Fulani Killers & Victims and Boko Haram

Ever since I arrived in Nigeria nearly three years ago, a civil war of sorts between Fulani herdsmen and the various tribes they settled among has been brewing, resulting in tit-for-tat mass murders, razing of villages and other brutalities as Fulanis kill and are killed.

Now, were the Fulanis the first to attack? Or were they the initial victims simply meting out revenge? I don't know, but the latest news report of the Nigerian army invading a Fulani village in Nasarawa state yesterday morning and killing 30 people, shooting at every Fulani in sight, was troubling (full report here).

According to the report in Premium Times newspaper, Fulani organisation Miyetti Allah confirmed that over 30 Fulani people were killed, mostly old men who were unable to run when the soldiers started firing. The group's secretary Muhammed Husseini accused the Nigerian Government of complicity in the killing and is planning to sue the government.

“I’m presently in the mortuary receiving corpses. They killed over 30 of our men for no reason. This is genocide and we will approach the International Criminal Court, ICC,” he said.

Some of the dead recovered from the invasion

The military had deployed troops to Nasarawa, Benue and Kaduna following attacks on several communities in the states by suspected Fulani herdsmen, leading to the death of scores of people.

Fulanis in rural areas of the North are often victims and perpetrators of attacks, mostly because of age-old territorial disputes and other slights they feel other tribes had perpetrated on themselves and their cattle and property. Some Fulanis are on the rampage over disputed grazing fields for their cattle, and stolen cattle, whilst the town dwellers are also aggrieved when their crops are eaten and trampled on by Fulani cattle.

Ethnic-based enmity is alive and seething in Nigeria y'all.

So the Fulanis attack, and other tribes retaliate; other tribes attack, and the Fulani retaliate. But it seems the Fulani are the ones doing more of the attacks these days. Also, various unconnected Fulani communities and attackers that may not even be Fulani across Nigeria that engage in violent disputes with their neighbours may be called 'Fulani attackers,' making the situation seem even more rife, and the Fulani even more deadly.

On-going disputes in places like Nasarawa, Zamfara and Benue State have caused many villagers to flee after alleged Fulani gunmen storm their locales at night or early in the morning, shooting and killing at random. Recently, a group of 24 Fulani men were arrested with a truckload of guns, machetes, bows and arrows and knives.

However, for decades the nomadic Fulani lived amongst other tribes in peace, inter-marrying and becoming friends. In this report of refugees fleeing from Benue to Abuja following Fulani attacks, one old man said:

"I had to pack and leave with my whole family because I saw the fighters coming in and my Fulani neighbours told me they cannot guarantee my safety if I decided to stay. I have lived there all my life and I don't have anywhere else to call home but I had to leave because the mercenaries were already forming a base there.

"We (Tiv farmers) have never fought with Fulani herders here before. Whenever there are squabbles, we the elders from both ethnic groups come together and settle amicably, so it was strange when they asked me to leave. But they insisted they don't have a problem with us, that it was their people from Benue that asked them to tell us to leave."

Things seem to be heating up.

A taxi driver, upon hearing I was from Adamawa State, beamed and told me he was also from Adamawa (but he wasn't Fulani), then after some pleasantries, he told me of a horrifying visit to the state recently. The car he was travelling in broke down, and as evening had approached before it was finally fixed, both the other passengers in the car and himself were extremely worried because it was general knowledge that the road at night was patrolled by armed robbers.

They traveled on regardless, and soon came to a road block made of sharp materials that punctured the car tires, manned by Fulani men wielding machetes. I asked if he was sure they were Fulani, and he said it was obvious, as Fulanis have a distinct look everyone is familiar with.

They were forced to alight from the car, lie on the ground on their stomachs and remain silent as the Fulani men ransacked their pockets and car and took away all the valuables: their phones, his bag, money etc. If he had tried to escape they would have been killed, as the attackers were known for chopping people up with their machetes.

He said the men also carried locally made guns and communicated by making clicking sounds to each other, and they looked as if they were 'high.' The taxi driver and the other passengers were forced to sleep in the bush until morning when they walked the rest of the way to their destinations.

Now this conversation happened some months back, and my memory can be hazy sometimes, and I've had similar conversations with a variety of people about such car-jackings, although only the taxi driver specified Fulani attackers. So I'm not sure if the following details were told to me by this taxi driver or by someone else, but is interesting to note nonetheless: one of the passengers was a female who lied to attackers that she had HIV to prevent being raped; the carjackers were wearing amulets and other charms that prevented them from being injured by bullets.

So, certain parts of Northern Nigeria aren't too safe right now, what with the sporadic yet increasingly common 'Fulani gunmen,' and Boko Haram insurgents. I'm loathe to imagine that they could be linked, especially since the attacks are similar in nature: young men (sometimes dressed in black or fatigues) with weapons surround a settlement at night and kill indiscriminately, setting fire to houses before escaping in motorcycles, trucks or on foot.

With Boko Haram, questions have been raised (by Nigerian President Goodluck Jonathan even) about who pays for the sophisticated weaponry (AK47s etc) and brand new vehicles (convoys of Hilux trucks, motorcycles and vans) that aide in their terror campaigns.

Northern leaders recently alleged that helicopters have been seen repeatedly dropping weapons, food, medicine and other equipment in areas occupied by Boko Haram, implying that the militant group had wealthy financiers as well as informants in the military, police and other security agencies.

This leads on to another incident narrated to me by a taxi driver (they are excellent disseminators of information in my experience wherever I am in the world.) This one was from Borno State, and although he had the look and demeanour of a Muslim, I was surprised to learn he's a Christian. He told us his father and other family members were killed recently by Boko Haram in Borno. They surrounded his village one night and started killing people shouting 'Allahu Akbar' before fleeing in a convoy of Hilux trucks.

Then a couple of weeks later, he was supposed to pick me up the coming Monday to work (our car was at the mechanic's) but was unable to make it as he had to travel to Borno with his wife and baby girl, as his father-in-law was one of those killed by Boko Haram in this attack in the state.

It was tragically incredible to note that I knew someone who was personally affected by Boko Haram in such a chilling way, and I felt so bad for the young man, whose family had been so ravaged by the terrorists.

Abuja is still relatively safe (except for this shootout recently), but living in a country where people are regularly killed by a group from your tribe in places not too far away from you, as well as the on-going murders of innocents by state-sponsored enemies of the state is certainly unnerving.

But as Leonardo DiCaprio's character in Blood Diamonds said, "TIA. This is Africa."

How Adichie Fell Off Her Pedestal

Throughout the history of my blog, I've always revered Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. And In a recent post in which I praised her writing and excitedly looked forward to reading her latest book Americanah, I also spoke about my reticence about meeting her face to face. I’d heard her speak live twice but each time I always left (or hid) rather than meet with her or have her sign my books. This was because I didn't want my image of her – an image in which she is a gloriously brilliant and noble genius devoid of any human failings or flaws – to be ruined. 

I didn't want the real Adichie to disappoint me.

But this past week, I've read many things that have knocked Adichie off the pedestal she occupied in my mind, and the truth is, I saw it coming.

In a recent interview she did with American blogger Aaron Aden, Adichie came off as intelligent, measured, forthright and accomplished, but also condescending and egotistical. She described Elnathan John, a Nigerian writer who had attended one of her writing workshops (and who, by the way, has has THE best ‘About Me’ Blogger Intro I have ever read) in a manner that belittles him and exalts her. Here’s the offending part of the interview:

AB: I would love to ask you about the Caine Prize. I find it interesting that so many Nigerians are on the short list this year—that it’s four Nigerians out of five . . . 

CA: Umm, why is that a problem? Watch it. 

AB: Well, none of them are you! 

CA: Elnathan was one of my boys in my workshop. But what’s all this over-privileging of the Caine Prize, anyway? I don’t want to talk about the Caine Prize, really. I suppose it’s a good thing, but for me it’s not the arbiter of the best fiction in Africa. It’s never been. I know that Chinelo is on the short list, too. But I haven’t even read the stories—I’m just not very interested. I don’t go the Caine Prize to look for the best in African fiction. 

AB: Where do you go? 

CA: I go to my mailbox, where my workshop people send me their stories. I could give you a list of ten—mostly in Nigeria—writers who I think are very good. They’re not on the Caine Prize short list. 

This condescension irked Elnathan, who wrote a passive-aggressive retort to Adichie in his blog. Nigeria’s literary community were also irked, and took to newspapers, blogs and Twitter to vent. I only heard about the beef via a Twitter link to a story written by Sylvia Ofili in response to Adichie's comment that the best in African writing where found in her mailbox. 

Nigerian writer Elnathan John and Chimamanda Adichie

The reverence, accolades and praise she has been showered with since her debut novel Purple Hisbiscus seems to have elevated Adichie’s sense of self to a level where she now looks down from on high on the rest of us. Many reader comments in response to the Elnathan Caine Prize Beef have also confirmed my fears, as many of those who have met her state that Adichie is cold, distant and smiles with her lips but not her eyes during meet and greets. One girl recalled how, after she met Adichie in London following a talk, the writer scolded her for wearing a weave.

It is sad, but not surprising, to see that brilliance has been marred by humanity. But isn't that always the way? I never expected her to be perfect, that was why I preferred to admire her from afar. I never wanted to see this unpleasant side of her. I caught glimpses of her personality from the female characters she writes about, from Ifemelu to Kainene to Ujunwa, who are almost always quietly acidic and saturnine. This characteristic reminds me of a couple of friends I have, who are also brilliant, accomplished and loyal friends, so it didn't bother me. But I think she crossed the line by belittling Elnathan, who also stated in his blog that she emailed him scolding him for tweeting against her natural hair, and refused to speak to him afterwards despite his apologies. Adichie had also scolded a Nigerian magazine for referring to her as 'The Glamour Girl of Nigerian Writing', stating that it was an inappropriate description because she was past 30. Fair point. Yet she called a man above 30 ‘one of her boys.’

So Adichie has now come off the pedestal I had put her on. But it’s OK. I still love her writing, and Americanah was sublime. I loved the acerbic commentary on what it means to be Black in America, but not only to be African-American, but American African. I loved the dissection of liberal America both white, Black and other, loved the way the book weaves in the British Black experience too and the breezy but hard-hitting blog posts. The books says EVERYTHING I've felt, thought, said and experienced about race and Nigerian life and wealth, and much more that rang true, and the love story wasn't too bad either. 

Americanah felt so familiar. And unlike most people who read it that are either American, British or Nigerian but cannot always identify with all three cultures, I can identify with it all. I understood and recognised the American idiosyncrasies as well as the British nuances and the Nigerian ways, even the subtle and overt privileges of being an 'Americanah' (a Nigerian with experiences of living abroad). 

The best part for me was when Ifemelu described the initial shock of having to go into a capsule-like enclosure whilst entering and exiting a Nigerian bank. I laughed out loud whilst reading it, because I felt the exact same way when I had to do that for the first time, it was like "What the hell? What's going on here? How do I get out? Get me out!" 

If Americanah was a person, we would hit it off instantly and be best friends for life, because I so get it. Adichie writes very well. She says she spends a lot of time to construct the best sentences, and it shows. How’s this for a truth so well told:

“What I've noticed since been [in England] is that many English people are in awe of America but also deeply resent it,” Obinze added. “It’s the resentment of a parent whose child has become far more beautiful and with a far more interesting life.”

The best review of Americanah I've read is by Katherine Schulz (read it here) which does well to express Adichie's success in the ambition and scope of her book, as well as the fact that she captures and perceives race in America and Britain so well because she is an outsider.

Adichie is still, for me, the best writer of our generation that Nigeria has produced. I will not cut my nose to spite my face by denigrating her completely due to my new-found dislike for her personality as expressed in an interview and other exchanges. And although these are but minute insights into her character and in no way account for the totality of her as a person, it is enough for me to shake my head and lament on the damage our egos can cause. The praise she receives is justified, I just hope that in future she will speak and deal with her fans with more diplomacy, humility and wisdom. 

I, for one, now have an empty pedestal in my mind. And it shall henceforth remain empty because no human being can ever be above reproach.

Chimamanda Adichie, Natural Hair & Me

I have a crush on Chimamanda Ngozie Adichie. Never has a writer so captured my heart, mind and spirit like this Nigerian author, whose words represent all I want to be said and all I wish to say. Yet twice I have ran away from meeting her, shaking her hand and telling her how much I enjoy, appreciate, love and admire her body of work; from Purple Hibiscus, Half of a Yellow Sun, The Thing Around Your Neck and her latest novel, Americanah.

I was at the London Southbank Centre in 2009 where she read excerpts from the then unreleased The Thing Around Your Neck in her powerful, regal tones, uncorrupted by a fake foreign accent. She was by far the most intriguing of the ladies reading from their works up on that stage, and I will be eternally disappointed that I was unable to make it to her reading of Americanah at the same venue a few weeks ago.

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

The way she captures the Nigerian identity today, the nuances and pretences and false beliefs and hopes of our parents, ourselves and our society, of how strong-minded, globally connected and aspiring Nigerians grapple with embracing our broken motherland despite the allure of the US, which represents both greener pastures and a lesson in self-awareness that leaves us straddling between two cultures, neither of which fully satisfy.

Her heroines are epic: saturnine, brooding, melancholy, passive aggressive, intensely cerebral women who quietly bear the pressure they're under, until the day they snap and walk away from what is supposedly every Nigerian woman's dream: the good but uniquely flawed man, the dream job/opportunity that eats away at your soul, the chance to live or stay in America but betray yourself.

She is the voice of the upwardly mobile Nigerian today, just like Chinua Achebe (their names will forever be linked in reviews and editorials) was the voice of his generation. The late great said of her:

“We do not usually associate wisdom with beginners, but here is a new writer endowed with the gift of ancient storytellers. [She] knows what is at stake, and what to do about it. She is fearless.”

He is spot on. It must be so fulfilling for Adichie to have someone so worthyunderstand her work so well. Her poise – one interviewer described her as ‘contained’- is obvious and her sense of self is empowering.

Yet I ran away from meeting her. The first time was after the book reading at London Southbank Centre, where I left afterwards instead of lingering behind to shake the hand of the woman ‘endowed with the gift of ancient storytellers.’ Then during another event at an arts venue near Clapham Junction station a year or so later where she did a book signing afterwards (I have a recording of her talk on my phone) I’d taken my copies of her books for her to sign, but I could not face her. A friend had to take it to her for her to sign for me, whilst I literally ran away to a corner of the auditorium and hid. I'm not entirely sure why.

My friends tried to physically pull me to where she was but I refused to see her. So she signed it, plus, Plus! she spelt my name right. A name that is usually spelt with two Ls but mine is with one L, and many don’t know that, but she did. That confirmed to me that we were kindred spirits. Just like Achebe ‘got’ her, she got me, and I get her.

Adichie with her second book, Half of a Yellow Sun which won the 2007 Orange Prize for Fiction

Adichie is one of the very few people I will pay money to go see. Music is not my thing, but books are, and her books are my favourite. She is to me what Beyonce or Michael Jackson is to music lovers. It would be Adichie's poster I would have on my wall and it would be her concerts I would go to and it would be her CDs I would know all the words too. I love to see genius; that honest, unbridled, natural and seemingly effortless ability, humanity and humility certain great people have. So imagine my joy when that person is a female Nigerian young enough to be my contemporary, with similar experiences of traversing both the Western and African continents? I positively reverberated with excitement when I learnt more about her. 

As a fellow writer and commentator on race and belonging, her works and her words in the many interviews I’ve read of hers are what mine would be. Her thoughts on the poor reading culture in Nigeria and her efforts to open a library and literary centres around Nigeria are my thoughts and desires. Her view on ‘The Dangers of the Single Story,’ which she spoke about so eloquently during the now well-known TED Talks is exactly how I feel about the media when it gives only one view of a place or a people, and the ripple effect of not knowing the full story.

I used her words as part of my Masters dissertation, mostly because it matched my subject of study and also because I loved what she said and how she said it. Listen for yourself here.

Then there is a subject she espouses on at length in much of her writing, especially in her latest book Americanah: her love for natural hair, something I too feel very strongly about. 

Adichie and her natural hair

But my natural hair journey did not begin with any strong notion of expressing my Africanness by eschewing the false notion of beauty that meant having straight long hair sewn into mine (I’ve never sewn a weave into my hair in my life) or the fallacy of relaxing my hair straight by burning away its natural curls. But six years ago I decided against spending £60 every month to 'fix' my hair and spending six hours in a chair getting it fixed, so I simply stopped relaxing it and waited for my own hair to grow long enough so I could cut off the relaxed ends.

Thankfully my hair is easy to comb out, but the early stages of having a boyish short cut was challenging until it grew long enough to style, although sadly it never grew as long as it once was. Now in Nigeria I get compliments by women who wish they could ‘go natural’ but can’t because of their receding hairline resulting from too many tight braids or because their natural hair is too tough. Now I love my hair; it’s cheaper to manage and takes little time to do up in the morning. It’s how God created it and its texture is just the way He wanted it to be. Fulani women are usually less likely than other Nigerian women to wear weaves anyway, because their hair is usually longer and softer with finer curls, and also because they mostly cover it up and are not under pressure to show it off in different styles. This in itself is a shame, i.e. the women with the loveliest hair are the ones that cover it up.

There’s a saying that ‘If there’s something that makes you unique, don’t change it just so you blend in.’ My natural hair is unique in a sea of Brazilian weaves, hair extensions and relaxed hair. Although I’ve worn wigs and had braids, mostly during the harsh winters in the UK or just for a change, because there is something incredibly feminine about having long hair skimming your shoulders. But my natural hair reigns supreme.

And of course Adichie understands the importance of Black women freeing themselves from the pressure of wearing synthetic or another woman’s hair, which they deem more beautiful than their own. She said:

“As you can see, I have natural, negro hair, free from relaxers and things... From when I was three years old I already had the idea that straight hair was beautiful and my hair was ugly. But then when I went to America, I suddenly found out I was Black! Suddenly I started thinking, why do I want my hair to look like a white girls’ hair? This is absurd.”

Then she said:

"My hair is in tiny cornrows; I have a big ponytail on the top of my head. I quite like it. It is natural. I am a bit of a fundamentalist when it comes to black women's hair. Hair is hair – yet also it's about larger questions: self-acceptance, insecurity and what the world tells you is beautiful. For many black women, the idea of wearing their hair naturally is unbearable."

In Americanah, Adichie describes her main character Ifemelu getting her hair relaxed:

“She left the salon almost mournfully; while the hairdresser had flat-ironed the ends, the smell of burning, of something organic dying which should not have died, had made her feel a sense of loss.”

I was also happy to hear that Adichie is now married to a fellow Igbo doctor based in America. I’m a traditionalist, so no matter how great a woman’s achievements are and no matter how much I admire them, I always feel sad for them if they are unmarried and childless. Like Condoleeza Rice, the former US Secretary of state who got her PhD aged 26, is an accomplished pianist and speaks English, Russian, French, Spanish and German fluently, but is childless and single. Or Oprah Winfrey, who I adore and was bereaved when her show ended, and loved her even more after watching a documentary about the OWLAG school for girls she opened in South Africa. Yet I feel she is incomplete for never having married or raised her own kids. Although in her case (and probably Rice’s too) she might not have achieved so much if she were a housewife.

But marriage seems to have added nothing to Adichie: she was whole since writing Half of a Yellow Sun. After reading her first novel Purple Hibiscus, I could see the writer emerging, but by Yellow Sun Adichie had arrived. And she remains in a state of ‘arrival’ and will continue to be a fully fledged, composed and confident writer.

Her powerful prose, the fact that she writes about the reality of straddling multiple cultures, the way she views whites in the West without sentiment or ass-kissing and her rendering of fully-formed characters who see and question life like real people do is right up my street.

After The Thing Around Your Neck, I waited for more. Then forgot that I was waiting. Then I heard the news last week that her latest novel will be out in a couple of weeks (Where was I?? I’ve dropped the ball on my Adichie-watch. In the UK I googled her endlessly and had read every bit of her online writing and interviews up until a certain point) and I was elated.

The premise of Americanah, of two high-school sweethearts in Nigeria finding themselves in different continents, one in US the other in UK and their resulting experiences of race, employment, relationships abroad, identity etc has gotten me so excited. I can’t wait to read it.

Adichie's new book: Americanah

But one thing Adichie said encapsulated my feelings, but in the opposite way to how she meant it:

“I like America but it’s not mine and it never will be. I don’t really have a life there. I travel and I speak and I sit in my study trying to write, but in Nigeria I have a life. I go out, I have friends, I feel emotionally invested in what’s happening.”

This. This is how I feel, but about the UK. I like Nigeria but it’s not mine. Alas, dear Adichie, this is where we disagree. Where Nigeria is home for you and the West is a sojourn, I feel the opposite. But we’re still related you and I. We still share an understanding of the world and an appreciation of the important things that make us African women in a globalised world. I love your audacity to write about what’s real to you, not what will bring you money. You speak for all of us and say it with maturity and knowing and humour and power.

Long may your pen continue to write. We may have lost Achebe, the father of African writing but we still have you, a daughter of today’s Africa who we can claim for ourselves. Write and write until you can write no more, because for every word you write there are many like me who devour them with relish.

Perhaps one day I will overcome my innate Fulani shyness and come face to face with you. I might cry, I might laugh, I might stare at you motionless and remain mute, coming off as aloof when inside I’m dancing. But whether I meet you in person or not, I will continue to meet you in your books.

Americanah here I come!

UPDATE

I've now read Americanah, and it is all I expected and so much more. I absolutely loved it! My review will be up soon once I've had time to fully digest it and formulate a worthy articulation of its brilliance and particular resonance with me on so many levels.

A Brutally Honest Account of my Life in Nigeria

Nigeria has to be lived to be believed. It’s no good getting one’s feet wet by dipping it sheepishly into the ocean that is our great country, then running off the minute the water gets too cold or too hot, like many of my friends do who visit Nigeria on holiday and enjoy the food, clubs, parties, family and weddings on offer, then rush back to England before Nigeria gets under their skin and they can’t wash it off anymore.

I’m talking about how I immersed myself into the country head over heels until, thoroughly soaked through and dripping wet with Nigeria clinging to my clothes, I returned to England a full 14 months after first arriving in Abuja, blinking under the lights of Heathrow airport and feeling once more the icy cold of December in London. I got used to seeing white people everywhere again and remembered Nigeria only in flashes of hazy, Technicolor brilliance.

Stories of Injustices Abound

I had to go back to England and after two weeks, return to Nigeria again before I could put into perspective what it means to become a Nigerian.  And it’s no longer all happy stories of self-discovery in the Motherland and chin-chin and smiling Fulanis. It’s a collage of sweaty nights, mosquitoes, noisy traffic where horns blare each and every second and paying N400 for a DVD that others in the know pay N100 for. It’s a mixture of the freedom of not having to pay to park everywhere you go, sweet, gorgeous treats like Choco-milo and Fura da Nono and the immediate fascination you encounter simply because you’re British, all mixed with the agony of reading about a man imprisoned for three years for stealing a goat whilst the man responsible for stealing N32 billion worth of pensioner’s money got away with a N750,000 fine. 

 Former Pension boss John Yusufu, who stole N27 billion from Nigeria's Pension Fund 

Or hearing about a pregnant woman who died in front of watching nurses who refused to help because the woman’s husband didn’t have enough money to pay for her treatment. Or a colleague telling me how she got into a taxi, was harassed by the men inside who snatched her handbag and pushed her out of the moving vehicle. Or the gas explosion near my house caused by the same gas canisters used for cooking that friends of mine use. Or the parents who lost all their five children in a fire as neighbours struggled to help because the fire service were not available. Or the dozens of dead bodies found floating in a river one day, and the lack of forensics or police might meant that no one knows who they were or how or why they died.

The daily injustices, unnecessary deaths and unfair suffering those around me endure that is in stark contrast with the 20 houses and millions of naira worth of cars owned by just one person is enough to make me want to grab my red passport and board the next flight back to civilisation. But yet I stay.

Nigeria for me was a challenge, a lesson in survival, a desire to see what all my education and work experience will get me in my own country, and a longing to live in a society where I’m not a second-class citizen simply because of the colour of my skin.

My Eyes Are Open

But there are times when I've hated the very people I was a few months ago delighted to be among. It’s only in Nigeria that I’ve seen the pure wickedness one man can have for another, and the ravenous greed that drives men to steal money allocated for schools, which forces young students to take their lessons under a tree, defecate in the open and sit six to a bench in the pursuit of an education that in the end will get them nowhere unless they have a relative in high places that can give them a job when they graduate.

Nigeria has opened my eyes to the worst of humanity, and sometimes I’m appalled to call it my country. But as it is for other Nigerians, the national pride and hope for better sits alongside my repulsion at what my fellow countrymen are capable of.

The young men hawking dried fish, newspapers, puppies (yes puppies), milk and mops in traffic for hours under the hot sun has become an everyday sight now; I barely bat an eyelid. Recently though, I saw a boy whose entire jaw was jutting out of his mouth so that his face was unnaturally elongated downwards...he was weaving in and out of traffic begging along with his chaperone. Another time I saw a little girl, naked except for her underwear, with a huge tumour on her back. I was so angry my eyes turned red. Angry that we the motorists had to be subjected to the sight of such deformity, angry that there was nothing for her to do but beg, angry that her ‘chaperone’ left her to walk about in the sun almost naked, and angry that such a horrible thing was happening.

All this and worse Nigerians have to see and yet somehow continue our day. I constantly have to ask, to no one in particular, "Why do they let this happen?" and I'm met with shrugged shoulders and shaking heads.

'Runs' Girls and an Ode to a Dog 

Then there is the issue of young girls selling their bodies to the highest bidder, sometimes for as little as a BlackBerry phone, other times for houses, millions and cars given to them by their wealthy benefactors. And you know what? I don’t blame them. Even if they had the brains, if they don’t know the right people they will never get far. So why not use their bodies to get what they want? Virtue is affordable only to the rich, or those from stable societies where you can make it based on merit. But when you grew up dirt poor in a village where you ate only once a day, and you come to Abuja and there are hardly any jobs available, and men are willing to sleep with you in return for wealth, only the best among us would reject that offer.

And, I remember once watching as a dog with dirty, patchy, white fur walked alone around a rubbish dump, no owner, no home, nothing. It had sad eyes and as I watched, for reasons inexplicable to me, I fell in love with it and wanted to take it home. A dog! Not the tiny, long-haired urchins I see every day, but the dog? I watched it for about ten minutes until it ran off, and my heart went out to it and I pitied it and I wrote an ode to it in my mind; wondering where it slept, what it ate, where it was born. Afterwards, I reviewed my behaviour and laughed. Nigeria was getting into my head.

Here everything I’d learnt about fair-play, honesty, humility and politeness had to be thrown out of the window. In Nigeria, up is down and down is up as far as universal standards of behaviour is concerned. If you want something, pretend you don’t otherwise you pay more for it. And you have to be mean to your subordinates so they respect you, because the minute they see you’re nice they disrespect you mercilessly. And never discuss your upcoming successes, because there are many ready to put a spanner in the works. And I’m ashamed to admit it; I’ve also learnt to lie. Because in this upside down society, lies open doors and the truth gets you in trouble.

Nigeria, dear readers, has brought out the villain in me I never even knew was in there.

I’ve also noticed, and it has now begun to exasperate me, how many hours and column inches is devoted to deconstructing ‘The Problem of Nigeria’, where brilliant minds express eloquent ideals and ideas about how to fix the country. Everybody and their mama has a solution for Nigeria, yet here we are. So why do it? All that talk, and trust me, it’s a daily occupation with Nigerians, gets us nowhere.

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly 

I wanted to experience everything in this country. So I rode on a motorcycle (Okada), which is a mode of transport for many who can’t afford taxis, much to the dismay of my friends. No matter how you do it, it remains undignified for a lady to mount a bike, and dismounting it was equally ungraceful. I also rode in a Keke-Napep, visited crowded markets (and I was overcharged every time) and walked through the ramshackle villages in the outskirts of Abuja.

I’ve also stayed in expensive rooms in Transcorp Hilton and Sheraton (smarting at the cost of the privilege and annoyed by the unbridled fawning of hotel staff towards foreigners and the wealthy) and grand houses in Asokoro and visited shockingly extravagant homes in Maitama where each and every piece of furniture was imported from Dubai or America and there were flatscreen TVs in every room including the kitchen. I’ve eaten at expensive restaurants and local Mama Puts. I’ve seen the good, the bad and the ugly, and there is a lot of ugly, and my conclusion is that Nigeria is not for the faint-hearted. It is better experienced the way white people experience it: through the windows of air-conditioned SUVs as it speeds from the airport to a nice hotel, never seeing the dirty underbelly and believing the lies your hosts tell you about how the country is improving.

Like the lies the Nigerian President Goodluck Jonathan told CNN’s Christianne Amanpour during his infamous interview, especially the one about electricity improving.

CNN's Christianne Amanpour interviewing Nigerian President Goodluck Jonathan

It might be improving, but at a snail's pace inconsistent with the billions the country makes in oil. I find many things I enjoy in Nigeria, including the delicious variety of food and treats which suits me fine as I'm a foodie with a sweet tooth, the gregarious humour of the people I meet and work with everyday and the indomitable human spirit to be found in every Nigerian that says, despite the injustices, I will smile. Still, I will rise.

I've met truly delightful people, and many others who are just tainted by their environment who I feel would soar to great heights in countries like the UK where their attributes will be valued.

But Nigerians are also the most patient, most forgiving, most industrious, most animated, most greedy, most wicked, most generous, most desperate and most exasperating people I have ever met. I now have a healthy love-hate relationship with them and with the country. But I wouldn’t swap my experiences here for anything in the world.

Like my brother-in-law told me when I went back to London, “You left England a girl and returned a woman.”

My Updated View of Fulanis Since Being in Nigeria

I had my predictions, presumptions and presuppositions about Fulani people before I came to Nigeria. Now that I’m here, I’m still looking from the outside in, like a long lost daughter peering through the window at her family eating dinner inside; they unaware of her desire to join them, she not knowing if entering their world would be a good idea. Would they let her in? Or shoo her away because despite her affiliation, she is forever changed?

But there are a few things I thought about Fulanis whilst in England that now I’m in Abuja I see was wrong or not quite the whole story:

WOMEN’S EDUCATION

Pre-Nigeria: I thought that very few Fulani women were educated up to Masters Level, educated abroad, had PhDs or held any high offices in business or other reputable professions.

Post-Nigeria: I’ve seen, met and read about many educated, professional Fulani women; from psychiatrists to editors and most things in between and  with international qualifications, mainly from Arab (majority-Islamic) countries. But these women are the fortunate ones that were born into the upper and political classes.

There are also many local schools specialising in the education of Nomadic Fulani children in Northern Nigeria. From what I saw, all were in deplorable conditions and lacked adequate furnishings or school materials, and the little Fulani children where crowded into tiny rooms. Also, the families of many nomadic Fulani girls refuse to send them to school or allow them to progress past secondary education.

 A (dilapidated) nomadic school in Northern Nigeria

I read a lot of Nigerian newspapers and watch a lot of Nigerian news, and noticed that the Fulani men featured wrote and spoke at a standard far above the average Nigerian (I hope you won’t mistake this for ethnic bias!), and I can say this with authority being a sub-editor for a newspaper here, that the general writing standard in Nigeria, even for editors is shockingly poor, except for the very few bright sparks and many of those were Fulanis.

RESPECT FOR CHRISTIANITY

Pre-Nigeria: Fulanis are fiercely Islamic and disliked Christians, Fulani Christians and converts.

Post-Nigeria: Its true that most Fulanis are devoutly Muslim, but the fact that they originally adhered to traditional religions was noticeable because of the ways a few local Fulani men dressed (in tight, effeminate clothing) unlike other muslims.

Another surprising thing is hearing from the mouths of a couple of high-profile Fulanis about their admiration for the Bible, Jesus and Mary. It seemed that the older and more educated some of them became, the more they were able to appreciate the wisdom in the Bible without allowing it to conflict with their Muslim faith. I dare say that some upper-class Fulanis even admire Christianity and would have explored the faith at a deeper level if not for the societal taboos inherent in questioning Islam and looking too closely at Christianity.

CHILD HERDERS

Pre-Nigeria: Fulani cow herders were almost always grown men.

Post-Nigeria: Fulani herders are usually young children and teenagers and even young girls too grazed cows.

TRIBAL FIGHTING

Pre-Nigeria: The Fulanis were guarded, shy and soft-spoken people who herded mostly in isolation from other tribes

Post-Nigeria: There have been many reports since I’ve been in Nigeria of Fulani herdsmen clashing with neighbouring tribes because of grazing grounds issues. Recently in Benue State, some Idoma youths killed five Fulani men and their cows because the cattle were destroying their crops.  Similar clashes occurred in Jos but this time the Fulanis were the agitators. This unrest between Fulanis and neighbouring tribes was something I was unaware of before I came to Nigeria.

The remains of a Fulani settlement after the Benue State clash

UNCONVENTIONAL FULANIS

Pre-Nigeria: Fulanis were strictly muslim and reserved and avoided scandal or mixing with other tribes.

Post-Nigeria: I should have known that that was a naive view to have. I’ve since been regaled by stories of unusual (to me) Fulani behaviour including the brilliant Fulani university lecturer in his 60s who had never been married and never wanted to marry. Although he was generous, renovating an entire wing of the university with his own money, he stated that he was more successful because he was single. 

Or stories of young Fulani men in Anambra State that hung out in bars, drank beer and spoke pidgin English and Igbo with the best of them. Imagine! And of Fulani women who were less than virtuous and did secret, nefarious deeds behind closed doors, both in Nigeria and in places like Dubai. That one tripped me the most. I always thought our women were bastions of morality (in Nigeria anyway, as I'm aware of ‘loose’ Fulani women in Francophone West African countries).

The moral of the story is that no matter how many books or documentaries you hear about a place, people or thing and how much you think you know, nothing beats first-hand information or seeing the thing for yourself. 

My Sad Thoughts After Fulani Gunmen Kill Hundreds

Being a member of a people, and having your identity linked to a tribe is fantastic when all is well and you are a source of curiosity and a fountain of knowledge and insight to many worldwide, as has been my experience as a rare Fulani blogger.

It is wonderful when I receive compliments, when others tell of their fine memories and experiences of my people, and when Fulanis from all around Africa contact me in a show of kinship. I am pleased when people tell me that I am the first Fulani person they have had a conversation with and that they find us fascinating. I am happy when some say that after meeting me, they are convinced that the saying that all my people's women are beautiful is true, and I am thrilled when women remark on how lovely and soft my natural hair is due to my Fulani genes.

I gladly lap up these compliments and hold my head up high, feeling privileged to be part of such a unique heritage.

So what am I to do, when news reports emerged last weekend that 100 Fulani gunmen dressed in army camouflage and bullet-proof vests descended on a number of neighbouring villages in Jos, Nigeria to massacre the unsuspecting inhabitants at dawn in co-ordinated attacks that killed hundreds?

The suspected herdsmen burnt down many houses, and in one Pastor's residence 50 corpses burnt beyond recognition were found as the victims had gathered there to hide from the invading herdsmen, who then surrounded the house and set it on fire, with some gunmen standing at the door shooting down those who tried to escape.

Then, during the mass funeral of some of the victims attended by lots of people including senators, the gunmen returned and opened fire on the mourners, killing two of the senators and many others. Everyone fled, leaving over 100 corpses unburied.

Mass burials following the gun attacks in Jos

What am I to do with the outrage, shame, anger, disbelief, pain and embarrassment I feel upon hearing these reports? Whether the perpetrators where Fulani or not, it is still widely believed, reported and repeated - by all Nigerians from Politicians making heartfelt speeches in the National Assembly of outrage imploring the President to do something about these terrorists, to street traders that shake their heads in disgust - that they were.

Even at my office, discussions inevitably turned to these atrocities and my colleagues voiced their anger and despair at the callousness of the 'Fulani Gunmen' crimes. And much to my horror (although I expected it) now and again someone would turn to me and say "Well, what do you think of your people now?" or "My dear, these are your people o!" or "Do you know why they did this?"

My answer was always "I really don't know what to say. I'm trying to keep a low profile." To which someone scoffed, stating "You keeping a low profile about your Fulaniness is like a homosexual wearing tight, loud clothing trying to keep a low profile at an anti-gay rally."

I got the point. Although no hate was directed at me, my link with the current enemy of the nation was obvious. I kept my head down and felt hot throughout the heated debate that day. I kept praying for the discussion to be over already and hoped that no one would say something along the lines of "All Fulanis are wicked!" or "I hate Fulanis." Thankfully no one did.

At another discussion of the killings with some friends, there were comments thrown around like "these Fulanis are so dangerous" and "Can you believe they can do such a thing? Over what, cows?" I just kept quiet.

Although I wouldn't call what I feel shame, it was certainly embarrassment and sadness. Fulani herdsmen have been known in the past for acts of violence against town-dwellers whose land their cattle grazed on. It was said that the herders allowed their cows to trample on and devour other people's land and crops and got into fierce arguments when challenged. It was also said that if you mistakenly kill one of their cows they would exact terrible revenge on you, and often tried to claim land that wasn't theirs.

But now the Fulanis will be known  for something exceptionally worse: mass murder. Some even call the coordinated attacks in Jos genocide, as it affected villages inhabited by a particular tribe.

Whoa.

The Fulani Gunmen were eventually linked to Boko Haram, the Islamic sect that had been terrorising much of Northern Nigeria. However, some say that the gunmen, and indeed many Boko Haram members, are not Nigerians at all but men from Niger and other surrounding African countries who were recruited into Boko Haram.

I don't know.

All I know is that if it indeed was Fulani men that did this, then they have no only sullied the reputation of a whole tribe but also added to the current instability and fear that others have of Nigeria. They are helping to make our country a no-go area and are making one of the more beautiful parts of Nigeria - Jos- a nightmare for its inhabitants, who now have to endure crippling curfews, blocked roads and military check-points everywhere. They have also created a whole load of widows and orphans.

Following these recent atrocities, I'm tempted to keep a low-profile. I never went around boasting about my heritage in the first place, but until all this blows over, I will no longer be so happy to say that I am Fulani.

Nigerian Politics vs British Politics

I'd heard a lot about Nigerian politics and politicians before I arrived in Abuja, and unfortunately, not much of it was praiseworthy. But now I'm here, it's not all as bad as it seems. Nigerian politicians can be very personable, generous and ingenious.

Here's an informal comparison between Politics in Nigeria with Politics in the UK.

Motives for Entering Politics
UK: To make an impact in your country or constituency; to pass a bill you have a passion for; to make your family proud; it's a feasible progression of your law/business/media career; you were inspired by another politician when you were younger; it's one of five traditional careers that the alumni at your prestigious school (Eton, Oxford, Cambridge) are groomed for or because you have a burning desire to be a notable Briton.


Nigeria: Money! There's big bucks to be made from being a politician in Nigeria. It's like winning the jackpot, all at once the nation's oil wealth becomes your own personal bank account for you to use, distribute and appropriate as you see fit. If money is not your motive, good for you, but you and me and the whole nation knows you'll 'chop' (enjoy) plenty of it anyway, so go ahead!

Public Service

UK: Politicians are held highly accountable for their service. You may email, call, text, Facebook  or visit your MP if and when you have a particular issue they are obliged to help you, and taking care of their constituency facilities, roads, libraries etc goes without saying. MPs have resigned for inefficiencies and wrongful practices, and politicians are very mindful not to get a bad reputation in the media. 

Nigeria: The voting of politicians into power is shrouded in so much raised eyebrows and kissed teeth that there's little trust in the elected officials. When a politician builds a road, sanitises an area or improves a school, he is celebrated, like Lagos Governor Babatunde Fashola, whose positive works in Lagos have garnered him great praise in Nigeria. But in the UK he would just be doing his job. 

Lagos Governor Babatunde Fashola: Nigerians sing his praises, but he's just doing his job

Extra-Curricular Businesses

UK: This is frowned upon, especially when it's very lucrative. You can raise money for charity, but huge profits for yourself is questionable. I watched an investigative documentary once that exposed the money-making practices of some politicians, whereby they were on the boards of private companies and were paid for consultancy services whilst also employed as an MP. It probably happens a lot in private, but it's not something MPs talk about or want citizens and the media to find out about.

Nigeria: I've heard of MPs receiving oil wells as their personal investments, dashing (giving) their children oil wells and securing lucrative contracts worth billions of Naira for themselves and their people. This is not so much frowned upon as expected. And the penalties and consequences for such acts are almost non-existent so that it happens openly.

Expectations

UK: You're expected to be respectable and effective, avoid scandal and leave office with your reputation intact. If you do encounter disgrace, you resign, and although you'll probably get another lucrative job, your scandal will limit your effectiveness. No-one expects money to flow from you because an MP isn't paid that much and flashing the cash is not the way the British do things.

Nigerians: You are expected to give money, cars, homes and contracts to your family, friends and kin. In fact, when you are elected or appointed, those around you rejoice because they're getting ready to enjoy your expensive gifts, and there'll be a line outside your house every morning from people coming to receive jobs and other gifts from you. In a way, the pressure from family encourages the siphoning of public funds so you'll be seen as generous and taking care of your own.

Travel to Work

UK: Taxi, Tube or private car (but don't own more than one, else you'll be judged extravagant, e.g. John Prescott, who was taunted and nicknamed 'Two Jags' for daring to own two Jaguars) I remember once waiting for the bus at Willesden Green in London and turning around to see ex-London Mayor Ken Livingstone behind me, also waiting for the bus, and current Prime Minister David Cameron used to ride a bicycle to work.

British Prime Minister David Cameron proudly cycling to work in London

Nigeria: In Abuja I've seen motorcades complete with a bullet-proof SUV-type car with tinted wondows led by two official motorcycles with their sirens on as they cleared traffic, and other cars parked on the side to allow them to pass. I thought it was the president himself but alas, it was only a senator. Politicians can have up to 12 top-of-the-range cars without anyone batting an eyelid and they always travel first class.

Houses

UK: The Expenses Scandal was a huge political expose in the UK a few years back when the media revealed that many MPs charged their various expenses - from taxi journeys to house rent - to their expenses account, which wasn't exactly illegal but scandalous nonetheless and, according to the British media, revealed the excesses MPs enjoyed at taxpayers' expense. I remember some MPs were vilified for owning houses in the country but renting flats in London charged to their expenses, and those that owned more than one house were publicly shamed for being out of touch with their not-so-wealthy constituents.

Nigeria: Multiple huge houses in wealthy areas like Maitama in Abuja are routinely built and houses in wealthy areas abroad bought by Nigerian politicians, and many also construct lavish residences in their village of origin, so that in some under-developed hamlet in deepest Nigeria a huge mansion owned by a politician will be surrounded by small, ramshackle houses of the other villagers. And many of the politicians rarely spend more than a week in many of their houses, so that they stand empty and useless most of the year.

Dressing
UK: Suits. Just suits. Everybody wears suits. Occasionally you may remove your jacket and be seen with just your shirt and tie, and you can even roll up your sleeves. You also have a selection of different coloured ties to choose from, but on the whole, just wear suits. Women may wear skirt or trouser suits.

The black and white uniformity of British Parliament

Nigeria: Depends on your religion, tribe, taste and personal quirks, so that a roomful of Nigerian politicians is a lesson in individuality. From Babanrigas and Kaftans in a variety of colours, embroidery, materials and styles depending on your tribe or tastes, with accompanying caps (matching or differently coloured, or the traditional red if you're Igbo/Delta) to a large Kaftan-style top and black wide-brimmed hat like our President Goodluck Jonathan, or military uniform/wear. You may also wear suits with different coloured bow-ties or ties. Women also have a variety of both native and western outfits to choose from, accompanied by scarves or geles.You can be as original, expressive or eccentric as you like, but always be smart.

The varying attires of Nigerian Politicians, from top to bottom: Sir Ahmadu Bello, General Ibrahim Babangida, Former President Musa Yar'Adua and current President Goodluck Jonathan

The individualism and varying cultural expressions on display at the Nigerian Senate

Religion in Public
UK: No prayer in public or acknowledgement of religion at all, unless it's during discussions of terrorism, freedom of speech or gay marriage. Ex-British Prime Minister Tony Blair's Press Secretary Alistair Campbell famously said 'We don't do God.' Although David Cameron recently declared that Britain was a Christian country, on the whole Religion and Politics rarely mix.

Nigerian: Both Christian and Muslim prayers are said before any major session in Parliament or major state event. Religion is discussed openly (although not always without tension) and it's an unwritten rule that Nigerian Presidents must alternate on religious lines, so if there's a Christian ruler now, the next ruler should be a Muslim.

Religion in Private
UK: Very private. Only the Queen's church going is documented, but Prime Ministers and other politicians are rarely pictured going to church or mosques or even talk about religion (except famous Catholic MP Ann Widdecombe)

Nigeria: President Goodluck Jonathan was recently shown on TV celebrating his birthday in church, and at one point he sat down whilst everyone else stood up and prayed for him. Other politicians are notable members of various churches and mosques and regularly talk about the importance of their faith in interviews.

Sexual Immorality/Adultery
UK: Absolutely frowned upon: a politician whose sins - whether promiscuity, theft, illegal practises, bribery or violent conduct - becomes public very quickly becomes an out-of-work politician. There was one issue of a male MP whose boyfriend was staying with him at his house, but he didn't reveal this. I can't remember the details, but he had to resign for perjury. Till today his crime is non-existent but the revelation of his secret living arrangements brought him down. When an MP is outed as an adulterer (e.g. John Profumo, who resigned when his affair with a prostitute came to light) his reputation is shot to pieces and endless jokes, innuendoes and media witch-hunts makes committing adultery something you should hide at all costs to protect your job.

John Profumo: Revelations of his affair not only ended his political career but also brought down the then Prime Minister Harold Macmillan

Nigeria: It is public knowledge that many married politicians enjoy the company of young, attractive women, and regularly frequent prominent hotels with said women. Everyone knows it goes on, and I don't think a politician has ever been reprimanded for extra-marital affairs in Nigeria. It's not that adultery is encouraged, but it is tolerated and the media doesn't really concern themselves with it.

Stealing Public Funds
UK: Absolutely discouraged and illegal, and there are firm protocols and guidelines in place to avoid this happening. The possibility of a politician taking what belongs to the public for himself and getting away with it is slim. The Prime Minister has to declare the gifts other visiting heads of state give him and what he gives them, and the gifts should have more historical/sentimental value than monetary value, e.g. an engraved pen. The exchange of money and gifts between politicians and businessmen is seen as bribery and will land said politician in prison.

Nigeria: This is not only a regular occurrence, but an accepted fact. In fact, if you don't collect huge amounts of money whilst in office, your colleagues would mock your lack of ingenuity and your family will criticise you for not being generous.

Nepotism 
UK: Extremely frowned upon, though it happens. If David Cameron's cousin or brother were to receive a political appointment, tongues would start wagging. When ex-Labour spin doctor Alistair Campbell's son was given a top job in government, the whole Labour party was accused of nepotism and a party spokesman had to deny the claims.

Nigeria: Many politicians not only employ their kith and kin to top roles, but they also bless them with lucrative contracts and business deals.

Entry into Politics
UK: The best way into politics is by attending certain top schools (Oxford, Cambridge, Eton, Harrow etc) and by knowing the right people. Money doesn't really play a major role, it's more a matter of class and education, as a commoner can't become an MP just like that. It's a mostly upper/middle class white male profession.

Nigeria: The surest path to politics is being related to or knowing someone already in politics. Education doesn't really play a big part, although a British or American degree is a bonus. A wealthy businessman/professional may also become a politician, but generally the quickest way is through recommendation (God-fatherism) and having lots of money, and someone working as a labourer today can become Governor tomorrow.

Lavish Spending
UK: Frowned upon as vulgar and uncouth. The British upper/middle class (which most politicians are) are not known for their extravagant spending, and any obvious displays of wealth is looked down on. I remember the cruel whispers and snares that accompanied the revelation that Tony Blair holidayed in a house owned by a celebrity.

Nigeria: Yep, this too is expected and tolerated. Everyone knows politicians are very wealthy, and they not only spend their money, the wear it too. The usual status symbols like houses, cars, latest technology, expensive clothes, Rolex watches and foreign holidays/education/homes/healthcare are there for everyone to see. Nigerians may complain about the extravagance of their politicians, but many don't deny that if put in their position they would also 'chop' money.  "Yes, become wealthy" they seem to say, "but at least build a road or two whilst you're up there."

My Ghanaian Adventure: Part 2

So I'm still enjoying life in Ghana (see my first post: My Hausa Adventure in Ghana). And of course, being a curious 'outsider', I've made some interesting observations.

SHOPPING
There are four levels of shopping in Accra:
Street Vendor: Usually a middle-aged woman sitting by the road-side behind a boxed table selling 2 cedi to 10 cedi mobile recharge cards, items of clothing spread out on mats or food like meatpies, small bags of pure water, roasted meat. There's usually a large umbrella attached to the table to protect the vendor from the sun, and the cart and umbrella are usually emblazoned with advertising for a Mobile Phone Network company; either yellow for MTNor red for Airtel or Vodafone.

This is the cheapest way to shop and street vendors can be found along the side of most roads in Accra. The items for sale are cheap enough so haggling is not often necessary, but the quality and cleanliness of items is of a low standard.

One of the MTN Street Vendors

Markets: I visited Makola, a long, busy street consisting of tiny, one-storey, often ramshackle, wooden store fronts next to each other, selling everything from fresh tomatoes to combs. There are also women selling behind tables and men holding their wares as they walk, e.g. a man holding a handful of belts for sale on one hand and phonecards in his other hand who'll come up to you.

Here you haggle. We were awful at haggling and spent way more than we should have on common items, much to the amusement of our Ghanaian friends! The traders can 'spot' a foreigner and they double the price for you, expecting you to halve it if you're smart, then work your way back up until you reach an amicable settlement, e.g. Trader: 10 cedis Me: No, 5 cedis Trader: Nooo, OK, give me 8 cedis. Me: No, 6 (and on and on until you both agree)

Some street sellers selling pure water and plantain chips

Osu Are (Oxford Street): This is the more up-market high street shopping area I described in my previous post. Here the street stalls are larger, the goods better quality and the traders smarter. On sale are mostly touristy items (small carved statuettes, jewellery, African-print bags, African print dresses etc) and ready-to-eat foods from street vendors. There are also more up-market stores and boutiques selling (high-priced) dresses as well as smoothie bars, fast food restaurants, offices, banks and electrical stores.

Men selling their hand-held wares are also plentiful here. One man hand-makes threaded bracelets of your name and colour choice whilst you wait. I was impressed!

The handmade bracelt made by one man in five minutes sharp!

Accra Mall: This is the most expensive place for shopping, but it is also the most picturesque, with swanky stores, supermarkets, restaurants, eateries, juice bars and book stores. There's also an arcade and a cinema on the first floor. Here you can buy Birkenstocks for GHC300 or Kit Kat chocolate from the supermarket for GHC3.99. There are also more foreigners and children and you might even forget you're in Ghana altogether!

PROSTITUTES
On our way to pick a friend up from Accra's Kotoka airport one evening, we stopped by this nice hotel-bar place to pass the time. We walked up the stairs to the open-air bar area where you can look over the high balcony and see the skyline and enjoy the breeze. It was quite nice. Then we noticed a couple of provocatively-dressed Ghanaian ladies sitting with two white men at a table behind us.

"So, are you married?" We overheard one of the ladies asking the portly white Englishman. My English-Ghanaian friend and I looked at each other, then giggled. Then it dawned on us. "Oh my God, are they prostitutes?" My friend asked her Ghanaian boyfriend. "Yeah, this place is known for the 'working girls' that come here" he replied.

"Oh my God!" my friend and I exclaimed, wild-eyed. In England we'd never been in such close proximity with prostitutes before. "Why did you bring us here?!" My friend chastised her boyfriend, who begged her to keep her voice down. "People might thing we're prostitutes too!" We were not amused.

But soon, curiosity got the better of us and we stayed, drinking our drinks and pretending to talk but really eavesdropping on the table behind us, where the 'working girls' sat with their British 'dates' making small talk before they go and...complete their transactions.

A scene from inside the German speaking Taxi driver's car 

One of the many taxis in Accra

TAXI DRIVER
We didn't always have the use of a car so we relied a lot on taxis. The alternative was the buses (tro-tro), but they were small, hot, crammed and often ramshackle, so taxis were really the only way around (Motor bike transport isn't popular in Accra) It wasn't cheap though!

One of our taxi drivers was a small, gentle, elder Ghanaian man (I forgot his name) with a stutter. After guessing I wasn't Ghanaian and thinking I was 'European or African-American' I told him I was British but originally from Northern Nigeria. He then told me he'd lived in three Northern Nigerian states, Lagos, Germany for seven years and all around Ghana.

He spoke Yoruba, Igbo, English, Twi, Ga and German. I was pleasantly surprised. He said he'd once had a German couple in the back of his taxi, and as they never guessed that their lowly Ghanaian driver spoke their language, they talked about how peaceful Ghana was, but how very dirty the people were. At the end of the journey, the driver asked for his fare in German, much to the surprise of the couple! So they tipped him generously.

He also told me how he recently picked up a Nigerian doctor who had told him how he had returned to Lagos after 36 years in America, only to be attacked at gun point by five armed robbers in his house one night who stole everything. They also made him watch them rape his wife and ordered him to applaud their performance afterwards. The very next day, the man packed up his family and moved to Ghana, telling his children never to return to Nigeria. The man's wife later committed suicide.

I was appalled.

The driver said many Nigerians are coming over to Ghana because it is a better alternative, but some have brought armed robberies with them, as well as a smarter, more aggressive way of doing business. As a female, many of the people I meet feel free enough to tell me about their prejudices against Nigerians (although this driver had no hatred for us) but I think if I was a Nigerian man they would be less open.

WEATHER
Hot and humid. I haven't sweated this much since I was last in Africa. Tiny beads of perspiration form on my top lip, along the bridge of my nose and on my forehead. And the heat can weaken you. We only go out early in the morning or after 5pm when the sun isn't so hot. And I've grown at least two shades darker too.

Then there's the rain. When I first heard it, I thought someone was throwing rocks at our roof; it was so loud! It thumped at our windows and was quite fierce. Then the lightning would strike: short and sharp, and the thunder would roll; a long, strong, deep growl that was more menacing than anything I'd heard in the UK. But thankfully it doesn't rain for long, and the sunshine is back soon after.

In the evenings, mosquitoes come out to play, so I rub a nice-smelling cream repellent on my arms and legs. But invisible bugs still feasted well on my skin, leaving welts and small bumps everywhere. For two weeks I itched constantly. It has stopped now though, I think the bugs have moved onto fresher foreign skin.

One of Accra's side roads 

The beach by the side of the road

GHANAIAN TV
I think there are around 10 channels on non-cable TV, and shows I've enjoyed include Ghana's version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire called Who Wants to be Rich as producers couldn't afford to give out a million cedis (this was funny to me!) There's MTV Base Africa playing the latest music, and Channel 1 had some great South African soap/dramas, where the acting is impressive and I've become hooked! The Ghanaian version of University Challenge and Family Fortunes was also interesting.

I noticed that 90% of the news readers and programme presenters 'put on' an accent, whether British or American, which caused great amusement to my friend and I because it mangled their pronunciations and made them sound ridiculous sometimes. This is a problem across Africa, where people feel they have to speak with a foreign accent, and although fellow Africans who know no better may be impressed, actual British or American people (or those with genuine accents) are not fooled. Incidentally, the presenter of Who Wants to be Rich was one of very few presenters who retained a natural, educated-Ghanaian accent which endeared him to us and made him easier to understand.

We've also been watching Nigerian and Ghanaian movies (also a source of much amusement!) as well as Bollywood movies and Latin tele-novellas dubbed with robotic American voices.


Random Things I Also Noticed:

• Ghanaian girls in secondary schools are required to cut their hair really short as part of the uniform (which I think is a shame)
• The gutters on the sides of many roads are potential death traps! I almost fell into one that was missing its cover, and most were made with no covers
• Ghanaian chin-chin (they call it chips) is salty and long whilst Nigerian chin-chin is small and sweet. I prefer Nigerian chin-chin
• Mobile phone companies are a major part of Ghanaian life and business; they sponsor sports and music events, are behind some TV channels, provide traders with their tables (as I described above) and the majority of the shop signs in the area I'm staying were provided by a phone company, which gave a uniformity to their colours and appearance
• In the UK, people stare at you, then turn away immediately when you meet their gaze. In Ghana, people stare at you and continue staring at you even when you meet their gaze. They look until they're satisfied
• When you buy glass bottled drinks, they charge a deposit for the bottle and when you bring it back you get your money back. They can also refill your own bottles
• I've never felt fear or felt threatened on the streets of Ghana. My friend and I walked home in the dark at around 9pm one day and we never felt nervous
• Airtel's Blackberry messenger service is terrible! I should have bought an MTN sim-card