Nigeria Journal: July 1st

So after an emotional high of Saturday and Sunday, I’ve crashed down to earth. Times have been getting frustrating for me. I am two weeks into my trip (over one week in Nigeria) and I have yet to use my bank card to get money. I can’t explain to you how frustrating this situation is. It inhibits me from doing anything and I’m getting really tired of feeling like an absolute leech, sucking off of Dr. Korieh’s generosity. A lack of money means that I’m unable to purchase a beer when I want, buy some water when I need it, purchase my own food, buy souvenirs for my family and friends, or (and most importantly) get a small internet modem for my computer. The fact that I’m unable to connect onto the internet has literally been driving me insane. I simply unable to stay in regular contact with Jamie or my parents. And with the recent bout of Boko Haram craziness, they must be worried about me. I want to assure them that I’m fine and show them some pictures, but I can’t at this point. Ah, yes, pictures, the other terribly frustrating aspect of my trip. I’m afraid to inform most of you that the camera I brought to Nigeria is a total piece of garbage. It is unable to focus. Every time I turn it on, the shutter makes a grinding sound and the display screen looks terribly fuzzy. NOT COOL. There have been so many instances where I’ve been awed by the mist over forest-covered hills, adorned with powerful palm trees and Cassava plants, but have been unable to capture it in color! I do journal a lot and writing this blog helps, but I know for those of  you who are more “visual”  in habit, reading my rambling posts isn’t exactly the most effective way of following in this adventure.

           
And on a side note, I’m totally sick and tired of the driving. Initially I found it to be exotic and quite adrenaline-inducing, but now, after only a week, I’ve grown to despise getting in the car to go to town. Because inevitably, a 10 km trip takes at least 10000 more minutes longer than it should and is about 2,000000000000x more frustrating than it ought to be. The constant stopping, starting, honking, smelling noxious fumes, and yelling has given me more than I’m able to handle. OH how I long for my bike. I’ll never complain about Milwaukee drivers again…

In lieu of my recent aside about my growing impatient with Nigerian drivers, I have a story. On Sunday evening it was decided that I, along with Tara and Grayson, would travel with Dr. Korieh up to Nsukka University, which was supposed to be a rather pleasant 3-hour drive. Still being naïve to African ways, I agreed to go on the excursion, because I thought that we would be back in Owerri by the evening. We left at 7:00am. After hours of driving around (and through) craters, speeding too fast around curbs, slamming on the breaks at inopportune times, running through at least 15 police check points, and getting lost about 4 times, we made it Nsukka in just under 5 hours. I was exhausted. The scenery along the road was a smattering of beauty and horror. I’m really beginning to believe that nothing in this country is tepid. Just as I would settle into my seat and gaze out the window, reflecting on the majestic beauty of the Enugu hills, or admire the chiseled bodies of Nigerian farmers tending rows of corn and cassava, I would be knocked out of my euphoria and aura by a site not so bucolic. Usually, I would see the remnants of tractor-trailer accident, the burned-out hull of a personal automobile, or grinding poverty. In one instance, we came upon the scene of  a very-recent tour bus accident. All of the passengers (those that weren't severely injured) were sitting on the side of the road looking dazed and asking for help. I couldn't believe it. Luckily, there was a hospital close by. We rode along dirt roads, small village by-ways, and along Nigeria’s express way. The express way is interesting in that the Nigeria driving rules still apply even there: chaos. People were driving 100 Km (80mph), passing each other on the right and the left. Women were carrying goods to market, walking in the opposite direction of traffic flow. Small mopeds were waddling down the lane, and old men were clumsily riding taco-rimed bikes in the lane. It was absolutely insane. I was worried about the safety and lives of hundreds of people. Then I thought of my own, realized that I didn’t have a seat belt on, and panicked. I threw myself to the back of the van and clamped it down as hard as I could. Meanwhile, life on the high-way continued: twice we came upon illegal “express-way” villages, where Hausa cattle traders grazed their flocks in the median and built shabby structures along the berms. Trading towns were literally popping up right in the middle of the high-way. I couldn’t believe it. One glance out of the window gave me the view of a herd of cattle chewing cud, the slaughtering of a ram, and men reclined on chairs making sales under the shade. Some rest stop, huh!?

Anyways, Nsukka is a town that lies in the northern fringes of the southeastern region and is only about an hours drive from the Middle Belt—the border land between the Islamic North and the Christian South. Nsukka is the site of the University of Nigeria and was sponsored by and designed after Michigan State University in the 1950s. During the Biafran-Nigerian War, the school garnered the reputation as the intellectual heart of the Biafran secessionists, and therefore, was repeatedly bombed and targeted by Nigerian Federal Forces. Many of the great Igbo leaders, artists, and authors got their start at Nsukka, including the most famous, Chinua Achebe. Nsuakka is a university that carries an international reputation for academic excellence. And yet, much like Imo State, the current affairs of campus did not seem ideal. While in much better condition than Imo State, I was still surprised to see a lot of trash and run-down academic buildings dotting the grounds. While the school has been improving certain facilities, one got the impression that something was amiss at the leadership level. Was it a lack of trust, funds, or vision?  The answer to  my question, I believe, came to me while waiting for my hotel room later that night (yes, that’s right, our initial plan of returning to Owerri that evening didn’t work out as planned). Suddenly, in the lobby of the hotel, five men burst through the doors. Two of them were dressed in cheesy, tight-fighting suits (one was pleather), wearing ray-ban sunglasses. After them, came a sloppily-dressed gargantuan, whose billowy suit pants were caught in his argyle socks. He had gold, wire-rimmed glasses and a serious countenance. He looked like he was a dirty crook out of a 1980s Schwarzenegger film. I assumed that this guy was very important due to the tone of his voice while he was barking orders into a cell phone. My assumption proved correct when I looked over my shoulder only to see the final two men of his entourage carrying AK-47s, looking about the room with shifty,  nervous eyes. The two ray-ban wearing security attachés made EVERY SINGLE PERSON walk to a completely different wing of the hotel to exit, because apparently, when a “big guy” walks in, the hallway shuts down to the “thru traffic.” I was taking this whole scene in, a little on edge. Just when I thought I had come to the conclusion that the frumpy-80s-looking man was probably some kind of drug lord or oil magnate, I overheard a student on the bench whisper to his friend, “That’s the new Vice Chancellor.” My jaw dropped. VICE CHANCELLOR!? So, um, wait. The VICE CHANCELLOR of  Nsukka University has to walk around campus with a security guard team of five intimidating men, carrying semi-automatic MILITARY weapons!? Who wants to kill him!? Why does he feel that threatened?! Maybe that is why regular trash pick-up or working toilets don’t seem to be too high of a priority for university leadership. Oh man….Nigeria….oh man….

Shortly thereafter the national soccer team, the Super Eagles, got knocked out of the World Cup. I drank a few beers. Got buzzed. And went to bed dehydrated, wishing I was back in Owerri.

The way home from Nsukka was like the Odyssey. It was an arduous journey, full of hardship and folly. Through numerous deluges, more than a few corrupt cops, and high-speed swerving (of course), we picked our way back to Owerri. Due to Boko Haram, the Nigerian Government has deployed police and military units throughout the nation. The Nigerian police and army are notoriously corrupt. They strike fear into the general populace and act as if they are above the law. And quite frankly, in a nation where corruption and chaos are rampant, the police and army do function above the law. At some point in their lives, every single Nigerian citizen has been the victim of police thievery. And soon it would be our turn. After about three hours on the road, we were stopped by our 10^th police/army check point. Usually, the check points consists of three lines of barrels strewn across the road, angled just enough to force you to slow down and make a series of slight turns. This allows the police/army official to walk up to your car and look in. Naturally, they are decked out in full garb: helmets, boots, and the ubiquitous AK-47 slung over the shoulder. Some of them are quite pleasant, and upon seeing me, welcome me to the country and wave us through. And others, well, they are power-hungry psychopaths looking to intimidate and scare people into submission. And, dare I say, a vast majority are just plain crooks. We got pulled over. I could tell right away that the police officer who was about to search our car was amping to strut his power like a cock in front of hens. He was all blunder, and unfortunately for us, full of AK-47 bust. He held the power and the cards. He knew it. After seeing me, he became even more “suspicious” (in reality, he had this exact thought: white man = money). He opened the doors. Gruffly asked our driver (Chinoso) to get out and demanded that  Dr. Korieh show him our car’s  “papers.” He glanced at me and didn’t say anything. He rifled through our lap top bags, our luggage (not mine), and then wanted to know why we had tinted windows on the car. (Supposedly in Nigeria it is illegal to have tinted windows on a car. Realizing that many stock-factory cars are built with tinted windows, the Nigerian govt. amended this law a few years ago, essentially making it legal for cars to run with factory-tinting, which, of course, our car had). Dr. Korieh told the police officer that it  was a factory-tint and that the car does not have the legal document for tinted windows. The police officer did not care. He kept banging his fist on the window. Naturally, he was putting pressure right where I was sitting, trying to intimidate me as well. He asked us to wait, took our documents and left. We sat, and sat, and sat. Finally, I got too hot and had to use the restroom. In the 30 minutes we had been parked along the side of the road, Dr. Korieh and our driver had left the vehicle to relieve themselves in the bushes along the way. I thought I would do the same. IMMEDIATELY upon me exiting the car, the black-clad officer SCREAMS at me to get back in the car. He kept on repeating “inside, inside, inside!” I gave him the meanest look I could give anyone, then slowly, and I mean slowly, crawled back into the car. I left my foot dangling outside of the car door and leaned my body out in a form of defiance. I knew that he was telling me to get back in the car for two reasons: 1) I was white and 2) because I was an American citizen, who, if I wanted to, could get his name and registration badge and complain to the American embassy about my treatment, which apparently, never ends well for the offending officer. Anyways, I didn’t want to push our raging bull too much, so I quietly sat there and watched as car after car of darkly-tinted SUVs, trucks, and passenger vans passed by without a problem. Thirty minutes turned into an hour. And then finally, Dr. Korieh came storming back to retrieve money. The cop would not let us go without some form of payment. I hid most of Dr. Korieh’s money in my wallet, knowing that the cop would not search me, so we only gave the cop 250 Niara for our trouble. He laughed and told us, “Do you think I would go back to the office and tell my boss that no one paid today? Give me all the change and money you have.” We lied. He took what he could get. Then we were finally off on the road. We had been robbed by Nigeria’s finest, the same men who were to be garnering the trust and respect of the populace, the same men who were supposed to be protecting us from Boko Haram. We were all livid. What an absolute joke. At one point during the entire ordeal, another officer came past the van door and looked at me and said, “White man! Welcome.” I just gave him a dirty look.” He asked, “What’s the matter?”

Later on I told Dr. Korieh that I was emotionally and physically exhausted. He looked at me and said, “Jeremy, today was a good day. That was nothing.”