Nigeria Journal: July 10th - Point and Kill restaurant

When Dr. Korieh suggested that we have dinner at the local “Point-and-Kill” restaurant my mind went to a dark, dark place. I imagined a shabby wooden structure jam-packed with Hausa men in flowing robes tending to vast pools of brown, sludgy water. Within the water there would be fish piled upon fish, flapping their tails and bellies against one other, each in a death battle for the last molecule of oxygen. Igbo men would be standing along the edges of the aforementioned pool, barking out orders to the Hausa, jamming their fingers in the direction of some unlucky fish. A finger point meant blood would soon be in the water.  The Hausa man would rear up from his chair high above the pond, grab a circular net and somehow catch the chosen one. Then in one quick instant, he would dump the fish out onto the sandy, muddy ground and then take a board and SLAM its head, rending it paralyzed. Then he would slam the board again, sending brain matter and blood flying. The limp fish would be gathered up, thrown on a grill and
cooked for a few minutes, upon which, the Igbo man who chose the fish as his dinner would tear into his prize, revealing white, soft meat. The tent would be lit by weak light bulbs attached to roof rafters. Corroded electricity lines would snake their way to each light bulb like a network of spider webs. There would be smoke wafting in the air, blocking the view. People would be pushing. And the whole scene would be extremely, EXTREMELY unsanitary. I naturally decided that I would eat the fish no matter what.

When we actually pulled into the REAL restaurant, we were immediately confronted by a security attachment of two men carrying AK-47s. They asked to see our trunk. We let them. Finding nothing of interest, they let us pass on through to an open courtyard of gravel where about 200 hundred plastic tables were set. Surprisingly, the first patrons I saw were three white men (most likely Europeans)! Everyone in the car yelled that I had some kith and kin here in Owerri. I didn’t talk to them. That would be an awkward conversation:

“Hi. You’re white, huh?”

“Yes. And so are you.”

“Yeah. Well, what are you doing here?”

“Seedy business.”

“Well, see you later. I’m glad you’re white!”

In the far corner of the restaurant were the fish tanks. They weren't as I had imagined them, but I wasn't too far off. They were full of catfish. The water was shallow and the tanks were made out of tile. Some of the catfish in the tank did not look too healthy, which got me a tad worried. But there were plenty to choose from. We all stood around deciding on which fish to choose. Men came up to us carrying plastic buckets. Whenever we pointed to a fish, they would try to jam the plastic bucket into the water in the hopes of catching the one we selected. This is not exactly the most efficient way at catching a fish. For one, the catfish know that a finger point towards them means they will soon meet their end. Immediately upon a patron raising their hand towards the water, the catfish scatter and go absolutely insane. The men, inevitably, lose the one you pointed at in the tangle of flapping fish bodies. Essentially the whole “Point and Kill” thing makes you assume that you will indeed get the fish of your choice. But in reality it should just be called “Point-in-the-general-direction-of-fish-and-something-will-definitely-be-killed-for-you-to-consume.” Anyways, we did that. We selected two fish and asked that one of them be grilled and the other be chopped up and thrown into a pepper soup with yams. Then we waited for about an hour and half. It took a long time. In the mean time, I got rather drunk on beer and honestly forgot that we had even ordered food until it came out on a huge platter! By the time we received our meal, it was well past 8:30pm and dark. Not being the biggest fish eater, it being dark helped me a lot. I did not have to see the scales, skin, and bones that I was quickly shoving in my mouth. The pepper soup fish was excellent: tender, spicy, thrown on top of white rice. The roasted fish was also quite good, but I enjoyed the spice of the soup much more. There was some discussion at our table about whether we were sure the fish we chose were REALLY the ones served to us. I honestly think that it was. After all, it took long enough to prepare. Oh, and last thing: Point and Kill does not have to relegate you to fish. You can point and kill at chickens and goats. Although, I don’t think they catch the chicken or the goats in plastic baskets. Essentially, you can be your own Caesar for a night, choosing who will die and the manner of their demise. And one final observation (I promise): A point and kill restaurant might be the only place on earth where evolutionary biology is flipped on its head, for only the weak survive!

For those of you who are still unsure as to where exactly I am in Nigeria, I will now take a few minutes to describe it. The school, Pater Noster, is located in a new division of the city Owerri called, creatively enough, New Owerri. Owerri is the capital city of Imo State Nigeria. Nigeria has (I think) 56 states. Imo state is one of the most populous states of Nigeria, behind Lagos, which is a MASSIVE metropolis of over 8 million people. Owerri is the intellectual and political heart of Imo. Igbo people are the predominate ethnicity in the region, although there are smatterings of Ibibio, Efik, and Hausa. Igbos across Nigeria are considered to be extremely industrious. And this is evident throughout the city, especially in the market areas. There is no such thing as zoning here, so houses and residential properties are often built on top of or right next to businesses. Much like at the turn of the 20^th century in the US, there are small shops at the front of almost every single house/apartment building. People are EVERYWHERE. They are pushing wheel barrows full of peanuts; carrying yams on their heads; making bricks for the construction industry; selling cooking wares, various food stuffs, electronics, and music; and butchering meat. In one small stroll, one will pass about 40 shops, each filled to the brim with candy, food, BOTTLED WATER, and anything else your heart desires. Most shops are made of wooden planks, covered with sheet metal. They are open entrance, as a few of the more primitive structures do not even have doors.

 Owerri is much older than the automobile, so the streets, much like many European cities, are narrow and snake in between buildings. Sewage is disposed of in open sewers and gutters running along the sides of each road. This means that when one wants to enter a store, one has to jump over the stagnant cesspool of trash and feces. Luckily, most businesses have placed small walking bridges over the gutter to ensure one doesn’t fall in. Nevertheless, every time we are squeezed onto a tight road (especially in a car) I am worried that one or two of our tires are going down into the ditch. And that would be a complete disaster. If I was to actually fall into one of these open sewers, I would probably kill myself, because I’m sure almost every single disease known to man would have entered into my blood stream. After a few days, however, one gets used to the ways in which the city of Owerri disposes of its sewage and it really doesn’t become so bothersome. There is trash pick-up, but a vast majority of Nigerians choose to just burn their refuse. It creates a rather odd vista across the city. Whenever I get a full view of the city skyline and buildings, I’m always intrigued by the numerous places that are spouting large columns of smoke. Is there a war going on? Is a building on fire? No, usually, they are just piles of garbage that people are burning. It’s a rather effective way, too, as most of the trash here is organic/paper, so they’re essentially burning leaves and paper. Bottles, both glass and plastic, are recycled and collected (for a price). So many people go around and pick the bottles up to make some extra change.

Rarely in my life have I had the opportunity to spend this much time in a country so close to the equator. The sun, especially around 3:00pm, can be extremely strong. The mornings are usually breezy and quite cool. They are not as humid as the midday, so I enjoy spending my time relaxing on the school’s balcony. Then, during the day, it becomes quite oppressive. Humidity is a constant 80-95%, which makes one’s skin feel very sticky and unwashed. I have to be careful about spending a lot of time in direct sunlight, as I know the UV rays are much stronger here than in the Northern hemisphere. Luckily for me, this is currently the rainy season, so the sky is often shrouded in thunderheads and clouds, so I rarely feel as if I’m baking. The dry season here, though, (our fall and winter) is supposed to be extremely oppressive. But I would imagine the mosquitoes to be much less of a hassle. On that note: there are mosquitoes, but no more than I’ve experienced before. In fact, I’d say my experiences on the bike trip last summer have really helped me “tough it out.” Because, quite frankly, NOTHING could compare to the relentless sun and mosquito hoards of eastern Montana. And I’m definitely showering much more here than I did on our bike excursion. The evenings are glorious. The sun beings to set around 7:00pm, a breeze usually kicks up, and the humidity drops. I’m finding that few things are more relaxing than grabbing a beer, watching the Nigerian sky turn a panorama of colors, and peacefully reflecting on the day past and the one ahead.

School is essentially over for the students. They have entered into their exam week, which will last from Monday until Thursday. Exams are supposed to take “all day,” so my teaching has been curtailed. I’m kind of disappointed, for I still had many lessons planned and activities that I wanted to do with the children. I thought that I would have 4 weeks total of teaching, but it looks as though I’m only going to have three. Dr. Korieh has asked me to help him prepare for next year during the testing week. He is going to be interviewing new candidates for teaching positions. And he is currently looking for a dynamic head teacher who would be willing to come to Nigeria and work for a period of time. I think he should try to recruit an American, for this is billed as an “American School.” Our form of pedagogy is very different, and I think it would behoove the school to find an American willing to live here for a few years and get the school on a good track academically! If you know anyone, send me an email or comment on the blog! My last week here will be spent organizing and planning some teaching seminars for the current staff. I have learned from them, and now Dr. Korieh thinks it’s time they actively learn from Tara and me. I will make some workshops discussing class-room management, creativity, and lesson planning.

I don’t know if many of you are aware, but I’m actually one of three Americans at the school this summer. Our jobs and responsibilities here are much different, so it means that I rarely write about her or her son. Tara is a doctoral student of International Development and African Studies at Michigan State University. She received a fellowship this year to study Igbo language. The fellowship stipulated that she go to a place of immersion and also find an avenue through which she would be able to do some service. She contacted Dr. Korieh (the both of them had met at an academic conference) to see if it would be possible to organize Igbo classes while she would be helping out the school. Dr. Korieh agreed and everything was approved by Michigan State. For most of the week, Tara is  studying with professors from the local universities. She has class sometimes 6 hours a day. Her Igbo is improving and she knows more than me, but then again, she gets to focus on it! Tara does not teach classes and has chosen to help the school through creating PR materials. The goal eventually will be to make Pater Noster an established site for future students to come and study Igbo. Tara has a young son named Grayson. He is 7 years old and is enjoying his time immensely. He brings fresh energy and youthful exuberance to the experience for all of us. He spends much of his day in the 2^nd grade classroom and then plays in the backyard when school is over. Sometimes I get to hang out with him, but I’m often in need of some alone time after hours of hanging with children! They will both stay until August 1^st. I will be leaving two days before them, on July 29^th/30^th.