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. 

Nigerian Medical Care:A Case of Malaria vs Typhoid

I'd thoughtlessly enjoyed free healthcare in UK, to the extent where I dialled 999 and summoned an ambulance to my office one day after a particularly nasty bout of nose bleeds. The ambulance team came within minutes, laid me down in the fully-equipped bed in the back of the ambulance, checked my blood pressure, gave me aspirin, the ambulance lady asked me a ton of health-related questions and they promptly delivered me to the nearest hospital where the doctor met with me after 30 minutes of waiting to give me a nose drops-thing, and since then I haven't had another nose bleed. And I didn't pay a penny.

Kinda silly right? But I was very worried at the huge amounts of blood coming out of my nose, so for me it was an emergency! And thankfully the medical team looked after me very well.
  
Apart from that episode, I'd never been hospitalised, never broken any bones and never needed to see a doctor in England except for check-ups, but I was always glad they were available to me whenever.

The NHS (National Health Service): High quality care for all, for free.

But in Nigeria, there is no medical insurance linked to my job so I'm left on my own when it comes to healthcare, as are most other Nigerians. And funnily enough, it's in Nigeria that I've had to come face to face with my health, or lack of it. I've already described in another post about my feeling cold all the time, so that fans and ACs get me into coughing fits and a runny nose and I have to wear a scarf a lot of the time to protect my chest. I even had an episode of prolonged vomiting that lasted two days.

But I've intentionally stayed away from doctors and never want to see the inside of a Nigerian hospital as long as I'm here. They scare me. Just to see a doctor costs around N4,000. That's just to see a doctor. Then there's the costs of each prescription (my non-prescription, over-the-counter cough medicine, which lasted a week cost N2, 000), then you pay for each test (a colleague of mine was told a blood test he needed would cost N80, 000) and a night's stay in the hospital can cost around N8, 000 or more each night. It costs to have a baby in a hospital; up to N100, 000 or more depending on the quality of the hospital, and things like x-rays, CAT scans and MRIs are not only limited to few hospitals, but are also beyond the means of most Nigerians. To put it into perspective, a N50, 000 a month salary is quite good for a graduate. Being sick in Nigeria is expensive.

Even the mosquito nets that Western charities and relief agencies collect donations to fund so that "an African family can get a free mosquito net", it is not free. I've heard from reliable sources that even the poor in rural areas have to pay for these nets because those selling it to them haven't been compensated enough and have to sell it on to make a living, because the Chairmen and managers of the Nigerian organisations in charge of distributing the donations steal all the money.

(However, all the homes I've been in have mosquito netting on the windows as standard, and along with mosquito repellents this eliminates the need for an actual net around your bed, unless you live in the village).

Mosquito Nets: They're not Free!

And medical tests here seem a bit iffy for me. Since I've been here, whenever a colleague or friend is feeling unwell, they put it down to Malaria or Typhoid. Everyone that's sick has either Malaria or Typhoid. Every illness in Nigeria seems to fall into one of these two categories, probably because these are the only two tests that the doctors can confidently test for and detect. That and AIDS (tests of which are usually free). It seems that if it's not Typhoid or Malaria, they place it in the 'unknown' category and put you on a drip. A friend's brother felt feverish, and it wasn't Malaria or Typhoid so they put him on a drip and told him to spend a night in hospital.

Rare, obscure or complicated illnesses remain undetected. You'll never here that someone in Nigeria has been diagnosed with Acute Conjunctivitis or Gastroenteritis. If it's not Malaria or Typhoid, your condition is classified as unexplained. A friend, whenever she's feeling feverish, has a cough or has a temperature, she treats herself by buying Typhoid medication. If that doesn't work, she tries Malaria tablets. If it doesn't work, she tries the Typhoid medicine again, and on and on until eventually she feels better. It's crazy.

Another friend, after his Typhoid and Malaria self-treatment didn't work, resorted to drinking some traditional medicine his aunt sent him, which consisted of a green, leafy-mint smelling liquid sludge he kept in the fridge. And it worked! He was hale and hearty in record time.

In the case of accident emergencies like a car crash, victims have to depend on the kindness of fellow motorists to ferry them to the hospital as there are no ambulances, and sometimes a potential good Samaritan will refrain from taking an injured person to the hospital out of fear that he/she would be forced to pay the medical bills, or be implicated by the police in one way or another.

The ruling class have long ceased to put their faith in the country's hospitals and routinely fly out for any major and even minor ailments. Nigeria's First Lady, Patience Jonathan, is currently in Germany receiving treatment for an undisclosed illness, and prior to that visited hospitals in Dubai, Italy and Spain.

The funny thing is that there are many Nigerian doctors and nurses in many British and American hospitals, and they're very good too. It's just that the code of practice here is so poor and under-regulated that doctors put profit over their Hippocratic oaths and the condition of some hospitals leave a lot to be desired.

Because of the aspirations and brilliance of many Nigerians I meet on a daily basis, I forget that I'm in a third-world country until one experience - like paying a visit to a friend in hospital -  jolts me back to reality. 

Anyway I've got a Health Fund, money I've kept specifically that will enable be to fly back to England as soon as I feel ill. It's a necessity. And as soon as I get pregnant I will be domiciled in the UK, so that in case of anything I will be in a country where fantastic medical care is free to me simply because I am a citizen. Even if I collapse on the street, all any one has to do is dial three numbers on their phone and free medical aid is on its way.

And on my return to England, I'll have a full medical check-up and stock up on aspirins, Ibuprofens, cough medicines etc (I've heard of fake pills and medicines in Nigeria too) to keep me until my next visit.

Long live the NHS!

The Olympics and The Bragging Games

So the biggest event to ever happen in my dear city of London is the Olympics, and I miss it completely. OK not completely, I got to watch the whole thing on TV.

I was impressed with the legends that Michael Phelps, Usain Bolt and Mo Farrah, welled up with emotion singing the British national anthem at the medal ceremonies, was disappointed with the weird and lackluster opening ceremony (the best bit was the Queen jumping out of the helicopter) kinda liked the closing ceremony, especially the Spice Girls and Oasis singing Wonderwall; and disappointed that the small African country of Gabon won a silver medal, and even Afghanistan won something yet Nigeria came home with nothing.

Anthony Obame from Gabon won a Silver medal in Taekwondo

My family were on holiday away from England during much of August so I decided to postpone my visit home until later in the year, but I still went through a mini depression wishing I was back in London to experience everything live. Many people I knew had tickets to the games or were volunteers and others told me about the electric atmosphere that was charged all around the city, and I was kicking myself that I wasn't there. 

Now I’m planning to be in Rio in four years for the 2016 Olympics. But seeing that seven years ago, when London first won the bid to host the games, I’d planned that by 2012 I’d be married with five kids, be the editor of my own lifestyle magazine, own a house in South London and watch all the track and field events live with my family, I now know that things don’t always happen as planned. I would never have imagined I’d be living and working in Abuja with new and wonderful friends and family in 2012. It’s amazing how plans and desires can change.

   

Speaking of new friends, I’ve been in Nigeria long enough now to note one major difference between how Nigerians interact compared with the British: Bragging. Whether insidious, implied or obvious, when a group of people come together in Nigeria they jostle for position; who has foreign education, who lives in or visited (or their mother/brother/uncle lives in or visited) the UK or US, who has the most expensive designer thing from abroad etc.

Now, my British friends and I would find such ‘showing off’ distasteful. The British way is to be modest and mention your achievements when necessary. I once worked in an office in London with PhD Doctors and reputable engineers, and I had no idea until I was privy to their employment records, and found out that at least five of my co-workers had many published books to their name and were somewhat celebrated in their fields. I mentioned this to them and one blushed, and I jokingly insisted on calling another one ‘Dr’ and he laughingly declined, telling me not to be so silly.

But in Nigeria, such men and women would insist on everyone addressing them as Dr so and so and would find every opportunity to ‘casually’ mention their doctorate or study abroad, and would believe they were better than their non-lettered colleagues.

I have models, editors, chattered accountants, film makers and well-traveled people amongst my group of friends, but we wouldn't dream of recounting our every accomplishment when we got together. But not so in Nigeria. Here people find reasons to continuously mention their foreign experiences, the purchase of their 'authenticly foreign' weave/iPad/washing machine/designer bag.

Not everyone does it, but too many do. I find it all unnecessary and uncouth. But I guess it’s different for me: where visiting London is considered something to shout about for them, I grew up there. Where buying a washing machine is impressive here, such appliances are standard installations in houses where I come from. And where buying a bag imported from Italy is noteworthy here, my friends and I go to Italy to buy such bags.

So I find myself retreating from such conversations. I don’t want ladies to compete with me in a game I have no intention of playing, and even if I were to play, would win anyway. And many times people lie to make their lives seem more fabulicious than it really is. It’s silly, exhausting and sad. And I find that when I casually mention something about my life in England, to them it’s like I've upped the ante and they feel challenged to offer their own fantastic story.

My friend in Ghana (we left England together at the same time) also reports of such ‘Bragging Games’ among Ghana’s high-flying young people, where some girls falsify their accents in comical ways to prove they’ve lived abroad; one girl always managed to work in stories about her time studying for her Masters in Atlanta into every conversation, and one guy spent 10 minutes displaying his various mobile phones and recounting how much each cost.  

It’s slightly worrying really. Here we are, my friend and I, trying to embrace our Africanness, recapture the culture we’d lost or forgotten and play down our ‘otherness’ in the motherland, whilst our African peers are busy trying to prove their Westernness by feverishly attaining the trappings of Western culture that we think little of in order to gain respect.

Sometimes, if you can’t beat them you join them. But not me. My inherent Fulani-shyness and adopted British reserve merge together to prevent me from all the braggadacious displays of Western-originated wealth or education, or revel in the celebrity this brings. I was never into all those status symbols and expensive fashions whilst in England anyway, and I’m not about to enter that world now.

Sure I speak of my experiences, but only when asked or when it’s genuinely relevant. To do otherwise would be vulgar.

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.

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.

Things That Made Me Go WTH? in Nigeria

Sometimes in Nigeria I feel like Alice in Wonderland. In the last two weeks alone, I saw and heard some crazy things that had me going “huh?” Using Twitter speak, I call it my #thingsthatmakemegowth moments.

WTH Number 1

One evening I returned home, opened the bathroom door, turned on the light, looked into the sink and saw a live scorpion with its stinger raised and ready to strike. I squealed and froze, eyes wide and mouth open, before rushing back out. I finally mustered up enough courage to return to the bathroom with a knife. Thankfully the scorpion was small and busy struggling to scamper out of the sink but kept slipping back down towards the plug hole. I managed to dismember its stinger before using a strategically held newspaper to scoot it into the toilet and flush it away. WTH? Only in Nigeria.

The uninvited guest in my bathroom

WTH Number 2

A friend of mine, his mother is an adviser to the President Goodluck Jonathan. She’s been in her role for over two years, goes to the office every day and has a PA and driver. But she has never met the President face to face. An adviser to the President that has never even met him? Only in Nigeria. Maybe she ‘advises’ him by email, or by phone.

WTH Number 3

I was listening to an interesting political debate on radio when all of a sudden, the voices switched to white noise. NEPA (Nigeria's epileptic electricity company) had struck the station. I was surprised, annoyed and exasperated. How could a whole mainstream FM radio station be unprepared for a power outage? Electricity failures happen daily, but they didn’t even have a UPS in place to counter it? Only in Nigeria.

WTH Number 4

Again an experience with radio. We were on the move so had to listen to the end of the Man City vs QPR match on a radio sports channel (Nigerians are just as, if not more passionate about British football than the British). It was the game of the season: Manchester City, long being in the shadow of their better, richer rivals Manchester United, were now on par with them thanks to a huge cash injection. So the two Mancunian teams were tied on points and City had to win the match to win the Premiership. (I bet you didn’t know I liked football too!) 

By the 90^th minute, Man City were shockingly 2-1 down to QPR and Man United were winning their match against Sunderland, meaning Man U  will take the title yet again. The commentators (one of whom had a shockingly bad imitation of a British accent) lamented this shocking result and went on to passionately discuss, for a full 20 minutes after the match with other sports guests, the consequences of City coming so close but United winning the cup yet again.

My friends and I joined in mourning Man City’s lost opportunity, only for the friend whose house we arrived at to innocently comment on how great Man City’s comeback was. “What comeback?!” we that were fooled by radio asked in unison. When we finally found out that Man City actually won 3-2, scoring two goals in stoppage time, and that our radio commentators were wrong (maybe they turned off the live match prematurely?) we were livid. Man City had won the Premiership not Man United. The radio had given us the wrong results! Only in Nigeria.

WTH Number 5

I was in the car on my way home from work when a scuffle by the side of the road caught my attention. Four Nigerians, two in police uniform, where arguing with a youngish Chinese man (CM) in front of a van. The Nigerians were shouting aggressively and waving papers in the CM’s face, and as the CM tried to walk away, one of the uniformed men grabbed him by the waist of his trousers and held him, still shouting at him. Foreigners are usually treated with kid gloves in Nigeria, but here was this CM being harassed and looking flustered and a little scared. WTH?

WTH Number 6

I was absent-mindedly watching a news item on Abuja University on TV when the camera showed a lecture in progress: the class was so full that some students had to sit on the tables. But what actually had me going 'Huh?' Was the sight of a female student sitting amongst the other students, listening to the lecturer intently whilst she rocked a baby on her knee. WTH?

Oh well. But another hashtag I’d like to add at this point is #ItscrazybutIloveit

*WTH stands for 'What the Hell.' 

My Travels Across Nigeria

So, I've ventured outside Abuja to three other states. Below is my impression of each:

JOS
My favourite place so far. The four-hour journey there was full of potholes on the road, vistas of greenery, small rickety houses and tables selling oranges etc on the much of the road sides. We'll reach certain intersections and be greeted by a cackle of snack sellers, mostly kids selling water, plantain chips, sesame-seed cakes and roasted corn. There were also lots of beautiful stretches of trees, farms,valleys and mountains. Jos gets its famous cold weather because of its highlands location and yep, it really was as cold as I was told. Coming from London, everyone expected me to acclimatise easily to the drop in temperature, but funnily enough I was the only one needing to wear a hooded sweatshirt and was sneezing and blowing my nose throughout!

I went to Jos for Easter and hung out with friends, friends of friends and family and ate lots of chicken! A friend owned a cake shop which I loved, and even felt a bit of nostalgia from reading a cake magazine from the UK that the shop subscribed to. I also visited a couple of bakeries and was happy to note that things are so much cheaper in Jos, in fact,any where outside the FCT (Abuja) prices are lower.

On the whole Jos is calmer and more small-towney than Abuja, the people are friendlier and the cool air cools tempers giving a more genial atmosphere. It is also more rocky, and at one point we drove up a narrow, rocky road that felt like mountain-climbing on four wheels.

Some of the mountains that framed our journey to Jos

Unfortunately Jos is also known for a lot of bomb attacks by the Islamic sect Boko Haram. And although 'Josians' didn't obsess about this and went about their daily business normally, you could tell something was up because of the police check-points dotted about the place, where uniformed, armoured men carrying Kalashnikovs (!) would stand behind an erected barrier in the middle of the road so you're obliged to stop your car. You'll then have to put on your car light if it's night-time, and they'll then walk over and greet you calmly, scrutinise you and the other passengers in the car and ask to check your boot. Sometimes they'll also ask for 'a little something' which sometimes we didn't mind giving out, as they spend the whole day in the sun wearing heavy armour and were usually quite jokey with drivers, unless you 'look suspicious' of course, in which case they'd ask you to pull over to the side of the road.

Another reminder that this beautiful state is not altogether peaceful was the fact that some friends and I watched an Arsenal football match in a large bar with huge screens when I was there, which was great fun. Then later I heard that a similar establishment in Jos was bombed a few days ago as football fans exited after watching a match. That could have been us!

Many churches in Jos have also been bombed, especially at special Christian occasions like Christmas, so I was a little nervous when I went to a church in Jos on Easter Sunday. But the security was high and although inconvenient, we appreciated it: we couldn't drive right up to the church but had to park a fair distance away,  were searched on our way in and women were encouraged to leave large handbags at home. There were also boulders on the road leading up to the church. But the church building was beautiful, as was the service, and there were at least six Caucasian faces dotted around (which is a lot in one place in Nigeria) wearing native Ankara. I guess the cool weather really does attract more Westerners.

I went to Jos a second time for a wedding in a Catholic church, and the reception was held outdoors amongst tall trees at the famous Wild Life Park, which once housed lions, elephants etc (apparently many of these wild animals are native in Nigeria,who knew?) but is now an events centre:

Outdoor wedding reception in Jos

KADUNA
I returned to the state I had heard so much about and seen so many pictures of, and I foolishly thought I would recognise some things and maybe get a sense of deja vu or familiar feeling, but nope. Nothing. Although we were only there for one day and one night for a wedding and I didn't get a chance to explore the state properly.

I noticed the billboards here where mostly in Hausa, or one side had the English version and the reverse the Hausa translation of the ad. Kaduna also had a small-town, less developed look, and being the lover of local foods, made sure I had some Kose and Doya:

Kose (Fried bean cakes) da Doya (and Fried Yam) da Yaji (and Pepper) bought from an outdoor seller frying on a large Wok placed on stones and firewood

I also hung out with friends in a nice outdoor garden and also noticed that compared Abuja, the electricity in Jos and Kaduna was less frequent, and I was told that three nights would go by without any electricity. Gosh!

Nevertheless, I must say KD, as the town is popularly called, was a little disappointing. Maybe because I had such high hopes of the place. It was like any other Nigerian town and fades away in my memory compared with other places I visited in Nigeria. I thought the reverse would be true. I hope when I return I can experience it better.


MINNA
I was in Minna for a few days for a wedding and enjoyed it. It was on my way there that I saw my first ever hut in Africa! Yep, after decades of being African, I finally saw a thatched-roofed, mud walled hut! A few lined the road on our journey, along with plenty of farmland and greenery and one huge mountain, I can't remember it's name.

It was also in Minna that I drank my first ‘Pure Water,’ which are small plastic sachets filled with water that is popular amongst many in Nigeria, as they cost around N5- N10 each, whereas Bottled water cost around N100 each.

Pure Water

Minna also had many checkpoints manned by armed uniformed police/army/guards dotted around, and roads leading up to police stations were totally closed-off due to recent attacks on police stations.  

Another thing I noticed about Minna, as was the case with Jos and Kaduna, is that looks can be deceiving: We'll drive up a bumpy, dilapidated dirt-road right up to a standard iron gate, but then the gates would open and Voila! a well-kept drive-way, beautiful kept lawn and large elegant house would appear, and inside the house would be equally beautiful. So many un-tarmacked roads led up to expensively built homes. 

Minna is probably less developed than any other state I’ve been in, but I enjoyed great hospitality and did a unique hairstyle there called 'Abuja Braids,' which was not only pretty but practical too in that it completely covered my natural hair, otherwise my hair would look fuzzy and rough after three days as my natural curls burst through and start poking through the extensions.

I also wore 'Anko' (Hausa word for aso-ebi) for the first time at a Northern wedding, which is where all the close friends and family of the bride and groom wear matching clothing material. The dress I had made was a beautiful fishtail design, but I didn't wear the gele/scarf provided.

I hope to one day be brave enough to visit Lagos. I was invited by a good British friend of mine who went there for a wedding (weddings seem to be the reasons for much travel. That and funerals. I hope to have many more of the former and none of the latter!) but unfortunately couldn't make it.

Here's to more travels across Nigeria!

My Hausa Sweet Shop

I have a sweet tooth, so I love small, sweet snacks. As a child when I stayed in Kaduna, my parents will give us a few kobos and we would buy:

Alewa: small, white and yellow crumbly sweets
Dankuwa: spicy, brown dough balls made from millet and groundnuts, not so much sweet but moorish
Aya: tiny white nuts you chew and chew
Tom Tom: minty sweets

Tom Tom Minty Sweets

Then there's Chin chin made from sweet flour-dough that's fried; thin, dark brown sticky sweets (can't remember the name) and sweet, fried coconut shavings (can't remember their name either) that also remind me of Kaduna circa 1990.

Chin Chin

But these local sweets, especially Alewa, are impossible to find in the UK, so I settled for the normal penny sweets and chocolates. Then I travelled to America and realised that British chocolates were superior to American candy by far: I'll take a Kit Kat, Bounty, Mars, Snickers, Twix and co over a Hersheys and other peanut-butter flavoured candies any day.

But it was in America I re-discovered Dankuwa, when the mother of my ex sent him a whole bag-full, and as he didn't like it (it's an acquired taste) I got to enjoy Dankuwa for weeks.

Now I'm in Northern Nigeria, I've been very disappointed not to find all these sweets easily. I thought I'd come to Abuja and be able to buy these things in abundance, but nope. It seems that the sweets of my childhood aren't easy to locate any more.

I've managed to track down Dankuwa (in Jos though) and there's also chin chin aplenty which is great, but many others, especially my favourite Alewa, is none-locatable.

I think, many times, Nigerians under-value their traditional, local foods and products and only pour money into internationally accepted snacks. Many of the above mentioned delicasies are only sold by poor children/adults who walk around carrying the products on a tray on their heads.

I'm sure the thought of selling these things in a respectable establishment has occurred to someone, but those that produce them and even those that enjoy them often don't have the capital to do this, or are uneducated so cannot begin the process of  organised commerce.

Others look down on these products as not worthy of being mass produced on a grand scale as part of the food industry for national or even international consumption.

But I would love to open a Hausa Sweet Shop which will stock all these Northern delicasies in one place, and the first branch will be in Abuja. If there was a place like that now I'd be it's most faithful customer!

UPDATE

I've since discovered a couple of supermarkets in Abuja that sell Northern sweets, like Garki Supermarket that sells delicious alkalki, a sweet made of wheat and honey, as well as savoury treats like Danbon Nama (shredded meat) and my new favourite drink Fura da Nono, which is a Fulani speciality.

What I Miss and Don't Miss About the UK

The UK has always been home to me, but these days I'm finding myself growing more and more accustomed to life in Naija. But I still miss certain things from England:

Libraries
I'm an avid reader. And despite bringing my Kindle and a few of my favourite books along with me to Nigeria, I still miss being able to walk into any library (owning a library card for one Surrey Library allows you access to every library in the whole borough, fabulous!) and borrowing six books at a time to keep for a month before returning them, all free of charge. I miss the silence of the Library's studious environment where everyone respects the quiet atmosphere and are there to read, study or research. I miss being able to read the national and local newspapers available. I miss finding books I didn't know I was looking for on the library shelves. I've spent many happy, book-filled hours at many libraries from Finchley to Guildford, and I miss them all.

Surrey Library Cards: One of my favourite inhabitants of my purse

Abuja has no such book-lending facility as far as I know, but if one is out there, someone let me know!

Amazon/Ebay/Tesco Home Shopping
I miss buying books from Amazon, paying for it online and having it posted to me so that it lands on my doormat (or left outside on the porch, in a safe corner in case it rains) in two to three days. I miss having ANYTHING posted to me, as the postal service around here doesn't/cannot work so nobody uses it. And the prices are so reasonable on Amazon, I bought Chinua Achebe's Home and Exile for 99p!

I miss buying any book I want from Amazon

I also miss buying anything and everything from Ebay, and buying groceries from Tesco Home Shopping. The luxury of being able to buy literally anything online and having it delivered to you is something unique to the West and I miss it.

Newsagents/Corner Shops
I miss having a local newsagent's within walking distance from my house, complete with the stereotypical Asian attendant. I miss the narrow aisles with shelves laden with everything I need for convenience sake. I miss buying The Guardian newspaper, a pack of M&Ms and a bottle of Evian, and paying with coins (the use of coins in Nigeria is completely obsolete) I even miss the tinkerlinging of the bell at the door as you enter and exit the shop.

Christmas
I miss Christmas, UK style: hearing Christmas carols in every shop, home and TV channel; seeing Christmas lights outside most homes and streets; singing carols by candle-light at church, Christmas cards, Christmas TV (Sound of Music, Mary Poppins etc); The frenzy of Christmas shopping in Oxford Street, Christmas Pudding and Mince Pies (mmmm, Mince Pies!) Turkey and The Queen's Speech.

Mmmmm....Christmas Mince Pies

Christmas in Abuja was kinda like every other day. Maybe because the weather was not cold. I saw some lights, went to church and there was some special Christmas programming on TV, but it just wasn't the same. There was a certain je ne sais quoi that was absent; a necessary Christmas spirit missing.

Calling for Help
I miss being able to contact all kinds of people and services on the phone, from 999 emergency services (no such number here at all!) to calling for a cab or pizza. Many of the services you need is just a phone call away in the UK, and you can even call Directory Enquiries who can give you the address and phone number of any shop, office or service you need.

But in Nigeria, not so much. You either drive to where you can get help or call a contact you know working in the company you need for help. Of course major companies and brands have customer services (although not all work or are efficient), but in the UK you can call someone for literally every need you may have, like the council if the bins haven't been collected, an NHS nurse for flu advice or Closer magazine for whatever reason. Such connectivity is priceless!

Cultural References

I miss being able to refer to popular events, people and things and being confident that the person I'm talking to will get it. E.g. She sounded like Bianca from Eastenders; he looked like he'd being tangoed; It's like when Princess Diana died. People in Nigeria won't get those references. But anyway it doesn't happen too often because Nigerians have pretty much kept up with the West in terms of cultural consumption, from music, TV to celebrities and current affairs. They're pretty clued up.

What I Don't Miss

Food

I've always preferred Nigerian food so there's nothing I miss food-wise from England. And you can buy all the British cuisine you need from the supermarkets here anyway, from Robertson's Marmalade to Bacon and sausages. So I love the food here! Though I do miss Kellogg's Coco Rocks, I haven't seen that any where yet. And perhaps fish and chips from a chip shop, but who needs that when you can eat authentic Pounded Yam - that was actually pounded in a mortar with a pestle, not the dull powdered kind - with real Egusi soup? How can I miss Penny sweets and Liquorice when I can enjoy sugar canes - the natural source of sugar - or real, rich honey from Nigerian bees?

I'm still looking for Kellogg's Coco Rocks in Abuja

TV/Movies

I thought I'd miss many of my favourite television programmes and the new movies coming out whilst in Nigeria, but thankfully you can watch Western programming and movies on DSTV cable. And I was so happy to be able to purchase the latest season of The Good Wife from a DVD stall, which also stocked DVDs of all the seasons of almost every US TV series ever produced, including my guilty pleasures Keeping up with the Kardashians and Donald Trump's The Apprentice. I was amazed. (I guess these are illegal though right?) 

My absolute favourite US TV Drama right now

As for new film releases, there are cinemas in Abuja that screen the latest from Hollywood. Failing that, I just copy films from friends' laptops. (I hope I'm not incriminating myself here...)

The Weather

For obvious reasons. I'd rather sweat profusely and be weakened by the sun in Abuja than shiver violently as my fingers turn blue from extreme cold. It's easier to die from cold than heat right? And it really isn't that hot here, plus ACs in cars, your office, shopping malls and at home means you don't need to swelter under the sun for long. 

Friends and Family

I miss being with my friends and family back in the UK, but with Skype, Facebook, Blackberry Messenger, Whatsapp, Email and phone calls, I never actually miss hearing from them, speaking to them or even seeing them. It makes things so much better, especially since I'm not the home-sick kinda person anyway.