about Nigeria after a short visit here.
Earlier this year, I was approached to do some media consultancy in
Nigeria. I'd just left the BBC after 18 years, to set up my own
business, so this seemed a great opportunity. I spoke to a number of
friends and former colleagues. I'd heard many stories about Nigeria,
seen the reports on Boko Haram and had my own impressions of sub
Saharan Africa.
The advice fell into two camps:
a) Don't go, you'll get kidnapped or catch malaria. Either way, you're
going to die
b) Nigeria is a nightmare. When you arrive, you'll be swamped by
hustlers trying to rip you off, steal your luggage and all your money.
If they don't get you, the corrupt police officers and officials will.
I was mainly to be based in Asaba, the capital of the Delta State, one
of, if not the biggest, oil producing states is Nigeria. In an attempt
to be a bit more thorough with my research than asking a few old
mates, I contacted the office of BBC Media Action in Abuja.
The fairly pragmatic response was: "We treat the Delta State as a
hostile environment. It's an oil producing area and there is a strong
risk of kidnapping. However if you have armed security, this risk will
be slightly reduced". I took this to be reassuring and made sure an
armed security clause was written into my contract. I spent some time
talking to my wife Jo and children about the prospect of going to
Nigeria.
Jo's attitude was: "For God's sake, this is exactly what you love
doing. The more dangerous a place the better the stories. You'll be
able to show off and bore people senseless about roadblocks, men with
guns and how brave you are". Buoyed by this I accepted the work and
prepared for Asaba. I got my visa, all the vaccinations I could fit
into my arm and made sure I had a small mountain of malaria tablets.
I really didn't know what to expect from Nigeria. It's easy to fall
into preconceptions that Africa is all about war, famine, corruption
and poachers killing endangered animals.
I caught the overnight BA fli1around the site to cater for a mass of
cargo. About ten minutes drive away, just across the Niger Bridge, is
the city of Onitsha. One of the busiest markets in Africa. You can buy
almost anything there.
I was to travel in and out of the airport several times in the next
five weeks. Each time something new was completed. The baggage
carousel, lacking when we first flew in, was fully operational the
next time. So were the check-in areas and the very plush departures
hall.
The next morning was the first venture out. Yinka and I decided to go
for a bit of a run. It seemed sensible to set off early because of the
heat and to avoid the risk of being kidnapped or shot at. So at 6am we
were off. About a minute into the jog we approached a group of
somewhat hard looking men with very big guns. They were guarding the
gates to our compound. This is not a sight I'm used to on my normal
runs in rural Leicestershire, in the UK.
Anxious to appear as inconspicuous as possible I tried to sneak past,
not drawing too much attention to myself, convinced I was about to be
arrested. However quite the opposite. We were greeted with cheers of
"Good morning sir, well done, how far?".
Once I had composed myself from the shock, very nearly tripping over
in a sweaty heap, we continued our circuits. Every time we passed
someone we had the same greeting. It began to feel as though we had
our own troupe of heavily armed cheerleaders. (Or should that be
troop?)
This was quite an introduction to what, I began to realize, was one of
the most friendly countries I have been to. This is a genuine
friendliness. It is not a means to get to know you and rip you off.
The following few weeks continued to surprise me – and to make me feel
very embarrassed about my initial preconceptions. I've been lucky
enough to visit a whole range of places in the Delta State. The TV and
radio stations need some work, but the staff are young, enthusiastic
and very hard working. Warri, the oil centre, is a thriving hub that
is only going to get bigger, with the construction of the largest
business park in West Africa. The sign at our hotel was a bit
disconcerting. It asked everyone carrying guns to make sure they
weren't loaded – which was nice.
The University Teaching Hospital in Oghara is as well equipped as any
I have been to in the UK or the rest of Europe. There are state of the
art CT and MRI scanners, a world class renal unit and 25 paediatric
intensive care beds.
The journey to the hospital gave me the first opportunity to see a
proper Nigerian village. This was far closer to what I had been
expecting. The goats and cattle roaming the dusty roads, the food
stalls cooking chicken, fish and corn over open fires. Dozens of bars
with dodgy looking satellites, advertising the latest football matches
live. When we slowed down, or stopped the car we were surrounded by
two groups. The children pointing at me were shouting Oyibo, Oyibo
(white man) and teenagers trying to sell anything from palm wine to
cola nuts, to the latest mobile phones.
Now I can't be sure, but I don't think the iphone 5 I was offered for
5000 naira (about £20) was as genuine as it could be. All of this was
done with great fun and humour. If you chose to, you could buy
everything you needed from your car. If you didn't, that was fine too.
Suicidal Okada
The transport system is far from perfect but all the roads we've
driven on are absolutely fine. The most interesting experience was
seeing the suicidal Okada motorcycle taxis in full force for the first
time. They have been banned in Delta State and replaced by three-wheel
kekes. But this is certainly not the case in Onitsha. It is about a
fifteen-minute journey from the centre of Asaba, but it could be on
another planet.
You drive over the Niger Bridge, enter the neighbouring state and a
different world. One where thousands of the small machines ferry
people and any goods you can think of around. We saw one driver with
four passengers, two adults and two children precariously balanced in
front and behind him. Oil barrels containing God knows what, weighing
heavily on the clearly inadequate suspension. I was told someone had
seen an Okada carrying a donkey, strapped to the driver as though he
was giving it a piggy back. I don't know if I believe this, but, from
what I saw in Onitsha that day, I can't rule it out.
The drivers are quite mad. We were there for about a minute before our
car had its first near miss. We were to have many more in the next
half an hour, with the rules of the road, like driving in the same
direction on a dual carriageway, simply ignored.
The noise is deafening. As the Okadas rev their tiny engines, they
sound like a swarm of very loud insects buzzing inside your head. You
very soon begin to choke on the fumes of burning oil and petrol. It
was quite a relief to cross back over the bridge into the far more
serene and calm home ground of Asaba. The welcome I have had
everywhere is stunning. On one occasion I interviewed a senior state
commissioner. It turned out it was his birthday. He kindly invited me
to his party that evening. I didn't really know anyone else going – so
felt a little uncomfortable. No need. When I arrived he insisted I sit
with him.
He made sure my glass was never empty and my plate constantly filled.
I was introduced to everyone and made to feel an honored guest.
There was a downside to this. The comedian who anchored the programme
took quite a shine to me….. "Ahhh give it up for the white man, where
are you from"?
This was followed by ten minutes of him royally taking the **** out of
me. I understood about one word in ten, but by the reaction of
everyone else, it was obviously very amusing. So much for being
inconspicuous.
Premier League
But the worst was still to come. People began standing up and paying
tribute to the Commissioner. He is a very popular guy. Halfway through
the speeches the comedian spotted me once again. "Does the white man
want to speak". I stood, said a few words and wished he would see his
children's children and his children's children's children. This
appeared to be the toast de jour and went down very well. The evening
ended with lots of photographs being taken and many new good friends.
The one thing you cannot escape in Nigeria is the love of the English
Premier League. I have so far failed to meet another Leicester City
fan, an obvious shame, but there are millions of diehard Manchester
United, Arsenal and Chelsea supporters.
Watching the Liverpool v Man Utd game at the Asaba viewing centre,
with thousands of people wearing the respective replica kits, was one
hell of an experience, although my eardrums may take some time to
recover. There is no doubting their passion. They may not have been to
Old Trafford, The Emirates or Stamford Bridge, but the passion they
exuded was clear. I'm not sure what 'come on ref,' or 'what was that
you idiot' is in pidgin, but I heard it several times that day.
The viewing centre was created by the governor of Delta State, Dr
Emmanuel Uduaghan. He is an Arsenal supporter. I met him once while
playing tennis. For some reason he didn't seem very impressed by my
love of Leicester City. I simply don't understand why.
I like this. He really was very narrative.
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