The Difference Between Hausas and Fulanis

The Hausas and the Fulanis are two distinct ethnic groups found in Northern Nigeria, but they have become closely intertwined in the minds of Nigerians and the rest of the world. Hausa/Fulani is now a single term used to describe the Muslims that live in the North and form one of the three main ethnic groups in the country along with Yorubas and Igbos.

Fulani Girl from Sokoto, Nigeria

It is true that the two tribes are very similar: both share a strong Islamic identity and certain customs including the Hausa language, and both groups have intermarried over centuries to almost become one.

But the Fulanis are sometimes loathe to be grouped together with the Hausas because of pride in their own distinct and distinguished history.

Fulani Father and Child from Kaduna, Nigeria

The fact that it was the Fulanis (also known as Fulbe, Puel or Fula) who brought Islam by force to the pagan/animist Hausa states in Nigeria centuries ago also gives them a sense of religious superiority. Also, the Fulanis throughout history have held leadership roles in the various Hausa communities they settled into, working as judges, teachers, emirs and clerics.

These leadership positions continue today as most Northern presidents and heads of state in Nigeria including Umaru Yar'Adua (President from 2007 - 2010), Sir Abubakara Tafewa Balewa (Nigeria's first Prime Minister), Shehu Shagari (President 1979 - 1983) and Aliko Dangote (Richest Black Man in the World) are of Fulani descent.

The Fulani's traditional nomadic lifestyle of roaming the countryside in search of pasture also distinguishes them from the 'settled' Hausas who live in towns, although most Fulanis are now settled in towns. Fulanis also derive much of their foods like Fura da Nono (Millet cakes and yoghurt) and Main Shanu (savoury butter) from their cattle, unlike the Hausas.

Both Fulanis and Hausa women wear henna dye on their hands and men and women from both tribes in rural areas often have dark facial tattoos, but Fulani men traditionally wear wide-brimmed straw hats with a pointed top, loose kaftan and shorts/trousers and carry sticks when herding; whilst the women's traditional costume is a white midriff-exposing top and matching wrapper with pastel coloured patterns. But like Hausa women, they ordinarily dress modestly in headscarves, covered tops and wrappers made using African print material.

A Fulani herdsman wearing a pointed straw hat, loose kaftan and stick

Fulani woman wearing the traditional white costume

Fulani girl wearing everyday clothing of African print material 

Fulanis also have their own language, Fulfude, which is very different from Hausa. However the Hausa language is commonly spoken by many Fulanis in Nigeria, and for some Hausa has replaced Fulfude as their mother-tongue.

Also, the two tribes have different histories.

The origin of the Fulanis, the largest nomad/pastoralist group in Africa, is obscure, but many link them back to Mauritania due to their similarities in appearance, existence of a Fulfude speaking minority there and the possibility of a North-Western origin of Fulani migration. From the 14th century they spread from Senegal into over 20 countries in Western Africa including Guinea, Gambia and Sudan.

Hausa Woman from Kebbi, Nigeria

The historic Hausa kingdoms, as legend has it, was formed when a Prince from Baghdad named Bayajidda, married a Princess from Borno, Nigeria. His seven sons born of the Princess formed seven 'legitimate' Hausa states in Nigeria today which include Kano, Katsina and Zaria, whilst Bayajidda's seven sons by his concubine formed seven 'illegitimate states,' also known as Banza Bakwai (Hausa word meaning 'Bastard Seven') and included Kebbi, Gwari, Nupe and Illorin.

Hausa Father and Son from Kebbi, Nigeria

The Hausa kingdoms were later defeated by the Fulani Muslims who had arrived into Nigeria and, forming a kinship with the Hausas, settled amongst them. But dissatisfied with the pagan Hausa leaders that ruled them, the educated and radical Fulanis undertook various religious wars or jihads in order to install an Islamic leadership.

One such jihad was led by Usman dan Fodio in 1804 and resulted in the formation of Sokoto Caliphate which became a powerful empire in Northern Nigeria. The Fulanis ruled over this booming economic, military and scholarly kingdom that traded successfully with the rest of the world.

Fulani writer and leader Usman da Fodio (1754 - 1817)

After the fall of the Sokoto Caliphate as a result of British invasion, the Fulanis continued to intermarry and live together with the Hausas. But they often maintained a cultural distinction noted in their stricter adherence to Islam and leadership positions as part of the elite of Northern Nigeria, as well as physical distinctions noted in their lighter skin and slimmer features. This together with an awareness of their history of conquest and rulership often gives rise to feelings of superiority by the Fulanis over the Hausas.

The Little Fulani Cowgirl and other Abuja stories

So I'm still living and working in Abuja, and below I've documented four unique experiences with what some might call 'the lowly' amongst us. In so doing I hope not to make the same mistake US singer Brandy did, of only documenting street kids on dirt-roads from her visit last year to Lagos, and calling it 'Beautiful Africa.' 

Although I joined others in condemning her pictures - what about the fancy hotels, boutiques and plush cars she experienced? Why only show the (overused, clichéd) poverty of Africa? - I now understand her. Coming from her world, the naked poverty in Nigeria grabbed her attention and touched her more than the wealth in the country. She's familiar with luxury hotels and tarred roads, so the unfamiliar is what stood out for her.

So in these stories, which all occurred last year, I describe my encounters with people I'm not used to, often watch from afar and who I'm not able to know very well due to our different stations in life.

The Little Fulani Cowgirl

You could just make out the top of her shaggy head amidst the wide, white flanks of the cows gathered around her. Then she comes into view: a little Fulani girl barely seven years old, with dirt-brown curly hair plaited haphazardly, and the tiny stray strands that escaped forming a fuzzy halo around her little head.

Wearing a blue, oversized T-shirt that reached down past her knees, her thin legs ended in a pair of adult slippers encasing tiny feet caked in the brown dust of the earth that she had no doubt been traversing for hours already that afternoon.

She grasped in her little hand a thin but sturdy stick that was twice her height, which she used as an aid to edge her way past the slow-footed cows and around the side of the road. Now and then she also used the stick to whack a fidgety cow to stop it from heading towards the cars that were waiting for the herd to cross, a scene which occurs periodically on this residential road.

Unafraid, accomplished and proud, the little cowgirl wore a look of experienced calm and maintained an assurance that refused to be intimidated by the animals that were bigger than her or the motorists growing impatient around her.

She wasn’t perturbed by the heat of the sun, the dusty road or the long hilly hike ahead of her, and as I looked she shouted out to the herd with a shrill, tiny voice, and the animals immediately heeded their little mistress and trooped faster past the waiting cars.
 

She manoeuvred the animals with grace under fire; they trusted her and she understood them. And as she walked behind the last cow crossing, our eyes met and she looked at me for a fraction of a second with cool, haughty eyes betraying little of the innocence no doubt still within.

Here was a little girl in charge of her family’s wealth and pride, single-handedly dealing with the hostilities of the city and the terrain, armed with only a stick and her fierce resolve. She knows the roads, the routes, the hills and the valleys, she probably also knew each cow by name.

Soon she will give up herding and settle into the sedentary life of a wife and mother, but for now it was just her and her herd against the world, roaming wild and free and fearless.

As the proud little cowgirl walked off into the distance with her troop of 15 or so cows trudging obediently behind her, I marvelled at her control and confidence.

She was born to do this.

The Barefooted Prisoner

A barefooted, small-boned man with scraggly hair, a T-shirt full of holes and a hound-dog expression walked up to us one warm weekday evening as we stood in front of a Tapas Bar near the Gudu bypass.

He came to us hesitantly, as if he was a pigeon and we were holding out bread in our palms. We tried to ignore him at first, but the weight of sorrow in his eyes and his obvious vulnerability made us forego our concern that he was a scam-artist begging for money. Like the well-dressed, middle-aged man who alighted from a Jeep and asked us for N10, 000 to pay for his daughter’s medical bills. It was only after we gave him what we could and he drove off that it dawned on us that we’d been swindled.

But this small man was different. He kept scratching himself slowly all over as he told us, in a barely-audible voice, his story. Big tears dropped from his eyes, which he wiped with his shoulder in a move that was so pitiful it was innocent.

Back in Taraba State, he said, he and a group of friends were walking through a market when there was a commotion: someone had been stabbed in a fight. He helped eight others to carry the victim to the hospital, and whilst there the victim died and despite their protests, the police arrested them for murder. They were thrown into jail and later ferried to Kuje Prison in Abuja to complete their sentence. That was nine years ago. He was just released today and wanted to return to his wife and children in Taraba but didn’t know where to go or where to start.

We stared at him in silence. Was this for real? Was this poor man’s life just taken away from him for an instinctual act of kindness?

He stared at the floor whilst we consulted amongst ourselves, now and then shooting more questions at him to ascertain the veracity of his tale. He didn’t even ask for money, he just told his story and kept quiet, waiting for us to pronounce our judgment on him from on high, just like the judge and the police declared their life-changing judgement on him all those years ago.  

He mentioned that one of the friends had died in prison; they were regularly beaten up and hardly given any food. If ever there was an example of someone whose spirit had been broken, it was him.

We pitied him and gave him some of what we had, and pointed to the direction of cars going towards the park where he can get transportation to Taraba. He took the money with both hands, offered a lengthy thanks with more tears, and walked away slowly; a dejected, confused victim of poverty.

If the rage from the injustice he’s suffered caused him to kill tomorrow, I wouldn’t blame him. The depraved amongst us are made so by others, which is why we are told not to judge, for only God knows the full story. It is a wonder more men don’t turn to violence, when such violence is visited upon them daily.

How Much is an Egg Roll?

There’s an instant pleasure one derives from biting into a warm egg roll, especially when the dark brown pastry surrounding it is both savoury and sweet and crumbles in the mouth. With this yearning in mind, I walked out of the office at lunchtime in search of the eggroll sellers, who carry their cheap but sumptuous wares on their heads to many a labourers’ delight.

It was my lucky day: A teenage girl was passing by with a lidded, translucent plastic bucket on her head. I could just about make out the eggrolls inside. As she walked on, skilfully balancing her load on a head, she didn’t even need to use a hand to hold the bucket in place, such was her hawking experience.

One arm hung playfully by her side as the other held a small plastic carrier bag hooked to her wrist, no doubt containing her takings for the day’s sales so far. She walked with an air of confident abandon: “I don’t need to go to school,” she seemed to be saying. “The sun and the breeze and the open road are my education. I know these streets like the back of my hand.” 

I made short hissing sounds to get her attention, and when she heard, she turned around and walked towards me. As she reached me, she brought down her bucket and opened it. “Good afternoon madam” she said in a sing-song voice. I greeted her and looked inside her pail. There were eggrolls alright, bigger than average and the rough unevenness of the dark-brown dough glistening with grease testified to the fact that the dough will be sufficiently crunchy. But apart from the rounded eggrolls, there were elongated dough of the same colour, moulded into fat, short tubes. 

“What are those?” I asked, pointing at one.

“Fish roll” she replied, her inanimate eyes wondering away and resting on the woman walking by.

They look interesting, I thought. “Give me one eggroll and one fish roll” I said, looking forward to biting into one of the moist flour-casing and tasting bits of fish instead of a hard-boiled egg.

The girl took out one small black carrier bag from the bag hooked unto her wrist, spread it out on her cupped hand and used it to scoop up the delicacies, wrapping the bag up around them.

“How much?” I asked.

“N200”

I looked back at the snacks in the bag. “Remove the fish one” I said. Knowing that the price of eggrolls ranged from N50 to N80 depending on where you bought them, N200 for two – one of which was a flavour unknown to me – was too much. Plus I couldn’t guarantee that these eggrolls will taste good. Looks can be deceiving. And the freshness of the products, now that it was already 2:30pm and there were only a few left in the bucket was uncertain. Wouldn’t all the oil seep down to the last remaining rolls, making them soggy from the extra grease and the accumulated heat-turned-sweat from the sun?

The doubts raised by the extra N120 was immense. Did my clothes or the fatness of my purse fool this girl into thinking it was full or money? Or did the wholesale price of flour and eggs suddenly increase in Abuja so that it translated into an extra N20 charge for an eggroll? 

But I didn’t say anything. I paid with N500, and saw that I collected all her change: eight N50 notes. I wondered where the rest of her money was. But the abundance of N50s proved to me that indeed the rolls did retail at half the price. The young swindler was smart. “Thank you ma” she said, as she heaved the bucket back unto her head.

Those three words turned my displeasure into a shrug. Back at the office, I bit into the roll. It was still fresh and uncluttered by too much grease. My N100 was well spent.

My Maiguard is Getting Married

Our maiguard has one of those faces that is neither old nor young; he could be 18, he could be 38. Small in stature and speaking a dialect of Hausa that baffled us, Aminu is a good, if absent-minded guard.

I remember when he first arrived from Zaria straight to our house; he was hunched and hesitant, with overgrown hair and a furtive, haunted look in his eyes. He used to grunt to alert you to his presence, and he had a permanent scowl on his face. But after a few months with us, he became more self-assured, got regular hair-cuts, wore the clothes we gave him with pride and stood taller. He even replaced his grunts with words; it was like seeing the blossoming of a flower. Soon he started cooking for himself and made friends with the other guards in the estate, and he smiled and laughed more. Even his brand of Hausa became more familiar to us.

Yet he remained our lowly, trust-worthy Maiguard, until he told us his intentions to return to his native Zaria to get married. I was surprised. So Aminu, this young (or old, we still couldn’t ascertain his actual age-range) man who opens and closes our gate, weeds the yard, washes the cars and does other necessary work around the house for which we paid him an agreeable amount, wanted to get married?

He said that the girl had already been chosen for him by his family; she was the sister of a girl he had been dating previously, but that girl had been given out in marriage to another man when Aminu came to Abuja, so his family had accepted her sister for him.

I remember entering his messy Maiguard house to drop something for him, and on the floor was a picture of a light-skinned young woman wrapped in a red veil from head to toe. She was lying down on her side and stared blankly at the camera. So when Aminu said he’d never met his bride-to-be but had been sent her picture, my mind recalled the girl in red.

She was rather pretty, I thought. Will she be pleased with Aminu, a diminutive man/boy with a semi-permanent scowl? He told us her bride-price was N70, 000 and he’d been saving up for months for her. I wondered if N70, 000 was considered the price for a top-drawer maiden in rural Zaria.

Last week, Aminu left to get married, I could sense his excitement as he said farewell to us. But he’ll come back soon, as his family have advised him to return to Abuja after marriage because there are no jobs in their community. But he won’t be bringing his wife with him. So after a few days in Zaria, during which time he would not only meet his bride for the first time, but would have married her, he would bid farewell to his life-partner for a few months until he returned to Zaria again. Aminu will then return to us a married man.

I wondered if, nine months later, Mrs Aminu would have a baby. Would Aminu still stay on in Abuja? Will he take on more wives? Can he look after a family on his modest Maiguard wages?

All these questions cast my Maiguard in a whole new light.

My Fulani Experience In Nigeria So Far...

In England, people usually got my ethnicity wrong, were surprised when I told them the truth and I had to tell the story of my background so many times. But in Nigeria...it’s the exact same story!

The only difference is that here people sometimes guess I am Fulani thanks to their familiarity with my people and my resemblance to my kin. But the wonder still persist. Here are the top four questions I get asked the most, in no particular order:

“Are you Nigerian?”

“Which state are you from?”

“Is that a Fulani name?” (It’s not)
"Do you speak Fulfude?" (Sadly, I don't)

So even in my own country, I remain a source of fascination regarding my origin. I thought I’d fit right in, no questions needed to be asked, my membership to my tribe would be obvious and my sense of belonging would be complete. Nope.

But a good thing is that, like I said, people are obviously more familiar with Fulanis in Nigeria than in England. Many Southerners, upon finding out which town/village I come from, tell me stories of their experiences with the town either through doing their NYSC Youth Service there or through business, and tell me how nice the place is. I then tell them I've never been there but would love to go. I've also met non-Fulanis from my state which was interesting.

People also have their own stereotypes and notions of us. I’ve been told by various people that Fulanis are:

1. Very intelligent, especially when educated

2. Never forgive

3. Calm, gentle and polite

4. Shy

5. Are loyal friends

6. Are disliked by some Southerners for their violence
7. Are beautiful and graceful
8. Are a mystery

I’ve met many more Fulanis in the few months I’ve been in Abuja than I did in all my life in the UK, and they fall into three categories:

Older Rich Fulanis: Who are often very nice, informative and interested in my upbringing and background, although I do feel odd and almost apologetic about my appearance when I'm with them, in that they're used to Fulani women covered up from head to toe, and here I am in a suit/jeans/dress.

Young Fulani Ladies and Gentlemen: I've met them at parties, weddings and through friends. The wealthy Muslims are very nice, but stick together and I don't really fit in there with them. The few Christians I've met (who are often bi-ethnic: one parent Fulani and the other from another tribe) are more open, but I normally hang out with Northern, Hausa speaking Christians from a variety of tribes I'd never heard of before coming to Abuja. 

Poor Fulanis: Usually herding cattle numbering from 10 cows to 200. Sometimes the cattle would walk leisurely across the road and delay cars. I see them as I drive past and I've noticed that 80% of the time, the herders are kids no more than 16 years old, both male and female. (Below are pictures of some Fulanis living near my area, taken by a photography colleague)

A Family of Fulani women and children

 A Fulani-designed Calabash

 

 A little boy outside his hut

I once saw a little Fulani girl-herder, no more than 5 years old. She had an ashy face, over-sized slippers on her tiny feet and her clothes hung off her. She was confidently beating the cow closest to her with a long stick so it would move faster. I stared at her from the car window and she looked back at me with both the innocence of a child and the confidence of a skilled herder.

I kick myself every time I think about her for not taking a picture, but then again, somehow I'm glad I didn't because that would be rude, an invasion of her privacy. I would feel like a voyeuristic Westerner, there to gawp at and flash a camera at the poor child as she went about her business, so that she would become a commodity for others to stare at and pity. But for economics and the grace of God, that little girl could have been me.

I've also seen Fulani teenage girls; long, slender and graceful, carrying a tray of some local food or other on their heads for sale. I've also seen the men going about their business. I often make the mistake of confusing Kanuri people for Fulanis because they look very similar in appearance.

Kanuri Women

I also once saw a strange sight: two tall, slender Fulani men wearing tight, colourful, too-short trousers, colourful tops and what seemed like make-up on their faces. Their hair was long and plaited and they stood at the side of the road, totally oblivious and unself-conscious about their vibrant appearance. I was shocked! I was then told that that's how some young Fulani men dress. Hmmm....

I've never wished I spoke Fulfude more than I do now I'm in Abuja. Because here Hausa is no longer a novelty as literally everybody in Abuja speaks it, even the Yorubas and Ibos. They speak it better than me  because it's the lingua-franca here, just like Yoruba is the lingua-franca in Lagos. Of course the non-native Hausas speak it with a heavy accent, but they're fluent nonetheless. So to speak Fulfude would not only be a source of pride, but give me an edge over the Hausa speakers. 

I blame my parents. My paternal grandmother only spoke Fulfude, not even Hausa, but we didn't visit her enough and she's long gone, and my parents' generation mostly speak Hausa.

So here I am, a non-Fulfude speaking Fulani who's never been to her town or village. I must be the least Fulani Fulani in the history of Fulanidom.

I recently heard a great speech from a Nigerian elder statesman Alhaji Maitama Sule, who is a former politician revered for his inspirational oratory, eloquence and wisdom. He encouraged Nigerian politicians to become more like the Fulani herdsman, imploring them to adopt many of the characteristics of the herder. He then explained how each herder knew each of their cows by name, and when each cow is called by its name, it separates itself from the others and dutifully walks towards the herder. The cows also understand and obey instructions in Fulfude.

The herdsman sleeps out in the open with the cows, eats when they eat and rests when they rest, and if a cow is in danger, he risks his life to ensure their safety. His purpose in life is to ensure his cattle's well-being and because he would lay down his life for them, they follow him wherever he goes because they trust him and know he has their best interests at heart.

Alhaji Sule also said that in the holy books, all the great leaders and prophets were herdsmen.

The strength of the bond between the herder and his cattle was eye-opening for me, and I gained a higher level of respect for him. The cows are not just their livelihood and symbol of wealth, but also their responsibility and almost like their children.

Alhaji Sule's desire for Nigerian politicians to emulate the lowly Fulani herdsman as the epitome of servant-leadership was a vivid and compelling argument.

I was proud.

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

My Hausa Adventure in Ghana

I haven’t published a blog post for a while because I am currently in Accra, Ghana, getting used to being back on African soil, not having to wear coats and boots and dealing in Cedis and Pesewas, instead of Pounds and Pence.

There are more Hausa people in Ghana than I thought. The main languages here are Twi, Ga, Ewe and English, but a sizable minority speak Hausa, so much so that when calling the Airtel mobile network to register my new Ghana SIM-card for my phone, the automated message said “Press 1 for English, Press Two for Twi, Press Three for Hausa.”

The house I stayed in in Ghana

I’ve also met some Hausa people in my two weeks since arriving in Ghana. The first was a roast meat seller-man in Osu, Ghana’s Oxford Street. My friends and I were bargaining for a good price on the spicy delicacy (the NHS nurse in London where I got my ‘African holiday injections’ told me to stay away from street food, but it’s oh so delicious!) the meat-seller looked Hausa so I tried my luck and asked “Ka na jin Hausa?" (Do you understand Hausa?)”

He laughed and nodded. I wondered if he laughed because my sentence composition was a bit off. Anyway, my friends, thrilled that they may get a good price on the meats because I could bargain in the man’s language, encouraged me to haggle with him. So I asked for tasters, softer meats and a good price. “Wuni irin nama ne wanan?" (What kind of meat is this?)” I asked. “Shanu (Cow)” he replied. He then said something along the lines of “It’s tough meat, but here are some soft pieces for you”, but he said it so quickly that I had to ask him to repeat it twice. I’ll give myself 5 out of 10 for that Hausa transaction.

Then we continued walking along Osu until a stall selling beautiful African print dresses caught my eye. The stall-owner was also Hausa and he was sweet as he patiently responded to my Hausa-English-Pidgin hybrid (“A-a, zan baka goma-sha-biyu mana, ko? That’s fair now, haba. Wanan riga ya yi kyau, ama ya yi tsada!") He ended up giving me a good price for a beautiful blue African-print strapless dress.

It felt good: here I was, speaking my Mother-tongue in the Motherland! I brimmed with pride.

The lady that did my hair (Back-length ‘pick and drop’ style for those that know) was also Hausa. She’d started plaiting when she received a call and had a brief Hausa conversation. So I told her that I understood and she told me she was originally from a Hausa-speaking tribe in Burkina Faso but her family had settled in Ghana. She also spoke Twi, Ga and English. I quickly realised that most Ghanaians spoke at least two Ghanaian languages as well as English.

Unlike with the meat-seller, I struggled a little to understand her accent but we still had a short conversation before reverting back to English. I’ll give myself 7 out of 10 for that exchange.

The next Hausa person I met was a Suya-Seller near our house (Suya is another type of meat delicacy seasoned with tasty spices). The man’s ‘office’ consisted of him standing in front of a rudimentary barbecue-cum-work-top with a few red onions, spices in a bag, knives, skewers, the grill and a notebook from which he tore out a page to wrap the suya-meat in for customers. We went up to him and I asked again “Ka na jin Hausa?” This time this man, who was older and stricter than the other meat-seller, responded “A-a, ni Bahaushe ne! (I don’t just speak it, I am a Hausa man.)” Implying that anyone can speak Hausa, but he in fact was an original Hausa man.

This transaction was less fun, as he was less patient with me. I got the impression he saw me as a silly British girl trying to practice Hausa for fun when he was trying to earn a living. The suya meat was delicious though.

Ghana has been fun so far, even though my first experience of the country was a bad one: getting off the plane, we had to walk down stairs and I was lugging my heavy hand-luggage with me, and despite there being around five stewards, security men etc around, they all watched as I hauled the suitcase down the stairs by myself, until with just three steps to go, one of the younger men helped me carry it down. I was not impressed. In the UK the men would surely have helped.

An elder Ghanaian woman who had seen me struggling said I should have asked for help. “But I thought they would offer” I sulked. “There are no gentlemen like that in Africa anymore o!” She said, and laughed.

But since then Ghana has redeemed itself. The people are very friendly and easy-going, the weather is hot but not too harsh and although Accra is not as swanky or architecturally-developed as Abuja, its peaceful, humble nature won me over.

I enjoyed the open-air gardens: sitting sipping Malta or Alvaro soft drinks in the cool night breeze as thumping (often Nigerian) High/Hip Life music blasted from the speakers and one or two tipsy Ghanaians Makosaed in the dark; the beach-front hotels and sandy/rocky beaches (sometimes the sea was just yards from traffic) the markets and the shopping malls, where we saw lights and cameras inside one particular jewellery store as they filmed a scene for a Ghanaian movie, which saw the young actress beaming as she swept her fabulous weave away from her neck to allow her Romeo to fasten an expensive- looking necklace to it.

One of the beaches we visited

I’m also enjoying the one Cedi food stuffs from the street sellers. I've stayed away from the small Pure Water bags and only drink from sealed plastic bottles, but so far I’ve bought chin-chin, roasted pork, meat and fish pies, Kelewele (seasoned plantains with groundnuts) and even sweet green apples from a traffic-hawker who cantered to keep up with our slowly-moving car in rush hour as he shoved the fruits wrapped in cling-film through our car window.

But don’t tell the NHS nurse!

My Life as the Only Northerner Amongst Southerners

Because I'm a Christian and Fulanis are Muslims, and because my family never lived amongst other Northerners in the UK, I have grown up surrounded by Yorubas and Igbos. So at the Nigerian event I go to I am the only Northerner present. I am sometimes the first Fulani person many people have ever met.

Being amongst your countrymen yet feeling out of place for being the only one of your ethnicity is an interesting predicament.

Feeling Like an Outsider
No one ever assumes I'm Nigerian, so I'm always self-conscious at a Nigerian gathering. People say I look Jamaican, West Indian, Sierra Leonean, Ethiopian, Cameroonian, Somalian...I've heard it all, except Nigerian. When people question your origin all the time and are surprised when you tell them where you're from, you start to view yourself differently.

Sometimes I feel like declaring my origin the minute I step into a Nigerian event to avoid confusion, or tattoo 'Yes, I am Nigerian too' on my forehead. I often feel like an impostor at these gatherings, and I imagine that some people are thinking "What's that Jamaican girl doing here?"

In a couple of churches I've been to (and I've been to a lot both as a worshipper and a Christian media journalist) the Pastor would tell a Yoruba joke or proverb at the pulpit that everyone laughs or nods at except me; or the choir would sing a popular Yoruba song everyone else would sing along to except me. I've even been to a Nigerian comedy show where comedians told their jokes in pidgin and Yoruba.


The 'Are You Nigerian?' Question
I've been asked the question 'Are you Nigerian?' at least once a week since forever, and at least three Nigerian acquaintances I've known were unaware that I was one of them for many years. They assumed that I was West Indian.

The funny thing is that when people want to decipher my origins by asking my name, hearing my English name doesn't help. They then ask for my surname (because most Nigerians despite an English first name usually have a 'native' surname) and my equally English surname doesn't help either.

Some people who asked me these questions leave it there and I thus retain my ethnic ambiguity in their eyes. The majority just ask outright "Are you Nigerian?"

People Treat Me Differently

In certain situations, people would speak Yoruba or pidgin to everyone else in the group I'm with, then turn to me to translate what they've just said or joke that I probably don't understand (I understand Pidgin and a bit of Yoruba).

Or people are more gentle or nicer to me than they would be to a fellow Nigerian. For instance when I go up to be served food at the buffet table at a wedding reception, some of the ladies serving would describe the details of the yam porridge (asaro) or beans (ewa agoyin) they're serving me, assuming I'm new to these foods (I'm not). Or a Nigerian Auntie we don't know would chastise my Nigerian friend for doing something, but won't chastise me for doing the same thing because she doesn't feel familiar enough with me.

When people don't think I'm 'one of them' they are nicer in a detached, polite way, but this just strengthens the invisible barrier between us. And some only become 'real' with me when they find out I'm Nigerian too.

Changing Accents

A few people will be verbally-jousting in pidgin, but when I join in the conversation they respond in a British accent. Or someone would talk to my friend in a relaxed Nigerian-accent, but talk to me in a forced British accent.

Or my conversation with someone would begin with them 'forming' the Queen's English to me, but after I tell them I'm Nigerian too thinking that this should get them to relax, they continue to form because they're not quite at home with me being Nigerian.

The Fulani Ambassador 

People often ask me to "say something in Hausa" or they say the Hausa words they know and ask for a translation or a response from me. Some ask me if various stereotypes they've heard about Fulanis are true, and when any Hausa-related issue occurs, they want my thoughts on it.

A couple of Southern Aunties who grew up in the North were delighted when they found out I spoke Hausa, and were happy to speak it again with me. It's always lovely when this happens, and the aunties then make sure to always speak to me in Hausa whenever we meet.

Much to my chagrin though, a few people who have a bit of exposure to Fulanis want to show they know a lot about my people and challenge me on some aspect of my culture. For example:

Them: Isn't the Fulani traditional dress a type of lacey material?

Me: No it's a white, cottony top and wrapper combo with pastel colours at the front.

Them: Are you sure? I swear it's a kind of lacey, covered top that kinda flares at the sleeves...

Me: Nope

Them: I don't think so. Are you really sure?

'Nigerian' means Yoruba

I go to events marked as Nigerian - like the Nigerian carnival in London or a Nollywood film premiere, but usually these events are attended by 85% Yoruba, 10% Igbo and 5% other Southerners. There's even a Yoruba festival in the UK. But I've never heard of an event that celebrates Fulani or Northern culture or ever been to a large Hausa or Fulani gathering that involved more than two families. In my UK experience, being Nigerian means being the only Northerner in a room full of Yorubas.

I enjoy being with my people. There's an easiness and familiarity I appreciate when I'm at such events, and a jovial humour and sense of fun and craziness you wouldn't get anywhere. There's also no wedding like a Nigerian wedding (see my Nigerian Wedding vs British Weddings post)

Yet sometimes I feel acutely aware of my difference: I often don't act, know, understand or feel like everyone else in these places, and for all our kinship I might as well be a white person due to their perception of me and my perception of myself.

Seeing Two Sides
For those that carry clues to their origins in their name, appearance or personality, people have already made up their mind about you before they meet you or the minute they meet you. But my apparent ambiguity means I'm able to note how people respond to me before and after they find out where I'm from.

The majority of White People are indifferent when they find out I'm Nigerian. In fact, many don't even ask unless they have a legitimate reason to. Some express mild surprise because they say I didn't act the way they expected Nigerians to act, and a few have 'the look' of negative pre-judgement quickly pass over their eyes but even then, they successfully continue to act normal.

Nigerians are generally guarded or civil with me to begin with, then when they find out, become friendlier and more comfortable around me. They are also very surprised and ask lost of questions; I've had to recount which State in Nigeria my parents come from, the number of years I've lived in the UK and whether I speak Hausa so many times! 

Northerners embrace me and tell me they suspected it when they find out, but on the whole they have no idea I'm Fulani too due to my non-Muslimness.

Other Africans are surprised because they expected me to be a certain way. Some Jamaicans are so sure I'm one of them that they speak Patois to me and feel very comfortable around me, and when they find out I'm Nigerian they are disappointed. 

Life as 'the only Fulani in the village' is interesting to say the least!

Helpful Hausa Words and Translations

Most Nigerians are familiar with some Hausa words. But have you ever wanted to talk to Hausa people or toast a pretty Hausa girl but didn't know how? Well have no fear, your friendly Hausa-speaking Nigerian is here to help.

Below is a list of words and phrases you can use to communicate with (stereo) typical Hausa people. Note the extensive use of a as described in Why I Love the Hausa Language. The pronounciations can be tricky though and a word can have two meanings depending on the stress of a syllable, so good luck!

Talking to a Hausa/Fulani girl
Kin yi kyau walahi! .... You are very pretty!
Me sunan ki? ............. What is your name?
Ina son ki ............. I love you
Baban ki barawo ne, dan ya sata               Your father is a thief cos he stole the stars
wuta daga sama ya sa a idon ki! .............  from the sky and put them in your eyes!
Za ki aure ni? .............. Will you marry me?
Kina son ki je Dubai da ni? ...........  Do you want to come to Dubai with me?
Baban ki yana gida? .................   Is your father at home?               

Fulani girl in traditional Fulani costume

Talking to a Hausa Gateman
You
Menene? .............What is it?
Ka gama? ............. Have you finished?  
Ka tafi ............. You can go (male, replace ka with ki if female)
Ka dawo gobe .............. Come back tomorrow
Ina zuwa ............ I'm coming
Bude gate.............. Open the gate
Kule gate............... Lock the gate


Him
Bani kudi na ............ Give me my money
Na gama ............I've finished
Zan tafi ............ I'm going
Ban gan moton ka ba............ I didn't see your car
              
Talking to Almajiris
Ka na iya karatu? .............. Can you read?
Ka na jin yunwa? ...............  Are you hungry?
Ina maman da baban ka? .......... Where is your mum and dad?
Ina gidan ka? ................ Where is your house?
Tafi chan! ................ Go away!
Ka barni! ................. Leave me alone!
Ba ni da kudi ............. I don't have any money
Ka je makaranta ................. Go to school
Boko ba haram ba! .............. Western education is not a sin!

Other helpful words:

Greetings
Yayade ............ Hello/How are you
Answer: Lafiya ............ I'm fine

Ina Kwana ........... Good morning
Answer: Lafiya ......... Fine

Sai wata rana .......... See you later
Sai gobe .......... See you tomorrow

Speaking
Bin sani ba .......... I don't know
Ba Hausa ...........  I don't speak Hausa
Ba Turanchi ........ I don't speak English

At the Shop/Store

Nawa ne? .................... How much is it?

Ina son in siya ..............  I want to buy

Kudi ................ Money

Wanchan ................. That one

Ya yi tsada ................ It's expensive

Nagode .................. Thank You

Bani... .................. Give me....

Ai (as in hay) ..................  Yes

A-a (as in rapper) ...........  No (Listen to this)

Ba kudi ............... I don't have money     

Numbers

Daya (One)                                     

Biyu (Two)

Uku (Three)

Hudu (Four)

Biyar (Five)

Shida (Six)

Bakwai (Seven)

Takwas (Eight)

Tara (Nine)

Goma (Ten)

Goma-sha-daya (Eleven: ten and one; and so on)

General  Words and Phrases

Gobe ............ Tomorrow

Yau (as in Go) ............ Today

Jiya ................ Yesterday

Da Safe ................. In the morning

Da Rana ............... In the afternoon

Da Yama ............. In the evening

Da Dare ............. In the night

Zo .......... Come

Tafi ......... Go

Zauna ............Sit down

In sha' Allah ............ By God's Grace

Yaro/ Yarinya .............. Boy/ Girl

Mata/ Mutum ................ Woman/ Man

Takalmi ................ Shoes

Riga .............. Dress

Hula ............. Cap          

Eating 

Abinchi ....... Food

Ruwa ........ Water

Shinkafa ........ Rice

Wake .......... Beans

Miya ........ Soup

Doya ......... Yam       

The Body

Kai ......... Head

Gashi ........ Hair

Ido ........ Eye

Hanchi ....... Nose

Baki ........ Mouth

Hanu ......... Hand

Chiki ......... Stomach (also means 'inside' depending on stress on last syllable)

Baya ......... Back

Kafa ......... Leg

Duwawu .......... Bottom

If you want to learn how to speak Hausa click here

Debenhams' Hausa Sign Annoys Nigerians

People were surprised that major department store Debenhams in London decided to appeal to Nigerian customers by using the Hausa language in their signage last month, because they felt that Hausa was the least popular language spoken by Nigerians in the UK.

Debenhams' Oxford Street store puts up signage featuring the Hausa language at the bottom 

The signs featured the words "Na gode don sayayyarka a Debenhams" which means "Thank you for shopping at Debenhams" in Hausa, with the words also in Arabic and Mandarin. Debenhams said it selected the languages based on the highest number of overseas shoppers who claimed their tax back within the store.

One poster commenting on the topic on the Nairaland forum said:

"I think the shop owners may just be misinformed. Igbo or Yoruba would have been better. I have met very few Hausas in the UK. . . very few."

But I think Debenhams and other major stores like Harrods and Selfridges are right to court Hausa customers.

Hausas may be few in number, but the majority of those in the UK are wealthy and influential and spend lots of money in London. On the other hand, Nigerians from other tribes in the UK are largely working class and often shop in the inner-city areas. The ratio of rich Hausas to average Nigerians may be as low as 1:8, but in terms of spending power, major retailers respect them more.

Also, Hausa/Fulani shoppers are concentrated in the Oxford Street/ Edgware Road area because of the large Muslim and Arab community there, so whilst other tribes spread their wealth across the UK, Hausas are repeat, respected and respectable customers in the same large stores around Oxford Street.

A funny cartoon comparing Igbo, Yoruba and Hausa/Fulani shoppers

Because of the common sight of poor Hausa children begging on the streets of Nigeria and the 'Maiguards' (gatekeepers) of many Nigerian homes been poorly-paid Hausa men, many think that rich Northerners are too few to matter to British retailers.

But professional, educated Hausa/Fulanis in the UK (see my post 8 Reasons Why You Meet Few Hausa People in the UK) are harder to spot because they are not usually found in Nigerian-dominated areas in London as many live outside London. Also, many Hausa/Fulani men and women look 'different' because of their Islamic attire. 

People underestimate Hausa/Fulanis. They imagine we're poor, uneducated and uninterested in the finer things in life. This is true to some extent, but rich Alhajis and their families travel abroad to shop just as much as other tribes, having made their money in politics and business like other Nigerians.

Hausa is also the second most widely spoken language in Africa after Swahili, with approximately 43 million speakers across West Africa including Ghana, Sudan, Togo, Burkina Faso, Benin, Cameroon and Niger. So though Yorubas are dominant in the Nigerian diaspora, there are only 20 million speakers worldwide, the majority of whom are Nigerians with some speakers in Togo and Benin.

I applaud Debenhams for featuring Hausa in its signage, not only because of the language's popularity across Africa but also because this helps to show other Nigerians that Hausa/Fulanis have an important presence outside of Nigeria.

7 Reasons Why Nigerian Sites Have Bad Grammar

I visit a lot of Nigerian-produced news and entertainment sites, blogs and forums, and unfortunately a lot of the writing there leaves a lot to be desired. It's disappointing when a fascinating subject is ruined by bad grammar, the hyper-zealous use of a thesaurus or grand, convoluted sentences when simpler phrasing would do.

I wish I could 'red-pen' websites...

As an avid wordsmith who has studied the art of writing, sentences like Yes, i understand; 90's CD's and DVD's or Am in love irks me. (If you see nothing wrong with these sentences, then I envy the ease of your daily reading experience!)

And the habit of writers to use twelve words when three would do is also bothersome, so that a sentence like:

"Little five-year-old Ayo Azeez's mother had left his biological father after irreconcilable misunderstanding which led to their separation. The boy then became gravely ill and was immediately rushed to a nearby hospital but he gave up even before any medication could be administered on him."

Should be edited to:

"Five year old Ayo Azeez's mother had separated from his father before he fell ill. He was then rushed to a nearby hospital but died before receiving treatment."  

It sure does

Here are 7 reasons why I believe many Nigerians employ verbose, unprofessional English:

1. Sub-standard University Education

All Nigerians that can afford it go to university because education is a matter of pride and necessity. But the education many receive is often of low quality due to the lack of government funding and rampant teacher strikes caused by the non-payment of salaries, which turns a three-year degree into a six-year interrupted struggle. Inconsistent electricity also interrupts the use of computers and other technologies vital for a thorough education. Eventually poor students become poor teachers and the cycle is unbroken.

2. Journalism is an Unpopular Degree

Law, accounting and medical degrees are popular choices for Nigerians, but journalism is not. This is due to the little attention paid to literature and the lower pay journalists expect. The country's children are not encouraged to pursue a writing career and the majority of the country's journalists today began their careers in a completely different profession.

In my case, my father was a broadcast journalist and I read all the books on our bookshelf (my mother was once an avid reader though she no longer cares for books). My favourite was Enid Blyton's The Adventures of the Wishing Chair and I wanted to be a children's writer before deciding on journalism. I was neither encouraged nor discouraged to pursue it, and growing up I'd never heard of any Nigerian print journalists.

3. Poor Reading Culture

It is a sad fact that Nigerians don't value reading. Things Fall Apart by Nigerian Chinua Achebe is the most famous book written by an African, yet the ratio of Americans to Nigerians who have read it is probably 3:1. The more one reads, the better their grammar, and Nigerian writer Chimamanda Adichie set up The Farafina Trust to encourage reading and creative writing stating that::

"...If my novel had been first published in Nigeria...I would not have had an editor or publicity or marketing. The newspapers would have taken scant notice... [and] I would expect only family and friends to buy the novel because we are a country of people who do not regard and do not read literature. Many Nigerians say...we are too poor to read. Literature is, after all, a middle-class preserve and... reading has been put aside for the pursuit of basic survival."

Nigerians should encourage their children to read

4. Bribery

Institutional bribery means that the least intelligent but wealthy students often get the best grades above the intelligent but poorer students, so that those that get the writing jobs in the end are unqualified having only bought their grades.

5. Nepotism

To get a good job in Nigeria, who you know gets you further than ability or education. Many under-qualified people become 'Features Editor' or 'Reporter' because their aunt or brother-in-law is the Editor or Publisher. So someone with friends in high places, a degree in Forestry and a disregard for proper sentence structures can have their work published in the country's most popular publications.

6. English as a Second Language

English is the official language but all Nigerians have a different mother-tongue and many are only familiar with pidgin-English. This means that the level of acceptable spoken and written English in many arenas is lower than in western establishments, and the errors prevalent in using imperfect grammar is ignored or not even noted.

7. The 'More is Best' Thinking

Nigerians are often extroverts and this follows into their writing where the 'posher' the words sound, the better the writer is regarded. I remember reading a letter from my grandfather to my mother and being perplexed by the formal tone, along the lines of  "it is with the utmost trepidation that I hasten to..."

This contrasts with Western writing where simplicity and succinctness rule, and industry standards mean that British articles have a particular flow unlike Nigerian articles. Of course there are Nigerians trained in universal journalistic principles from the country's best universities, and quality publications like Thisday are thankfully well written, but Nigerians desecrating the English language abound all over the web.

Some of the websites I visit leave me shaking my head in disbelief or giggling at the unintentional humour of the more ambitious sentences.