My Nigeria at 50

I have enormous tracts of land and vast volumes of water, but cannot feed myself.

So I spend $1 billion to import rice and another $2 billion on milk.

I produce rice, but don’t eat it. I have millions of cows but no milk.

I am 50, please celebrate me.



I drive the best cars in the world but have no roads,

so I crush my best brains in the caverns,

craters and crevasses they crash into daily.

I am in unending mourning,

Please celebrate me.



My school has no teacher and my classroom has no roof.

I take lectures through windows and live with 15 others in one room.

All my professors have gone abroad, and the rest are awaiting visas.

I am a university graduate, but I am illiterate. I want a future,

Please celebrate me.



Preventable diseases send me to hospitals without doctors, medicines or power.

All the nurses have gone abroad and the rest are waiting to go also.

I have the highest maternal and infant mortality rates in the world;

and future generations are dying before me. I am hopeless, hapless and helpless,

Please celebrate me.



For democracy’s sake I stood all day on Election Day.

But before I could ink my thumb, results had been broadcast.

When I dared to speak out, silence was enthroned by bullets.

My leaders are my oppressors, and my policemen are my terrors.

I am ruled by men in mufti, but I am not a democracy.

I have no verve, no vote, no voice,

Please celebrate me.



My youth have no past, present nor future.

So my sons in the North have become street urchins;

and his brothers in the South have become kidnappers.

My nephews die of thirst in the Sahara and his cousins drown in the Mediterranean.

My daughters walk the streets of Lagos , Abuja and Port Harcourt;

while her sisters parade the streets of Rome and Amsterdam .

I am grief-stricken,

Please celebrate me.



Pen-wielding bandits have raided everything in my vaults.

They walk the land with haughty strides and fly the skies with private planes

They have looted the future of generations unborn;

and have money they cannot spend in several lifetimes,

but their brothers die of starvation. I want a kit of kindness,

Please celebrate me.




I can produce anything, but import everything.

So my toothpick is made in China; my toothpaste is made in South Africa;

my salt is made in Ghana; my butter is made in Ireland;

my milk is made in Holland; my shoe is made in Italy;

my vegetable oil is made in Malaysia; my biscuit is made in Indonesia;

my chocolate is made in Turkey and my table water made in France.

My taste is far-flung and foreign,

please celebrate me.


My land is dead because all the trees have been cut down;

flooding kills thousands yearly because the drainages are clogged;

my fishes are dead because the oil companies dump waste in my rivers;

my communities are vanishing into the huge yawns of gully erosion, and nothing
is being done.

My very existence is uncertain and I am in the deepest depths of despondence,

Please celebrate me.



I have genuine leather but choose to eat it.

So I spend billions of dollars to import fake leather.

I have four refineries, but prefer to import fuel,

so I waste more billions to import petrol. I have no security in my country,

but send troops to keep peace in another man’s land.

I have hundreds of dams, but no water.

So I drink ‘pure’ water that roils my innards.

I need a vision,

Please celebrate me.



I have a million candidates craving to enter universities,

but my dungeons can only accommodate a tenth.

I have no power, but choose to flare gas,

so my people have learnt to see in the dark and stare at the glare of unclothed flares.

I am shrouded by darkness,

Please celebrate me.



For my golden jubilee,

I shall spend 16 billion Naira to bash around the bonfires of the banal.

So what if the majority gaze at my possessed, frenzied dance;

drenched in silent tears, as probity is enslaved in democracy’s empty cellars?

I am profligacy personified,

Please celebrate me.



Why can I not simply reflect and ponder?

Does my complexion cloud the colour of my character?

Does my location limit the lengths my liberty?

Does the spirit of my conviction shackle my soul

Does my mien maim the mine of my mind?

And is failure worth celebrating?

I AM NIGERIAN, PLEASE CELEBRATE ME

More fishing...astounding!

Lots of fish in the sea

The annual fishing contest is underway in Nigeria. A festival only like the Nigerians know how to do...the biggest fish wins. What? Haven't a clue...

Eid-ul-Fitr weekend in Lagos

Watching a little yacht race in the harbour. In the background is Ogogoro Island.

More Lighthouse Beach

Go on -have a closer look in the distance, the tankers look like a landmass, there are so many of them.

Lighthouse Beach Lagos

The Atlantic Ocean side of Lagos bears witness to the oil exploitation. There must be about 2000 tankers lying in wait in the sea to pick up their precious cargo. With it comes littered beaches that are unfit for human consumption.
Amazingly as many serviceable tankers there are as many wrecks are littering the coastal graveyard.

Some choice Pidgin

See am as e siddon. No face! Everywhere tinted!
Translation: Observe as the subject sits. One cannot but notice the frown occupying the face. Neither can one ignore those dark glasses.
As im enta for man eye, I jus tux. Because why? Na so so baffs im throway comot.
Translation: As the subject proceeded to occupy my peripheral vision, I had to bow in respect. Why, you ask? The subject was dressed impeccably.
Abeg giam!
(Usually during a fight). Translation: Allow his face to slap your fist so as to dissuade him from pursuing this frivolous conflict.
Eba without!
(Usually at a "bukateria") Respectable madam and owner of this eating establishment, I encourage you not to endow my plate with meat lest I am unable to service such debts as I may acquire should such a measure be put in practice. As such, I ask you to put more Eba, the amount of which should suffice to provide the illusion that I am affluent enough to afford the corresponding cost of meat. Yours faithfully.
Ol boy! Of which now?
Translation: It has been brought to our notice that you are now in a position to end the drought of stout lager that has so devastated this area. We would like to inquire what you intend to pursue as a course of action. Allow us to add that all deliberations should have our general interest at heart.
Ehen? So make I comot nyash begin cry?
Translation: The statements you just made do not constitute concrete evidence and as such do not justify or warrant any specific action by me for or against any of the parties involved in this circumstance.
As man land, man eye brush vest. Man begin knack tori.
Translation: As I "cascaded" down the stairs, my eyes happened upon a young member of the opposite sex dressed in a manner as would be illegal in 17 American states (including Alaska). I calmly walked up to the subject and proceeded to relay a series of lies guaranteed to stand me in good stead.
Why your body dey shake like leaf now, abeg thermocool!

It's a goats life...spotted at a political rally. A moving billboard with 4 legs. The goat doesn't seem to mind!

Some choice advertising spotted here

Michaels Hairdressing and Barbering
Payoff line:
"Your looking is my proudness"

Real Milk (not the fake kind, you check)
Payoffline:
"Jolliment in a bottle"

Heineken
Payoffline:
"Chairman"
(guessing that might mean 'the boss of beers'?)

Anyway enough of advertising-it is fun, one must mention.
Not so fun was being rudely woken up at 1 am in the morning choking and battling for breath in an apartment that is filled with smoke.
Turned out that some wires (one or several of the spaghetti in the roof) was smoldering away under the strain of 450 Volts ( I read that on my so called surge protectors, which aren't really protecting me as it turn out).
I fled and found refuge in my colleagues apartment downstairs for the rest of the night.
So, its now about 6 in the morning and I stagger out of D's apartment, blanket and pillow in hand, dressing gown on, to the amusement and utter disbelief (to my seemingly immoral conduct) into the carpark in the compound in full view of the 3 drivers who are busy washing our transport.
No, no it's not what you think...there was a fire in my apartment...
Yeah right-was written all over their faces.
Never mind, I survived yet another Lagos adventure just barely getting away with my little life, nogh all.
Only hours later going to a business forum meeting at the German Embassy, my driver gets arrested for wrongfully turning into a one-way street (did I mention there is no oneway traffic sign?). Easy to fix the 'black shirts' though-this is how they earn their living. And they have found their ideal prey right here in Embassy road.
Such is life in West Africa.

A tribute to Helon Habila, Poet and Novelist

BUS STOP
The hawkers are a blur in motion
Needle weaving through metal fabric
Yellow buses that come and go
their anaemic limbs joined to each other by rust
69 seated, 99 standing
Prehensile bus conductors monkey on and off running boards
calling bus stops, places

BROAD STREET
On Broad street there are no people
Only streams of intentions
Sellers, buyers, opportunity addicts
Sidling you, flashing wristwatches, jewellery and drugs
The money-changers wait by the kerb
Catching your eye, beckoning in Pounds and Dollars
Floating from Tinubu Square to Marina
You soon discover
Here all are predators
And you the only prey

Makoko floating slum-the Venice of Lagos

There's 100,000 people living on houses built on stilts where we stumbled across Mr Chubbey-authentic, admirable, resourceful.

He has 18 children to look after, and is always on the look out for some scheme or another which will help him make more money. He's like a character from Only Fools And Horses, buying selling, wheeling and dealing, doing dodgy deals and getting by on his charm and his luck. All that's missing is the camel skin coat.

With thanks to BBC documentary "Welcome to Lagos"

Ester-a view from the slums

Esther, 24, lives in a house built on Kuramo Beach, a tiny spit of sand attached to Victoria Island, Lagos's most upmarket neighbourhood.

"I've just finished reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I thought it was beautiful and exciting, and I want to read the next one in the trilogy, but I haven't been able to find a copy anywhere. I pray to God that he will provide one. I love to read so much.

"This is me, outside my house on Kuramo beach. It's a small stretch of sand attached to Victoria Island, one of the most upmarket neighbourhoods in Lagos. Everyone thinks only drug addicts, armed robbers and prostitutes live here, but they never come to find out the truth. I've lived on the beach for almost eight years. There's about 1,000 of us here. Shopkeepers, motorbike taxi drivers, even businessmen who work in banks. My best friend, Lati, runs a cinema house next to where I live. We watch Nollywood movies, and all the Chelsea matches. I could never be friends with anyone who supports Manchester United. They are the Red Devils. They are devilish. Maybe they are using their devilish substance to win all the major trophies they have been winning. I hate them. Their nickname is very bad. Up Chelsea! Blues for life!

"My house cost about £60 to build. You have to buy the wood and tarpaulins, and then pay a tax to the local chairman. I like to keep it very clean. When I was arguing with my husband, we had a big fight about who was going to get the house. I wasn't going to let him leave me homeless, with nowhere to go.

"In this picture, I'm getting dressed up for church. I'm a member of the Redeemed Christian Church of God. On the first Friday of every month they hold a 'miracle service'. Sometimes there's more than a million people praying together; it's quite fantastic, and then I know God will never give up on me ..."

Badagry slave port

Sadly there are few noteworthy relics bar a little archway through which the slaves boarded the rowing boat to the point of no return.The buildings, fine examples of Brazilian/Portuguese architecture are all but crumling ruins and the townsfolk albeit very jolly and friendly have no sentiment to preserve this important part of African history.

Chevron, who's boats we came on provided 3 armed guards to accompany us on this trip and protect us from the pirates that roam the Lagos port looking for epats to hijack.

Up the creek

...by boat to Bagadry, a village 45 kms up North from Lagos.
The trip provided a welcome relief out of the concrete jungle that is Lagos City and was a reasonable interesting day.
Badagry has an interesting if sombre history as the West African slave port (from 16th century to 18th century) where more than 300 000 slaves were shipped across the Atlantic to labor in the cottonfields of the New World.
It was also a key entry port for many missionaries. The slave market was established in 1502 and the sandbar across the lagoon which stretches all the way to the Benin border is the 'point of no return'. Slaves left the mainland of Africa by rowing boat to this strip of land between the creek and the mainland where they were herded along a sand path for a few meters to the waiting ships in the sea on the other side. This was propbably the last they saw of their African homeland. Legend has it that there was a waterwell from which the slaves would drink for the last time and that this water had some sort of magical effect that made them forget everything they new.

Not exactly the 'long walk to freedom'...

As I come to the end of this Sunday's uploading of my walking tour interspersed with military intervention (in case we are intending to take over the country) regarding us group of stupid whiteys who dare to take photos of the architecture, all I have left to say is that we should be grateful indeed to have been raised in a country were free speech is a given in my case and having lived for 30 years in a country that has enjoyed something resembling democracy which is now being threatened by a megalomanical 'youth leader'....without trying to sound negative-I have just once again realised that the human species is very flawed in general and I am ashamed to be part of it. War, commerce, the business of religion, hatred, greed and plain stupidity-all the same...and the innocent suffer.
I stop here before I throw up-politics is really not my thing.
But I did do my 10 000 steps today and am achingly pleased to have done something for my fitness. Thank you Lagos.

...nearly there...

...and more...

...and more walking...

..more walking around Lagos Island