NIGERIA, Lagos :: Fast Cars, Sewers & Over-priced Movies Are My Friends

(Editor’s Note: Luck would have it, my first post in eons DELETED as I pushed the magic “publish” button. It was quite vivid, that description of ‘ol Lagos. seeing Juno, trying to get Cameroonian visas. Alas, I’ll try again.)

Lagos.

The name conjures up mostly negative images – murder, kidnapping, criminal military raids on Fela Kuti’s polygamist compound that make Texas’ FLDS raid look like Police Academy – to those that know anything about Africa. Mostly that it’s the largest, roughest city in all of Africa.

But Megan and I can attest: it’s actually quite surreal and economically polorized at worst, and more-safe-than-you-stereotype at best.

It’s not the hold-ups that are going to kill you. Just like Dakar (Senegal), Bamako (Mali), Bobo (Burkina Faso), Accra (Ghana), and Lome (Togo) on the road to Nigeria’s nearly 20-million person megopolis, it’s the open SEWER drains and CRAZED drivers that will knock you out, not the mugging or harrassment.

Neither did, and we had a decent time and met some interesting people.

In fact, it was the nicest Nigerian (I call him St. Michael) who got us over the Togo and Benin border before Nigeria, and then tucked us safely in a 10-dollar taxi (epic expensive by African standards!) to our first central Lagos hotel. A few other folks, including our 3rd hotel manager were fantastic, flexible, and took care of us.

The corruption?  Oh, it’s everywhere. Most everyone talks about it, and indulges because it’s part of the culture, unfortunately.  I’m sure we saw the tip of the iceberg lettuce with St. Michael and a bus load coming into Lagos.  After a 5-stop “checkout” through Nigeria’s border check, what we dealt with on our 1-hour mini-bus ride was worth guffawing (with a smile): being stopped nearly eight times by police, customs and immigration on a short stretch of freeway. It was like a big sign saying, “We soldiers don’t get paid enough, so we’re going to MAKE traffic jams ’til we can afford our kid’s University.” Still, it was just a mini-carnival of graft, nothing to write to mom about.  (Mom, are you reading this?) At one stop, and I believe Megan wrote about this, a police officer asks a guy next to us, teasing out a possible opportunity:

“What’s that in the bag?” says the Law.

“Shit!” the boy answers

“What kind of shit, new shit, or old shit?”

“Old shit.”

As if this is an everyday conversation, the police answers, “Ok, move along.” No hand-out there. But typically, there’s about 2-4 “dashes” (bribes) by the driver’s sidekick, and none by the passengers. I can honestly say, and I may say this many other times, NO BRIBES HAVE BEEN PAID BY DAVID AND MEGAN. I’m knocking on wood now.

Back to what we did in Lagos: Mostly tried to kill time as we waited for our Cameroonian Visas to come through. Pretty simple process. Our first night was semi-hairy, as Hotel 1 had no light/running water. We opted for Hotel 2, which got lights and A/C for maybe three hours total. Nights 2-5 we picked a spot in the middle of the market in Lagos Island (central area). STILL no running water, but we’re seeing that infrastructure in the Alpha city of Nigera is nil. We were IN the ‘hood, and besides Megan getting asked to get married 10x a day, it was nice. I may have got my first illness there, but it could’ve been the anti-Malarian pills, and Megan stepped into a HUGE sewer one night, but otherwise, LAGOS treated us fine.

Oh, and those movies? Saw Juno (4-stars, a lovely film), and Vantage Point(2.5 stars, sorry Dennis Quaid, too melodramatic) for OVER ten dollars each at the only movie house in town. There’s definitely something to be said about going from 10-cent peanuts on the street, to $12 movie ticket, and realizing: this is indulgent decadence. I won’t try to rationalize it here, besides knowing for 3+ months, we’d be in a jungle with no movies.

Except the many bootlegs.

 One more thought on Lagos: Yes, the traffic is insane, and people drive like others don’t exist in their driving world. But that’s par for the course in Africa. I tend not to worry. Just straddle that spot between the reddish-muck in the sewer and the street to be safe.

 

MEGAN’s PHOTOS of SENEGAL

She’s got new ones up:

http://picasaweb.google.com/mschapman/

MALI, Bamako :: First Public Garbage Can in Africa?

Bamako bin with city seal! A sight for sore (hippie) eyes.

Let’s state the cold-hard truth. North America may consume the most crap in the world and produce the most garbage per capita, but Africa takes the cake when it comes to rubbish-tossing.

Two examples, both in Senegal (but evident from Morocco to Ghana):

• An angel of a boy helps us get a ride in the holy city of Touba. We say, “Here kid, have a drink of water (from our reusable plastic bottle)” (gulps 1/2 of it, then automatically throws it out the window).
• Another man complains about the government of Senegal not taking care of the environment and the mess in their country (seconds later, a Coke can flies out the window).

Hypocrisy? Maybe, but frankly people just don’t seem to care. I could credit folks for having an enlightened, albeit pessimistic, long-view: What’s some plastic bags lining every inch of road when humans won’t be here forever to even see the eyesores. Perhaps Earth Day is the epitome of arrogance and elitism?

Or not.

In my opinion, the problem comes from lack of education and infrastructure. There’s no place to put the garbage. At most, if people collect it, they burn it. And there’s no clear public consciousness that says that, hey, maybe the streets, desert, sidewalks, and lawns wouldn’t be covered with everyone’s garbage if you didn’t throw wrappers on the ground. I have seen this 100 times. I have never once seen someone search for a can – which are often all-but-nonexistent, even within households. BBC Africa had an hour-long radio program about this, and many African callers came on to bitch out their neighbors or their government. Nairobi was especially hard-hit as a rubbish capital.

So, imagine the glee when in the heart of Bamako, a lovely, tree-strewn capital, we discovered … A BONA FIDE GARBAGE CAN. Immediately, I threw away the purewater plastic sacks I had been carrying.

Then I think I hugged it. ‘Cos that’s what tree huggers are conditioned to do.