (quite apart from being very flammable), is also not at all good for you.

I’m back from my tour of northern Nigeria. After two weeks of travelling I was pretty glad to get back to my own house and especially to a comfortable bed.

When I have time I’ll sort out the pictures and upload them. They’ll appear on the date I took them rather than the date I post them.