I've now been in Nigeria for a few weeks, and it's still taking some getting used to. I'm based in Katsina, a town in the far north of the country, about 30k from the border with Niger.
I spent a few days in the Nigerian capital, Abuja, a couple of weeks ago, for my induction into Save the Children, for whom I'm volunteering in Katsina. Abuja is a strange place. It is a purpose-built capital created in the 1980s in a religiously and ethnically 'neutral' part of the country and, as my boss put it, 'it's not built for mortals', but rather the international governing classes. Criss-crossed by enormous expressways and very expensive, it's not ideal for the budget-conscious visitor on foot (me) and unless you know the city it's hard to find things to do. Luckily the World Cup was just kicking off so I was able to watch a few games, including Nigeria v Argentina.
I'm slowly learning to speak Nigerian. I'm not talking about Hausa, which is the local language (and is itself proving a challenge), but rather Nigerian English, which has a rhythm, syntax and vocabulary all of its own. Verbs are proving a particular challenge: 'pick' means 'pick up', 'on' and 'off' are verbs, 'to fill' means 'to fill in', i.e. 'update'. Combined with strong accents, this means I often find Nigerian English harder to understand than, for example, Malian French!
I'm now back in Katsina, where I'll be based until I come home in early August. Katsina is an odd place, perfectly friendly but with very little to do. It's hardly tiny (it's a state capital, with a population of over 300,000) but conservative Islam and sharia law don't make for a party town.
The work with Save the Children is definitely teaching me a lot about development work. We're not in the implementation phase yet, but rather in the process of setting up a nutrition project (a pilot really) that will work in a couple of districts in the state. Dealing with organisational dysfunction across the board really slows things down, and this project is supposed to be done largely through the Katsina Ministry of Health which doesn't make it easier. People skip meetings, produce outrageously padded budgets and don't keep to commitments. Yet the project is moving forward and it will make a difference - malnutrition is a really serious problem in this part of the country, despite the oil money that continues to pour in to Abuja.
Saturday, 26 June 2010
Thursday, 3 June 2010
A quick comparison
I went to the American Cultural Center in Niamey, the capital of Niger, today, and my experience there has prompted me to do a little comparative exercise.
In all of the other capital cities I have visited there are the French equivalents. My experiences in these have been somewhat different to the 'American' experience:
In the French cultural centres, there is always a bar, and I've eaten at the one in Ouagadougou (an excellent sandwich). There are frequent concerts - I saw an excellent Dutch-Burkinabé jazz group in Bamako, and a very entertaining local group in Ouaga. The atmosphere is very friendly, if expat heavy, and they seem to be genuine social centres, involved in the cultural side of city life.
During my visit to the American Cultural Center, I was put through a metal detector, asked to provide identification, told to leave my bag with the guards and then denied entry to the building proper. Over the phone from the guards' booth I was given details of the (minimal) activities offered by the centre and the very short opening hours of the library. As I left I took a photo of the exterior of the building - I was promptly summoned back inside and forced to delete the photo while they took my passport and made a report of my misbehaviour, presumably with my name and passport number. I was then allowed to leave.
This is not meant to be an anti-American rant. For a start all the staff I dealt with at the Center today were Nigerien (although every other Nigerien I've met, including police and soldiers, has been much friendlier). All of the staff at the US embassy in Niamey (I got my US student visa here today) have been very helpful and friendly. Furthermore, I can understand why such precautions are necessary - it's not as if American embassies and other symbols of the country haven't been attacked in Africa before. Nonetheless, the contrast was so stark that I can't help but comment.
In all of the other capital cities I have visited there are the French equivalents. My experiences in these have been somewhat different to the 'American' experience:
In the French cultural centres, there is always a bar, and I've eaten at the one in Ouagadougou (an excellent sandwich). There are frequent concerts - I saw an excellent Dutch-Burkinabé jazz group in Bamako, and a very entertaining local group in Ouaga. The atmosphere is very friendly, if expat heavy, and they seem to be genuine social centres, involved in the cultural side of city life.
During my visit to the American Cultural Center, I was put through a metal detector, asked to provide identification, told to leave my bag with the guards and then denied entry to the building proper. Over the phone from the guards' booth I was given details of the (minimal) activities offered by the centre and the very short opening hours of the library. As I left I took a photo of the exterior of the building - I was promptly summoned back inside and forced to delete the photo while they took my passport and made a report of my misbehaviour, presumably with my name and passport number. I was then allowed to leave.
This is not meant to be an anti-American rant. For a start all the staff I dealt with at the Center today were Nigerien (although every other Nigerien I've met, including police and soldiers, has been much friendlier). All of the staff at the US embassy in Niamey (I got my US student visa here today) have been very helpful and friendly. Furthermore, I can understand why such precautions are necessary - it's not as if American embassies and other symbols of the country haven't been attacked in Africa before. Nonetheless, the contrast was so stark that I can't help but comment.
Monday, 31 May 2010
Friendliness
Before I set out on this trip, my copy of Lonely Planet informed me that the Senegalese like to make much of their culture of teranga or 'hospitality'. This I found to be true - when I thanked people for being welcoming, the response was often 'it's the Senegalese way', or 'that's teranga'.
Nor is it misplaced pride. I owe a great deal to the friendliness of the Senegalese. The best example, perhaps, of this is my encounter with Souleymane Diatta, a young maths teacher I met on the long journey down from Dakar to Ziguinchor in the south.. As we stood on the interminably slow ferry across the River Gambia, I took Souleymane's phone number and promised I would call should I pass through the village of Oussouye, where he lived and taught.
A few days later, I did indeed arrive in Oussouye, planning on a brief stay before moving on to Cap Skiring for its famous beaches. I phoned Souleymane to say hello, and I'm glad I did. By the time I left Oussouye, I had met a king, discussed health policy with the district's sole doctor and participated in an English lesson at the local lycée, all thanks to Souleymane (and his cousins). I shared meals with his family and spent evenings sitting by the side of the road chatting and drinking thé senegalais.
To benefit from this kind of hospitality, though, requires two things - decent French, without which a decent conversation is hard, and an open attitude, without which such a conversation is impossible. The first, you either have or don't have. The second is more complicated, because not every seemingly friendly approach is well meant. It is easy to become exhausted by the touts, the prospective guides and straight-up scam merchants. Others want you to help them with European visas. Friendliness is so often tinged with commercial interest that it becomes easy to doubt everyone's motives. In Bamako I met a Californian couple, Toby and Karma, who had been travelling through western Africa for about the same length of time as I had. Lacking workable French and travelling as a pair, they had shrunk into themselves, talking only only to expats and the occasional Anglophone traveller (a rare breed - Toby and Karma are the only native English speakers I have met so far). Clearly friendly people, they had been worn down by constant hassle (often it can seem that the only locals who speak any English are touts).
I have sometimes found myself doing the same thing. In Ouagadougou, the capital of Burkina Faso, where I am now, I've taken to avoiding certain areas because of the hassle. Maybe it's just that I'm a little tired after seven weeks on the road, but I've found that the much-vaunted friendliness of the Burkinabé has manifested itself predominantly in the persistence of its salesmen. Travelling alone, however, means insulating yourself quickly becomes boring. Furthermore, hassle quickly evaporates as you get further from the main tourist strips. Solitude has its limits and starved of conversation, I usually now welcome someone sitting down next to me, extending a hand and saying 'ça va?'.
Nor is it misplaced pride. I owe a great deal to the friendliness of the Senegalese. The best example, perhaps, of this is my encounter with Souleymane Diatta, a young maths teacher I met on the long journey down from Dakar to Ziguinchor in the south.. As we stood on the interminably slow ferry across the River Gambia, I took Souleymane's phone number and promised I would call should I pass through the village of Oussouye, where he lived and taught.
A few days later, I did indeed arrive in Oussouye, planning on a brief stay before moving on to Cap Skiring for its famous beaches. I phoned Souleymane to say hello, and I'm glad I did. By the time I left Oussouye, I had met a king, discussed health policy with the district's sole doctor and participated in an English lesson at the local lycée, all thanks to Souleymane (and his cousins). I shared meals with his family and spent evenings sitting by the side of the road chatting and drinking thé senegalais.
To benefit from this kind of hospitality, though, requires two things - decent French, without which a decent conversation is hard, and an open attitude, without which such a conversation is impossible. The first, you either have or don't have. The second is more complicated, because not every seemingly friendly approach is well meant. It is easy to become exhausted by the touts, the prospective guides and straight-up scam merchants. Others want you to help them with European visas. Friendliness is so often tinged with commercial interest that it becomes easy to doubt everyone's motives. In Bamako I met a Californian couple, Toby and Karma, who had been travelling through western Africa for about the same length of time as I had. Lacking workable French and travelling as a pair, they had shrunk into themselves, talking only only to expats and the occasional Anglophone traveller (a rare breed - Toby and Karma are the only native English speakers I have met so far). Clearly friendly people, they had been worn down by constant hassle (often it can seem that the only locals who speak any English are touts).
I have sometimes found myself doing the same thing. In Ouagadougou, the capital of Burkina Faso, where I am now, I've taken to avoiding certain areas because of the hassle. Maybe it's just that I'm a little tired after seven weeks on the road, but I've found that the much-vaunted friendliness of the Burkinabé has manifested itself predominantly in the persistence of its salesmen. Travelling alone, however, means insulating yourself quickly becomes boring. Furthermore, hassle quickly evaporates as you get further from the main tourist strips. Solitude has its limits and starved of conversation, I usually now welcome someone sitting down next to me, extending a hand and saying 'ça va?'.
Thursday, 27 May 2010
Bamako
I had meant to start this blog a long time ago, chronicling my movements through West Africa. Seven weeks in, it hasn't really worked out like that. Instead, I'm going to try to do a series of posts reflecting on different things I've seen; it won't always be current or even chronological, but hopefully some of it will give an idea of what I've been up to. Check out the sidebar for photos and a rough map of where I've been. You can click through to both.
I had been told I would like Bamako, and so it proved. It is my favourite capital so far (having only Dakar to compare it to, that isn't hard). Even before I arrived, Bamako appealed to me - coming in from the north, the city lacks Dakar's urban sprawl, instead popping up out of the trees at the last minute. The main streets are broad and open, and the city has numerous green spaces (the garden of the national museum is lovely) - somewhat like London, except that instead of squirrels climbing the trees, you have purple lizards with orange heads.
The city is renowned for its live music, and the week I was there Bamako was holding a jazz festival, sponsored by the Centre Culturel Français (these can be found in almost every Francophone capital). I saw concerts in bars, in gardens and concert halls, from artist throughout the region and from Europe. I want to expand more on music in another post, but suffice it to say that Bamako largely lived up to the hype.
I had a chance to discuss health research policy at the city's main hospital, and met my first native English speakers of the trip (Americans).
The people, too, are great. In Senegal I became accustomed to an aggressive style from those who wished to sell you something - in Bamako, apparently no actually means no! Such a relief after the more touristy areas of Senegal.
I stayed in the Catholic Mission - clean, cheap and no evangelism. One of the sisters, Sister Jan, was an English teacher at a local school, and I went along to observe an English lesson, which was an odd combination of interesting (the kids) and dull (a two hour grammar lesson). Sister Jan's disciplinary methods included making kids kneel in front of the blackboard in a manner scarily reminiscent of the stress positions used by the US Army in Iraq, but apart from that she was very nice!
It's not all great - it was punishingly hot and the air pollution is astonishingly dense on hot still afternoons (most pf them). Taxi drivers all seem to be on their first day on the job, and the city isn't cheap. Yet all in all I spent a very enjoyable week in the city.
I had been told I would like Bamako, and so it proved. It is my favourite capital so far (having only Dakar to compare it to, that isn't hard). Even before I arrived, Bamako appealed to me - coming in from the north, the city lacks Dakar's urban sprawl, instead popping up out of the trees at the last minute. The main streets are broad and open, and the city has numerous green spaces (the garden of the national museum is lovely) - somewhat like London, except that instead of squirrels climbing the trees, you have purple lizards with orange heads.
The city is renowned for its live music, and the week I was there Bamako was holding a jazz festival, sponsored by the Centre Culturel Français (these can be found in almost every Francophone capital). I saw concerts in bars, in gardens and concert halls, from artist throughout the region and from Europe. I want to expand more on music in another post, but suffice it to say that Bamako largely lived up to the hype.
I had a chance to discuss health research policy at the city's main hospital, and met my first native English speakers of the trip (Americans).
The people, too, are great. In Senegal I became accustomed to an aggressive style from those who wished to sell you something - in Bamako, apparently no actually means no! Such a relief after the more touristy areas of Senegal.
I stayed in the Catholic Mission - clean, cheap and no evangelism. One of the sisters, Sister Jan, was an English teacher at a local school, and I went along to observe an English lesson, which was an odd combination of interesting (the kids) and dull (a two hour grammar lesson). Sister Jan's disciplinary methods included making kids kneel in front of the blackboard in a manner scarily reminiscent of the stress positions used by the US Army in Iraq, but apart from that she was very nice!
It's not all great - it was punishingly hot and the air pollution is astonishingly dense on hot still afternoons (most pf them). Taxi drivers all seem to be on their first day on the job, and the city isn't cheap. Yet all in all I spent a very enjoyable week in the city.
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