Final Tour

My last few days in Nigeria revolved around shopping and one intense tour through the capital city.

I was fortunate enough to have the ambassador's driver give me a personal tour of the capital city. We started off with the basics: Government institutions. One rule to remember about Nigeria is that you need special permission to take pictures within a federal zone or take pictures of federal buildings (i.e. government buildings, the airport etc). If caught doing so your camera would be confiscated and destroyed. Therefore despite my ambitious attempts, I was unable to capture any good shots of the National Assembly (Capitol building) or any of the other federal institutions. I was fortunate enough to be driven through the restricted compounds and presidential residence since we had the ambassador's car ans diplomatic access.

Our next theme was natural surroundings. We explored the lakes around Abuja eventually leading us to the dam. Interestingly enough the construction plans around the lake seemed quite amazing...despite the fact that they are still in proposal stage and have been for the better part of two years. At the moment only the expatriates working for ABB live on the prime lakeside properties. There seems to be a lot of ambitious hope and expectations for this city. The damn that we visited, when fully functional, is expected to solve all of Abuja's water issues. A magnificent sight, the water seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see. Hilltops became islands and the reservoir a popular fishing spot amongst the local villagers.

The natural surroundings of Abuja are beautiful. Green hills and giant rocks seem to encircle the entire city. Aso rock, one of the largest rocks in the world, overlooks the capital and is a key landmark because it can be seen from any point in the city. In order to climb Aso rock, you need the blessings (permission) of the priests who guard it.

Near the damn was a village we drove through. This could have easily been the most intense part of my trip. We rode in the same Mercedes G Wagon which was used to pick me up from the airport. This is important to note because this car, despite it being an SUV, is not wide…neither were the streets. Nor was it exactly a smooth ride.

Driving through the village was like nothing I had ever seen. The pure state of poverty was overwhelming. I had the opportunity to take many great shots with my camera, but instead I held back. I was not goint to take a picture a picture out of admiration but shots that were trying to capture the state of poverty. Therefore I could not bring myself to pressdown on the shutter release. Who was I to do so? I am not an anthropologist, I am not a journalist, I am a visitor. I had no right to try and make any statements with my pictures because my audience would be a personal collection of people and the pictures I took would have been taken for the sake of entertainment.

I remember a sense of desperation come over me as we drove through the village. An innate feeling to run away from this dire situation. I could only imagine how the locals felt. There were naked children running in and out of houses made of clay, half naked women carrying their children, and trash everywhere. We passed through what seemed like the village center, where the locals were burning wood and gathering around looking at the half a million dollar vehicle drive through their existence. Its windows darkened completely showing only the reflection of their poverty bounce off of its luxurious facade right back at them. A hollow feeling lodged itself in my throat for the remainder of the afternoon.

After passng through the village we arrived at the clay pot factory run primarily by the local women. They gathered clay from the banks of a nearby river and shape their clay pots in the factory. When I say "factory" I mean to say a couple of small huts and about ten women. I bought a couple of them out of a combination of (primarily) guilt and the fact that they were extreemely cheap for what they were.

The last stop on the tour was a local palm wine bar...err...road-side set-up...however you would lable a shady area on the side of the road with wooden benches and two ladies serving palm wine out of two large palstic drums. Oh, not to mention that there were a lot of drunken faces. Apparently this location had the best palm wine. What exactly is palm wine? Well, its fermented palm milk. Its naturally fermenting in the heat so when its bottled and capped the pressure builds up in the bottle - - I didn't learn that until I eagerly brought home a large water bottle full of the stuff and unscrewed the lid, letting out a sudden burst of noxious fumes in the kitchen nearly forcing my family to temporarily evacuate the house. Needless to say the stuff is pretty strong and will put you on your backside faster that Butterbean can (Heavyweight boxer, YouTube him).

My final tour was eye openning at the least. I don't know if I'll be able to do that again but I am glad I did and I would definitely love to.

The Barracks

It seems as though I get a deeper and deeper understanding of what real Africa is like the longer I stay here. My father took my mother, brother and a coworker of his and I out for dinner one night. He took us to Abaja Baracks. Abaja Baracks is a military barracks installation in Abuja where there also happens to be a local open air market which, consequently, is run by the military. Having lived in numerous third world countries I thought I was prepared for the occasion.

The market was set up in a circular fashion with a one way, single lane street constituting the only walkway. All the shops were open faced and crammed together much like the items they offered for sale within. One thing I noticed about Abuja, Nigeria is that everyone seems to notice your presence wherever you may be. Not just as you walk on the street but even when you are being driven at 40 mph as you are observing people on the street they have an uncanny ability to lock eyes with you at the very last moment. Therefore you can imagine the intense sense of being observed which we felt as we made our way to the center of the market where the open air “restaurant” was.

The “restaurant” or, as I like to call it, the African food court, was situated in the center of the market. To access it you have to find one of the many small alleyways in between the shops. Once you break out of the alley and into the market square you are flushed into the chaos. There is movement everywhere, no solid concrete floor only puddles and mud. There are vendors of everything useless imaginable everywhere, the varied smells hit you in the face from every direction. Children walk around in tattered clothes, some naked and crying. Beggars at your feet; doing their best to survive with whatever limbs they have left. And yet, despite all of that I saw an infinite amount more of smiling faces.

The layout of the food court was very interesting. In the center, in a square-ish formation, were the women who grilled the food (and only women grilled the food). The grills were made of half barrels (barrels cut down the middle) on its side, with iron bars laid across the cut opening, supported by four metal poles, two on each side, forming an ‘X’. The grill resembled a trough with a fire burning underneath. Behind the women were the busboys (most likely their children, and only boys) who washed the platters and served the food. The women chefs and their children ran their own independent enterprises while the beverage and seating providers ran theirs. Basically, you come into the market and choose a place to sit. After having done that you walk around to see what the women had to offer and at what price. You select from the varied menu (grilled chicken or fish with an optional side of chips, err, fries) and indicate to the lovely chef where you are located. On this particular evening we settled on the fish.

The spot we chose to dine was a mere 10 feet from our chef’s grill. Prior to being seated our beverage server takes a small plastic water bottle filled with kerosene, its bottle cap pierced with several holes and administers small drops of the yellow fluid onto the table we were about to dine on. As a final touch, he spreads it over the entire surface with a damp rag. I thought he was absolutely mad and yet I was absolutely intrigued. Why in the world would you do that? Did I mention the flies? Yes, well, let’s do the math. African sun + fish + open air market + filth = Enough flies to blot out the sun. Hence, the application of kerosene onto the tables. Apparently they are repulsed by the odor and quite frankly I thought we would be as well. We did not notice it at all.

I am sure after reading all of this you would think, why would your dad do this to you? Well, you have to understand that I am from a family of travelers, places like these are what we are always looking for; the essence of the country we have the privilege of visiting. I was loving every minute of it. Unfortunately, my mother, coming from a third world country, was not impressed. Why should she after all, anyone who was born and raised their entire life in a third world country knows the number one objective is to get out of a third world situation. She kept insisting that there was no way her dad would ever take her to places like this in the Philippines. Despite her disgust at her surroundings she was doing her best to have fun, which she candidly gave credit to the fact that she had taken her anxiety pill prior to our arrival.

I felt absolutely silly in my green polo shirt and jeans. I thought about what an ass I might have looked like to all these people around me. Then again, would it make a difference to them what I wear or is the color of my skin enough to evoke such sentiments. I thought about what I could do to go local, and I nearly laughed out loud at the thought of myself in the local dress walking about town hoping that people would see me as an albino instead of a white person, or half white for that matter.

A little Nigerian boy arrived with plastic bowls of water and a bottle of dish washing detergent. I figured that this is the equivalent of lemon and warm water in some restaurants, and sure enough it was. Soon after this realization our little friend returned with our grilled fish and chips. The food was wonderful, the fish was grilled perfectly and I am now quite the fan of Nigerian spicy sauce. The fish was so good that my mother out ate all four men and we were forced to order another grilled fish bringing our total to three whole fish each measuring about a foot and a half long. I was thoroughly impressed with the evening and very proud that our approach to this country, much like all of the countries we have visited, paid off.

Later that evening I braced myself for any unpleasant consequences of the grilled fish. Nothing at all, and the same results to follow for two days. It was not until I had dinner at a family friend’s house (a wealthy Swedish family) that I had an upset stomach. What was on the menu that night? Potatoes, salad, filet medallions and gravy; Western food, go figure!

Nigeria! Jaga Jaga!

My father greeted me at the airport when I arrived. As he walked me to the armored Mercedes G Wagon, he explained how Nigeria could easily be second to South Africa as an economic power on the contnent. Yet, the race to get to the top has done so much to hinder the overall progress that could be attained. If only the populace and government could see beyond immediate gratification. Our driver greets us and takes my luggage, we approach our vehicle and the first thing that catches my attention is the AK-47 strapped around the shoulder of a uniformed man leaning on our car. Having hardly been exposed to guns in my life I nearly froze in my tracks as he approached me. My father, not noticing my apprehension looks back and immediately explains that the man was with us and his presence was simply protocol. I broke into a nervous smile, could not take my gaze off of the guard’s eyes and completely did not notice his outstretch hand until I was in the car. I made a note to shake his hand and thanked him as we arrived at the Embassy, if not for repairing any cultural insults but to make sure I was on the good side of the man with the Kalashnikov.

Nigeria. It seems as if every aspect of this country can be found in everyday living. Abuja, the capital seems to be in constant growth, yet repairs seem to be only secondary to it as opposed to an issue that should be just as important as infrastructure growth. Everywhere there are run down buildings next to newly built ones. Chaos and disorder seem to be the constant theme and the heat your constant friend. The loud and bright colors of the country starkly contrast the social backdrop in which they are set. At the beginning of my visit I started using a black and white setting on my camera, which I thought would dramatize my shots effectively, it did quite the opposite, it took away from the feeling of Africa. Colors, loud and bright colors characterize this country, and probably the entire continent, significantly better.

Getting a sense of daily life in Nigeria has been an interesting experience. Seeing how my family operates here has shown me a lot about expatriate life in Nigeria. Constant power outages, the luxury of backup generators, the importance of power surge protectors, the inefficiency of the internet, all of which can be seen as such a huge headache. In retrospect, as my father clearly pointed out, when things break down and you can’t do your work, no one gets on you about it. You can get frustrated, or since there is really nothing you can do about the situation, you go with it and enjoy that small luxury. As opposed to the US where, if something could not get done someone takes responsibility for it.

An example I would like to use to characterize Nigeria properly would be their oil situation. Petroleum is quite affordable here given the fact that Nigeria is one of the top oil producing countries. You would expect steady access to gasoline and no issues regarding shortages. Well, since the downstream process is so inefficient, shortages, long lines, strikes and price volatility are commonplace. I like using the oil situation to characterize the country because Nigeria is a resource rich country, yet they are unable to fully harness its potential.

Driving in Abuja is quite the adventure. Here is a suggestion, when driving in Nigeria; if your car does not have a good horn, you may as well not have an engine. My good friend once commented that drivers in NY City speak with their horns. Well, if that is the case, Honking is a national language here and a life saving necessity. Not only do people pay little attention to lane lines, but in many intersections traffic lights do not work and traffic controllers seem to only work part time. Luckily, on occasion, some lepers needing money have the backbone to stand at a busy intersection and take matters into their own hands. When neither are present it is you and your good friend Mr. Horn! Beep away in short notes and creep your way into oncoming traffic as you dare the left had turn.

Thus far my days in Abuja revolve around golfing, tennis, hanging out with family and pool time. The sun here is more than willing to help out with my quest for a tan. So much so that within two hours of pool time I managed to replicate the tan I had after five days in Mexico.

I had the opportunity to go to a local watering hole and experience Star Beer and Souja (Sue-ya). Star Beer is their domestic blend which is really not all that bad. Souja is a delicious thinly sliced grilled beef served with lettuce, tomatoes, onions and a pile of chili powder served on a small square of newspaper (goes wonderfully with beer). Are you crazy? You are eating street food? Of course I am! The essence of cultures are found in these little dishes. Yes I am alive and no I did not spend the day in the toilet. Then again I must warn you that I spent a significant percent of my life developing immunity to street food e-coli.

The bar we went to can be confused for a small outdoor concrete square in the middle of a ghetto with random plants, plastic tables and chairs. The small colorful light bulbs adorning the small banana trees add a lovely glow to the place. Beers are served only in half liter bottles and “cold” means varying degrees of temperatures to the locals, better to say “VERY cold” when ordering.

There are so many stories I can delve into. This adventure is amazing. Africa is a pretty cool place…if you don’t live here.

Forks In The Road, Forks In My Heart

Being here in Africa has given me the opportunity to think about my life at the moment and where my life is headed in the future. At the moment I am having a hard time deciding what it is that my heart is trying to say. Actually, I know what he is trying to say, but I am not sure if he should be saying it. I believe him, his message is strong and true - - yet I am scared to follow his words without question. At times I find myself seeking something solid, as if though I am asking for something, anything to let me know that he is right. It almost feels like I am asking God for a sign to tell me that I am doing the right thing. We all know that is too much to ask. That decisions like these determine one's future and current character. Everything that is my very being is insisting that I should just go with it, that it is what is meant to be. I am quite confused and yet at the same time quite happy. How? How is that possible? This is so because in the midst of all the confusion I think of all the amazing feelings, all the sensations I feel when I was with the most important person in my life. I hold close to my heart the very idea of what I would do and all that I could give with every atom of my exitence, to that person...and around me the whirlwind continues to howl. Ripping apart everything around me except for what is important. I should probably just follow my heart and trust in it...I just can't stop hoping for a sign though.

KLM, My New Favorite

I am in Africa. After 21 hours of travel I finally made it. I left straight from work last Friday, and the adventure began as soon as I left for the airport. You see, I am not a US citizen and therefore to work in the US I had to secure a visa, which I did. The catch is that you have to bring your proof of employment and all that kind of paperwork with you in order to return. This is precisely where my adventure begins. In the whirlwind of getting vaccinations, malaria pills, visas and general travel prep stuff, I managed, with my extensive travel know how, to remember my paperwork at the check in counter. Which is a few miles (approximately) from where I live. Lovely! Luckily HR was kind enough to send me pdf versions of the paperwork to me, so problem solved…well problem solved when I get back actually.

The first leg of the flight was a seven hour trip to Amsterdam. KLM is officially my new favorite airlines. Why you ask? Well apart from the fact that they actually serve good food, their crew is actually friendly! In fact I was flirting with one flight attendant and she was absolutely accommodating! So much so that I was invited for coffee afterwards in Amsterdam. Given the fact that I had about a six hour layover in the airport I was thoroughly considering it. If it was not for the fact that several bottles of wine at 50,000 feet, no sleep (it was 2AM in the US when I arrived in Holland) and the fact that I didn’t have a watch on or the guts to tell my parents I missed my flight in Amsterdam, I told her I could not but that hopefully we could meet again on another flight. It was so like Lost in Translation, except without the awkward silence and we were on a plane. I thank her for all the wine, the two bottles of Dutch Liquor, her phone number and all the sweets in the care package she put together for me as we went our separate ways. As I mentioned in my previous blog on my previous adventure; ALWAYS flirt with the flight attendants even if you are not interested.

So I land in Schipol International Airport, Holland. I feel like crap. My eyes are burning. I need sleep. I’m hungry. I don’t know which to satisfy first. “One Heineken please!” What can I say, I was in Holland! Eventually I paid for an overpriced sandwich and found a spot on an airport seat where I could wake up every three minutes to “Ms. So n' So please report to Gate D5 for immediate boarding. If you do not report immediately we will begin to unload your luggage.”

When I awoke from the last of my many mini naps, I found myself extremely famished. I made my way over to a Japanese noodle stand where I paid for an overpriced chicken soba. Eventually, I made my way to my gate and proceeded to wait to board. Throughout the entire waiting process I was in and out of consciousness. Every time I came to, there were less and less passengers around me. I finally make my way to the plane that would send me to Africa.

On the plane, I sat next to a Nigerian man. The plane was pretty empty and we both looked at ourselves crammed up together next to a window. It was perfectly logical, if not expected, nor did it take much convincing. Once we took off, I had my own two sets an a window. Finally, after watching the Bridge to Tarabithia, I fell asleep. Great Success!

Sorry- - No pics until I get back! Or else I would have to wait forever and a 1/2 until they get uploaded!!