Happy Birthday to Me

I just thought I'd mention, quite possibly my suckiest birthday ever. Not to be complaining and all. It's just that, that was the day I travelled from Nigeria to Benin. Why was it sucky? Firstly because I didn't get to have the memorable Nigerian party I was planning. Instead I travelled alone to a place where I don'’t speak the language. To top it off, it was raining, heavily, on me when I got there, and arrived at the Nigerian embassy where I was told they weren't going to give me a visa to return back to Nigeria. So dripping wet, depressed and alone I went and found a hotel (eventually) and for the next day or two tried to tell myself it was all ok and that I wasn't stuck in some little country with no way of getting back to Nigeria or even home (my plane ticket, from Nigeria anyway, was expired).

Luckily I won that mental battle a day or so later and tried to enjoy the rest of my trip. The Nigerian embassy dude was very not happy when I saw him. The guy before me got a 5 second interview (not exaggerating) telling him no he can't have a visa because you are ssupposed to get it from your country of residence, this is all despite the fact he'd lived in Benin for 6 months. The consular guy took some pity on me and subsequent to this, some help from Dele and a whole heap of stress dumped on my parents (HELP! send money/plane tickets/anything NOW!) I am back in Nigeria. I'd just like to say thanks to that guy from Belgium who I shared complaints with and who counselled me a bit after my harrowing Nigerian embassy experience over lunch.

That was actually the 14th of July – Bastille Day. And although I was in no mood at the time, this guy invited me to come to a party at the French embassy. By the time my mood picked up later that night I decided to try and go. It was a real high class affair judging by the police, roadblocks, and fancily dressed people all leading to the embassy. But unfortunately I couldn't gatecrash the thing, as I was neither a French citizen or invited guest (and my friend didn't even know my name, yet alone remember to leave my name on the list). Plus I don't think my asking the French official if he spoke English was the wisest way to schmooze my way in. So instead I bore a French tri-colour ribbon (there were these girls who come out of the dark and quickly pinned a ribbon to you before you can stop them and then ask for money) and went back to my hotel for a lonesome dinner.

P.S. I'll say this for the French, at least they stick around their colonies, but damn their computer keyboards are hard to write on!

The Venice of Benin?

"The Venice of…" is a terribly overused phrase I know. Seems like any city with a bit of water in it can be called that these days. But I felt I just had to use it here.

Due to issues regarding my visa, I at one time thought I might have to spend some time in the country, so I actually left Cotonou and went away for the weekend. I went to what my lonely planet describes as "rightly Benin’s most famous tourist attraction" though judging from the number of visitors it got, it ain't that famous. It is a little village called Ganvie, famous because it's built on a lake. Basically a whole lot of huts on bamboo stilts coming out of the water. Of course, it wasn't as completely beautiful as one might picture, as consistent with West African style the number of thatched roofs were outnumbered by rusted corrugated iron ones. But it did have its charms.

Getting around the village is completely by pirogues (long, slender, dugout canoes type things). And actually getting to the village from the mainland through the fishing areas we put up a makeshift sail.

I got the pick of the rooms at the hotel as no-one else stayed there whilst I was there. So for two days I just chilled. Nearby you could see the creatively named "floating market" with a bunch on ladies and their boats congregating whilst villagers paddled up to them and bought their wares. Also nearby was the local water filling station where mostly kids came with boats and empty pots. Incidentally most kids when they say me waved, then said yovo, then put out their hand to ask for something. I don't know how that culture got started.


I got arranged to be guided around on a boat one day, a bit like Venice (but so, so, so much cheaper) with a guy pushing us along with a pole. All I needed was cushioned seat and a girl to put my arm around. I even got lucky, as we stumbled across a kind of ceremony on the water, which turned out to be a burial. Each family group seemed to occupy one boat and most of the bigger boats had loudspeakers for the singers, whilst everyone else was drumming on whatever they could lay their hands on and of course singing and dancing. It was a real party-like atmosphere.



Later that day I also got lucky as it was time for a local soccer match in their stadium (built on a low lying island) between their village and some visitors. Luckily the locals won, as even so it got a bit ugly at the end (people running because of some rowdy fans wielding sticks). I'd hate to have seen what would have happened if they’d lost.

They cringe-worthy factor of tourism was really reaffirmed for me here. Whilst I was silently reflecting at the hotel, a handful of boats would come up occasionally carrying day-tripping sight seers. Normally they would come with cameras glued to their faces, the cameras themselves often bigger than their heads. I hope I never look like them.

Just before I left I got treated again as some Togolese and I think French guests came to the hotel for a meeting about the village development. For hours they (and therefore I) were entertained by dancers, singers and drummers. But all in all it was a relaxing weekend away. In fact, if I'd been with a few friends and added to the mix a few drinks and laughs, it would really have been fantastic.

Nigeria vs. Benin

So what is Benin Republic (or the Republic of Benin) like? Well, it's a bit like Nigeria, but also not. I guess it'’s inevitable that I make comparisons since its the only other African country I’ve been to so far.

What first? Benin has less people, pollution, noise, and cars. They have more foreigners, so many more (at least in Cotonou) that no-one even took a second look at me. They too, like Nigerians, like their clothes, but are much more fond of beer drinking than Nigerians. This particular custom I applaud them for. On clothes - all around where I stayed in Cotonou were countless clothing makers. Funny thing was all of them used irons that were charcoal powered. You would see them dropping hot coals into these rusty metal things and trying to regulate the temperature somehow I don't know. On beer – there are huts everywhere on each street doing great business especially at night.

I think when someone told the Beninoise people they should sell fuel "by-the-litre" they took it a little too literally. For fuel is mostly sold in 1 litre glass bottles (also available in the sleek contour coke bottle) by the roadside.

Perhaps because of the French influence, the range of GOOD food was very much appreciated. There were several alternate cuisines in town at the restaurants, but I didn't need them, getting the chance to try some excellent street food. My favourite was the ladies selling bread (as baguettes not loaves of course) which you could then get filled with one of half a dozen sauces. Although I normally don't appreciate the two words put together, the best tasting one I think was a kind of fish paste. Then there was one with beans, one hot and spicy one, one with little bits of pasta, onion tomato etc. and a couple others that had who knows what (but they tasted good). In the daytime you can normally just get bread and for a little extra they'll spread mayonnaise on it!

One thing was very different. It felt a lot quieter and safer than Nigeria (than Lagos especially). Yet, Benin is now the first place someone has attempted to rob me. I was wondering around the busy (and incidentally very cool) Dantokpa market on my last night there (ok maybe that wasn't the smartest thing to do), when one distract and grab pair tried to pick my pocket. Luckily I felt it happening so they got zilch. Besides which, the idiot actually only succeeded in taking the toilet paper in my back pocket halfway out. If he'd have done his research he might have realised I keep my money in another pocket.

Of course it sucked not being able to communicate with most anybody. My French is basically nil and their English isn't much better. You have no idea how fun it felt one day when I discovered all these Nigerian money changers sitting in a row and was able to converse with them, chat about Nigeria and get a good rate from CFA to Naira at the same time.

In Nigeria, everyone calls me Oyinbo (white man). That didn’t happen in Benin as only once I heard it. For its only the Yorubas that say it, and in fact it was a Beninoise Yoruba that called it out to me. There (I mean in Benin) they call me "yovo".

Border Crossings

Well folks I'm back in Nigeria after a short, but ultimately fruitless trip to Benin Republic. More on that later. I've certainly returned a little bit poorer and slightly stressed, but I've got many stories to tell from the journey at the very least.

Last week I went to Lagos and got a shared car to Cotonou. Crossing the border that way was ok. Though just before the border, all the West Africans in the car, who supposedly don't even need visas to get through, got out of the car and the driver and I met them on the other side. The Nigerian immigration authorities asked me for no bribes at all, contrary to literary and popular opinion. It was actually those on the Benin side that did. One nice Nigerian paid mine for me though, and I got through.

The way back from Benin to Nigeria some days later was a different story.

First of all I had to pretend not to speak English OR French (ok pretending not to speak French wasn't that much of a stretch for me) to get past the Benin guys without paying a bribe. Then all 5 Nigerians at the border post asked me for a little money. But they were fairly nice about it, only asking once or twice each, and pacified with a gentle no. Incidentally I never figured out why I had to register with five people. I could think maybe one for passport, one for yellow fever, one for the actual stamp and one for drugs. But what was the other guy for? Anyways.

It was only after that that I got a full dose of Nigerian men in uniform. After the official stamps and border crossing I got in a car which was subsequently stopped around 30 times (no I am not exaggerating). It took hours to get past the customs, immigration, health, ordinary police, drugs squad, vetinary control (no I’m not joking about that one either) and various other uniformed or otherwise men putting up roadblocks.
They of course barely looked at the Africans in the car before demanding all sorts of documents of mine (the typical one-two combination was an immigration guy for my passport then 2 metres down the road a health guy wanting my yellow fever card). Then, subject to who it was, (drugs people were particularly meticulous) my bags were searched multiple times. But I pulled through ok. Since my documents were in order, only a fair bit of patience (i.e. no money) was needed to get me through all these people. However the hold up in Lagos traffic took almost just as much time so it was a tough journey all in all.

Everything

Well folks its been a busy few weeks for me, so you’re getting it all in one post. Sorry. But its all interesting I promise. Work is crazy, been doing lots of school trainings and this that and the other. I also saw a play, attended another burial, drank palm wine, attended a seminar, saw a soccer match and attended a concert.

The soccer match, as one observant fan behind me noted, was “not football but comic relief”. No doubt as adjudged by the height leapt by those players taking dives and the speed at which the stretcher-bearers would rush to the field (including when the players landed outside the pitch). What I actually found more amusing was the footwear. This was an interfaculty match. So these are uni students and not poverty stricken street children. Yet most played barefoot (I guess because they were used to it) or with SANDALS. That I can’t understand. Sandals would seem to me to be more useless than going barefoot. But most players wore them. Eh. Maybe I need a Nigerian to explain that one. Also to prevent being given a yellow card, one player prostrated to the referee. It didn’t help.

The concert was great. But it too has its stories. Typical Nigerian style it started about 3 hours late. I was happy though. By far the cheapest concert I’m ever likely to attend. Just $1 Australian. Which even by Nigerian standards seems way too cheap. But then again….

The concert hall did not fill up very well or quickly. And in fact some one or two songs into the show, the crowd outside (without tickets) started making lots of noise. So much, that everyone was turning around looking at them and not the stage. The performer (Beautiful Nubia) even had to go up and try to speak to them. It didn’t help. Soon after, there was a raucous of banging against a gate, a security guard came onto stage clutching his head, and then a handful of people started running in.

That handful turned into a flood as the organisers must have decided to let everyone in rather than risk injury. So the amphitheatre filled up, but mostly with freeloaders. I thought it a little pity, especially since those people not wanting to pay a measly 100 Naira were also up there taking picture of the performers with their expensive camera phones. But it didn’t spoil the show, which I highly enjoyed, despite the continual disturbances of a vocal few Awoites up the back.

Another interesting feature was the other entertainment. Before the show started and throughout at any break or interruption (there were a few!) a comedian came on. Unfortunately, for me, he spotted me early. Which I must admit is easy to do in such a crowd. And throughout the show, much of his comedic material came at my expense. I can now add to my list of Nigerian experiences being laughed and stared at by 1000 odd uni students. But it was all in good fun. And at the end of the show he came up and apologised to me, to say he meant nothing, its just his job after all.

Ah yes and we had a big AIESEC seminar here last week (AIMES). Why was that cool? Well first of all we had like 50 AIESECers in the one place. Then it was a big success (congrats Doubra, Felix and Dele). And then I had TWO OTHER TRAINEES IN IFE WITH ME!!

You see I’ve never seen another trainee here before. We had Dinesh who was making his first trip to his host LC’s home city (his traineeship is in Lagos) and Claudia who arrived in the country just two days before (from Romania). They have both since gone back to Lagos but it was nice to have them around for the day. We went to the seminar, I showed them my place, we had drinks, watched a soccer game (Nigeria going down to Argentina, sadly, in the final) and then to town for one cool after-party. Lots of drinks (finally) and dancing and gisting.

Earlier in the week (another “I forgot to mention”) I had my first proper palm wine drinking session (ok I didn’t have that much but it was “authentic” as I shall explain). A friend of my workmate took me to the back streets of More (kind of like a suburb in Ife) for some fresh palm wine. I want you to forget (in case you were imagining it) some romanticised image of rural Africa in a grass hut, in a tribal setting, with a calabash to take some freshly tapped “jungle juice”. The reality was a gritty little hut, with four men around a rough table, taking drinks out of cheap plastic cups with random bits of plastic to keep out the (numerous) flies. The wine was poured out of big plastic containers that might have held petrol in a not-so-distant former life. But it was actually very tasty, and, at 40c a litre, its cheaper than any petrol I’ve ever heard of. The conversation was minimal as this was a “Yoruba only” zone, but it was nice to be there. I was even surprised to learn why the men drinking there had a kind of orange coloured wine. It was because they still put bark of Quinine trees in their drinks to ward off malaria.

Then to the burial. This one was for my boss’s mother-in-law. Which meant that she and her niece, nephew, son, daughter etc. had the unfortunate luck of having to cater to the demanding crowd. Let me say only one thing and that is let me never be the host of traditional Nigerian gathering. For it looked like hell. Its fun to be an attendee at these things (see my earlier post) but its much harder to be running the show.

In other news, due to “visa issues”, yours truly will be having to make some travels and may not post again for a week or two. Unfortunately that means instead of my planned Nigerian birthday bash I might quite possibly be in Benin Republic or at the very least in Lagos away from my friends in Ife (sob sob). So wish me luck on my travels and send birthday wishes. Ciao. Nick.