Nigeria Journal: June 25th

 My first full complete day in Nigeria has come to a close. I woke up this morning to the sound of children singing praise to god. They were all clapping in unison and singing to the soulful rhythms of an African beat, accenting syllables with a tonal meter that is distinct to Bantu Africans. It sounded so peaceful and sincere. I am struggling to sleep at night. I think much of it has to do with my continuing jet lag. Last night I went to bed around 8:00pm and was awake by 11:00pm. I couldn’t go back to sleep until maybe 5:00 am and then was awoken at 7:00am by the school kids. They are all decked out in the nicest blue uniforms: royal blue trousers, skirts, and neck ties, with a baby blue polo or button down. They wear black or brown leather shoes, with baby blue socks.

Today, I had the privilege of teaching 5^th grade English and public speaking. The facilities here at the school are lacking in many ways. There are a limited number of resources, so most of the children work out of their own notebooks or aged work books. Dr. Korieh has done an excellent job of stocking the library with magazines and books, however, most of the books are well above the reading level of the students—this makes a lot of sense, considering Dr. Korieh’s taste in reading materials is decidedly professorial. Most of these children, however, are in elementary school, so reading a tome on Post-WWII Nigeria is NOT exactly something they want or could do.

The school itself is built in the location of New Owerri, which is literally a new development on the outskirts of Owerri. Many of the houses around us are very large and new—built most likely by business men and retired academics. Many of the houses and buildings in Nigeria are gated off from the road, giving each building a “compound” closed-off feel to it. I don’t necessarily find it inviting, but when you get inside the structure, the walls and huge steel doors do a great job of calming the chaotic environment outside. The class rooms in the school are small, but painted a bright green. There is a dirt mark that runs the entire length of the building, giving the inside a drab, dilapidated feel to it. But this isn’t necessarily the case. The building is quite new and with a deep cleaning, it would sparkle. In preparation for my trip here, they repainted my room and I must admit that when the morning sun comes bursting through the windows, reflecting against these bright walls, I feel energized.  I have yet to experience some really disgusting creatures, although today I ran into two cockroaches the size of my thumb, and just before I sat down to write this, SOMETHING ( I know not what) scurried across the floor into the eating room. I thought about pursuing it, but then decided otherwise, for I had nothing in my hand (or on my body) to smack it with. I’m sure it would have needed killing. Mosquitoes have not been too bad. Hopefully this keeps up throughout my stay here, but I highly doubt it. Electricity is run on generators for most buildings, which means that we do experience power outages about once every 2-3 hours. This has not been too much of a problem for me, as I did bring my own headlamp and get around just fine.

My class today was fantastic. The children are attentive and ask excellent questions. They are very respectful and want to learn as much as possible. It has been fun watching the reaction of some of the younger kids. Most of them come right up to me and sit in my lap or want to hold my hand, but for a few, the sight of a “white guy” is terrifying. And when that’s the case, they just stand and cry. Now, I know I’m not the best looking guy around, but geez, I never though my physical features would make another human shed tears of horror and disgustJ. Wait until they see me sunburned. I taught the children about speech making and we played a round of pop-up public speaking, where each child is told to grab a topic from a bag, compose a short speech, and then present in front of the class. They had a lot of fun with it. I then asked them to take a book from the library and sit and read for 30 minutes, writing vocabulary terms while doing so. Initially this idea was met with great resistance. But after 30 minutes, when I asked them to stop, none of them wanted to. They found the process of reading to be very relaxing and enjoyable. I then took them outside to play a version of American football/rugby. They loved it. And I sweated about 1000 pounds of water out my already desiccated body.

The temperature here hovers around 85 – 90 degrees with about 80 – 100% humidity. When I leave a car with air conditioning, my glasses fog up. And upon waking from a night’s sleep, I feel as if my skin is covered in a layer of caramelized, sticky sugar. I have yet to bath and I’m pretty sure I won’t. I’ve been advised by my American colleague here to avoid washing my entire body in their water, for malaria and other creepy diseases can be spread that way. I’m not so sure about malaria being spread in water, but I know bacteria can! I’m sure that in about a week I will have gotten so tired of being the “smelly guy” around that I am going to bath anyway.

Igbo-Nigerians themselves are a study in contrast. They are extremely religious and are often quoting from the Bible. Yet, during the day, they can be condescending to each other and very aggressive. In one 5 second conversation, they can go from throwing punches, to smiling and calling each other “brother.” They love their country, and yet, in the same breath, admit that they don’t trust each other and wish that the nation was split into three countries: a Yoruba west, an Igbo east, and a Hausa/Fulani north. To visitors, they can be overly gracious, kind, and welcoming. And in the same breath, tell to you avoid “this, that, and the other place,” because white people will get robbed. I don’t know. I guess in some sense, it gives this country a razor-sharp energy. The balance between peace and violence seems ever so slight that in one instance it could explode. It’s felt in the streets, in market interactions, and when dealing with the police (who, by the way, nonchalantly carry AK-47s wherever they venture).

The city of Owerri has grown nearly 2-fold since the 1980s. This gives it a completely chaotic feel. The old town center—a scramble of narrow roads and wooden-plank markets---is filled with trucks, cars, and small 2-cycle rickshaws commonly known as “K-Ks/.” They buzz in and out of traffic, terrifying drivers, pedestrians, and polluting the air with unbearable noxious fumes that waft all around. It is impossible to escape coughing when riding in a vehicle with the windows down. There are hundreds of thousands of these little K-Ks. And they are all painted a bright yellow, giving them the persona of worker bees in a hive. While kind of romantic and extremely exotic, I can safety say that in two days of being here, I’ve grown to despise them. And apparently I’m not alone. In nearly every major Nigerian city they are banned. Consequently, many of them have moved to Owerri.

Driving in this country is seriously the craziest thing I have EVER experienced in my life. It is terrifying. Just today, we nearly hit about 7 pedestrians; took a mini-van over a 2 foot hole in the road, bottoming out and scraping the under carriage; actually hit a person (survived); ran into (or in the words of my brother “kissed”) a parked car; and almost drove directly into a 5 foot drainage ditch that was filled with trash and sewage. When exiting a car, one has to leap from the road to the “sidewalk” over that said ditch. It is big and daunting. In places there are wooden planks that serve as bridges that assist in traversing the festering water. Sometimes, however, there are no bridges. In that case, just pray to god you don’t fall in. If you do, man, I don’t even want to think about the consequences. Anyways, back to driving: THERE ARE NO TRAFFIC RULES OR DRIVING REGULATIONS IN THIS COUNTRY. ANYONE CAN DRIVE ANYTHING WHEREVER THEY PLEASE. Oh, I’ve seen a few stop signs; we passed them without a second though. Oh, I’ve seen a few stop lights; none of them worked. Oh, I’ve seen a roundabout; but no one follows it. In fact, many go the opposite direction around it. That means they are coming at you head-on and have made no plans to slow down or move. The only thing that is a “rule” per say is to honk. Honk all the time, and at anything, for any purpose. They honk to warn pedestrians that they are about to approach within centimeters of taking off their arms or rendering them paralyzed. They honk to signify to another driver that they are coming around a bed. They honk at intersections. They don’t stop at intersections. They honk at them. They honk in anger, in jubilation, and to make a left or right hand turn. They honk to pull over. They honk to stop for gas, to park, and to make the traffic jam (or “glow-slow” in local parlance) move quicker. You can imagine the cacophony of honking. It means nothing but everything all at once.

I say all of this to give you a quick picture of my first few days. I am enjoying my time thus far.  For all the stress and craziness, it is a really beautiful country full of life and exuberance. Just tonight, I sat back at a small café, drank a Star beer, and ate my meal of grilled chicken and spicy jolof rice. On the radio was Afro-beat and in the garden reclined in plastic chairs were soccer fans watching their national team, the Super Eagles, nearly beat Argentina in the world cup. When the Super Eagles scored, everyone cheered and laughed, at least for a few minutes. And then it was back to business as usual: Dr. Korieh and I exited into the night to tackle the Owerri roads in pitch black. It was terrifying, a razorblade of contrast.