ktravula - a travelogue! » Travelling

Back on the Road

Kola — Sat, 18 Jun 2011 05:00:31 +0000

Driving for long hours requires more than just a strong will. Stamina also helps. And when the driver has spent previous days in the comfort of a good house and long hours of rest, it might be a lot easier than a sleep-deprived grad student taking three courses in one semester. The last time I drove for such a long distance, it took the alertness of the fellow passenger in the front seat to prevent the car from going off the road in a brief second of a careless shut eye. We were heading to Kansas City, five hours away. This time, there was no such instance, or even a minor risk. A strong body, a strong mind, a good healthy conversation, and a wide open road with pleasant breeze kept us all alert, and at ease.

The only other observation about this journey other than the presence of a large noticeable number of signposts advertising porn and “pleasure stops”, and smiling co-commuters racing with us in different cars at over 70 miles an hour, is the incredibly long and winding nature of the one road that took us on over 280 miles of the whole trip. Ah, and large trucks transporting whoknowswhat. It’s hard not to make comparisons with the roads on the way from the south of Nigeria to the north. The only difference will be the quality of the tar – not cars.

Time after Time

Kola — Mon, 02 May 2011 00:01:42 +0000

The motions are the same: a year rolls by with such thrills and frills that when one looks back at it, it looks so short, and one is left wondering just where all the days went. A school year begins in August and ends in May, or July depending on what one has to do.

For the two visiting scholars to this institution, their program is now over and they will return to their country in less than a week. I know this process. A roller-coaster year of both honeymoon and depressing loneliness comes to a certain end and the travellers are filled with the mixed feeling of longing for a long-left home, and missing a bond of affection with the present location. They will be gone and new people would come, and the process will continue, new bonds, and new departures a year from now.

I don’t envy them because my own time here will soon wind down to an end, sometime, again. I think it will become inevitable after some time – if I ever return here – to get inured to the process of bonding, socialization and departures. It might be time to set my sights to another faraway place, maybe Europe, or South America, or Asia, for a different breath of fresh air, languages and surprises. Then with new eyes to look at the world and events, there might be a different kind of thrill and adjustment processes. Just a thought. In any case, this semester will be over in a few days, and I’ll be left with the new dilemma of filling my time with a less exacting routine. Or not. We’ll see how it goes.

(Picture taken at the foot of the Monk Mounds the tallest of the man-made mounds at the old Mississippian heritage site at Cahokia Mounds in Illinois, yesterday.)

Mapping the Country

Kola — Wed, 13 Oct 2010 04:03:50 +0000

Living in the mid-west has its perks: you’re far enough from the oceans to live a relatively sane life, and close enough to equally pleasant points of interest to get a feel of outdoors once in a while. A few weeks ago, there was an exhibition of proposals on the renovation of the Gateway Arch and its surroundings. The city of St. Louis along with other donors decided to touch up the nation’s tallest monument and make it live up to its potential as a more viable tourist destination for the country and the world. The winners of the bid have been announced and will have up to 2015 to make the area around the Mississippi the mecca they promised.

I’ve been thinking about a few other places nearby: eagle watching at Alton at the confluence of the two great rivers, a long overdue visit to the Lemp Mansion (the continued mention of which keeps bringing hundreds of people to my blog since last year. What exactly is it with people and ghosts?), the Cathedral Basilica in St. Louis with its replica of Roman art and paintings, and the famous house of Mark Twain at Hannibal. I remember visiting the tomb of Abraham Lincoln in Springfield and thinking that the city was such a centre of history, and then wondering what I’m going to think when I visit Annapolis and all the spots on the coast where the first slave ships first docked. I’m such a nosy wanderer.

I’m looking for as many pointers as my readers can provide, whether far or near. How much more of this country can I see and learn from in the next couple of months. We are travellers, coming to a city near you.

Saturday Morning

Kola — Sat, 17 Jul 2010 03:53:06 +0000

By the time you read this, I should be on the road. It is a scheduled post. I do not know which way the road might lead, but it is surely not southwards just yet, except maybe they’ve removed that narcissistic governor of ours with several skin colours from the Government house, and then there would be something to rejoice about.

Now here are the choices: Abuja (again), Kano, Sokoto (the seat of the Caliphate), Katsina (where the Christmas bomber hails from), Jos (again, where I had my national youth service, and where the Red Cross had been working with the victims of the January and March clashes), and Nassarawa (where a friend had invited me to come and spend a few days).

None of this destinations is in the Eastern or Southern parts of the country. That trip will have to come later. And definitely not in these days of journalists getting kidnapped for a ransom of up to 30 million naira. And not the Niger Delta area soon either. I may not look like an American, but who knows what a random search of my bag might show.

In any case, I’m on the last leg of my tour and home is calling me little by little. I hope my dogs won’t be disappointed that I left them for so long. I have had my fill of Nigeria, almost. One of the best places of interest in this trip was the Anglican Church at Wusasa, a very prominent place in the history of Northern Nigeria.

The only thing my mother says she is worried about is that I (must have) been wearing “the same shirt all over Nigeria.”

Grime!

Kola — Fri, 16 Jul 2010 23:32:40 +0000

From the dusty roads of Ibadan to Ife, and later to Akure, Akungba, Ikare and Ilorin, and then Kabba, Abuja, Kaduna and finally Zaria, my pair of black denim(?) jeans has literally seen it all, the good, the bad, and the downright uuuuugly. This is no joke. Through rain, mud, lawns, beer spills, dokunu which Peter made me eat, Chiedu’s ogbono soup, and suya spices from Hamdala Hotel, tonight, it will fairly contest as the dirtiest fabric south of the sahara.

On the other hand, my intermittent internet access has taken all the fun out of spontaneous blogging at historical or memorable sites. While sitting peacefully in front of the open bus park at Jabi in Abuja yesterday, I all but screamed at how much stress it was and no stable enough internet connection to put up a post. Unfortunately, three hours later, a new reality had replaced my latest impressions and I moved on.

Alright, I did changed my shirts many times along the way. I even managed to buy a few more hausa-type fabrics, and a fulani-made leather wallet in Kaduna for my American friend Chris. The problem however, like the fabled cripple, is not up but down. Shirts and tops well scented like fresh dew and a dirty black jeans with all the country grime from Ibadan to Wusasa just does not make a good combination. I am having sleepless nights. I know what you’re thinking: why not take everything off at night, wash them, sleep naked and hope that by morning there would be electricity to make them dry if the rain wouldn’t allow? Ah-ha, ask Wande Coal how that usually ends.

Lesson learnt, next time never ever leave the house again on impulse. Sit down and plan for it. That way, you would hold at least two pairs of jeans so you can change them at will. And wasn’t it Ife that you told them at home that you were going? Now here you are just returned with her from one of the oldest monuments to Christianity in Northern Nigeria. You could get an article or more or out of that, you know. Yes, na article we go chop? And what will you do with this jeans in the absence of another to change it with yet? Buy? Yes yes, I know. Just shut up and go to bed. But it’s raining outside? So what? Get your grimy self up and find your way home.

Picture is that of Zuma Rock at Suleja on the way from Abuja.

Footloose in Kaduna

Kola — Thu, 15 Jul 2010 18:39:45 +0000

Here is the deal: I’m not lost, but I have not yet informed my hosts that I have arrived in this town. I am discovering the city by myself. A chance meeting with a stranger at the bus park has got me far into town and here I am in the lobby of a famous hotel tapping out my thoughts to the world. I’ve seen the palace of the Emir of Zazau. There should be other things nearby to see, beside the barbecue of suya on sticks enticing me from across the road.

A few things have happened since the last time I blogged. I have been to Abuja. Yes, the famous capital city. I have visited the National Assembly and the National Mosque. I even went to Aso Rock. Truly. It all happened last night, like a dream. A few years ago, under military rule, all the places I visited last night might have been off limits. But here we are in a democratic government, perhaps with a little too much liberty. (Personally, I think the National Assembly Complex should be guarded a little more. We don’t want to have someone place an explosive device there in the dark of night, and still be saluted “Sir” on his way in and out.)

What else, the National Mosque is a very magnificent structure that make for good photography. It is somewhere to sit and contemplate, free from the bustle of the big city. And the city really is big. Sorry Lagos, you lost the battle a long time ago. Abuja is also a city of contrasts, like every big city. On one side are sprawling landscapes of wealth, and on another side of town are huts and small houses for the “ordinary people”. But don’t let that tag fool you. An apartment for rent even in those low cost areas cost a fortune compared to other parts of the country.

I have not had my fill of that capital city, but I am at least out of there, thank goodness. As soon as I’m done devouring Kaduna, I’ll see what else these parts can offer to the footloose traveller.

PS: This town is like Ibadan all over again. Or is it just me? I’ll put up photos as soon as Starcomms allows.

Ilorin

Kola — Sat, 10 Jul 2010 19:49:58 +0000

I’m in the University town of Ilorin, having the time of my life in the midst of old friends that I last saw in Ibadan years ago. Right now, we are watching the Uruguay-Germany game at a bar. Paul the German Octopus has predicted that Germany would win, but right now, Uruguay is leading with two goals to one. I wonder how this would end. Something tells me that we might see an Octopus peppersoup dish by this time tomorrow.

I have been to the University of Ilorin. I went there today for the very first time. We tried to see the dam which was not far from the gate but we were turned back by the security folks who said they were acting on instructions of the Vice-Chancellor. Why five young men might be a threat to a University dam is still beyond my comprehension, but I was able to at least get some shots. The University is a nice place. Far more beautiful than the Adekunle Ajasin University at Akungba Akoko. But I had a very nice time in the house of the Dean of the Faculty of Arts of the AAU. He has a nice family too.

I have left the German and Taiwanese linguists from SOAS behind in Ikare where we last parted. They will be proceeding to a village called Ikakumo, and later Ayere later in the week. I on the other hand will move on towards Kaduna, and wherever else until I get broke, bored or disinterested. Right now, everything is going well. I’ve had moin-moin, ponmo and some drinks. And right as I’m typing this, Germany has equalized, and the scores is 2-2.

I’d better get back to watching the game before I miss all the action. Of course, there are many photos to share. Greetings from the Nigerian countryside. How have you been?

In Little Moments

Kola — Wed, 16 Jun 2010 19:35:20 +0000

A peep into a dark office reveals a face that he instantly recognizes as that of the erudite Yoruba Professor A.I. famous for several classic plays that have now been turned into famous movies. There were a few others there. “Good morning sir,” he greets, bending almost double towards the floor. The man doesn’t recognize him, but he is obviously used to being greeted by one and all within and out of a University environment. “That is …’s son,” the other teacher volunteers, as he always does without prompting, and the visitor withdraws. “Ah, ah,” the Professor says, “I used to know your house in -. Don’t you have a brother just as tall as you?” “Yes,” the boy responds, as he mentally calculates how long it will take to exhaust the conversation, while at least happy for a little connection. “He’s fairer than me in complexion,” he says. “Yes, yes,” the Professor agrees. “How are you?” “I’m fine sir. I used to greet you many times, but you never seem to recognize me.” “Yes. I know your brother very well. He’s abroad now, right?” “Yes he is,” he replies, wondering how the man knew, “but I was the one who went to the US.”

He was silent for only a few seconds, and then asks. “Oh, you went abroad?” “Yes, sir. To teach Yoruba.” “Oh, that’s great. So why are you back here?” The boy laughs for a short second and responds, “The programme was over. I had to come back.” “Oh really? Why didn’t you just stay there for about three to four years to do some more academic programmes?” In other climes, this might have been a trick question, and the other teacher interjects rather excitedly, sensing that the Professor was serious. “No, they weren’t supposed to stay there permanently. One of the stipulations of the programme was that they return home immediately afterwards.” And there was something a little too perky about the response. Teacher was one of the ones who had insinuated that he might not come back if allowed to go out. “Boy, wasn’t there a time when you were all asked to promise to return at the end of your programme?” “Yes,” the boy responds, sensing an opportunity to strike back, “And I always found it funny and insulting at the same time. Had they expected me to simply disappear into the thin air of the American space. I could never understand it.” The Professor just beams and nods. “Well done, boy. So will you be returning there now?” “I don’t know sir. Maybe,” he responds in the same way he has now learnt to answer the question to everyone that asks in much the same way.

Yet, he wondered as he always did if the question was borne out of a certain love for him, or a desire to be rid of his presence as soon as possible. Some altruistic sadism, perhaps? It always seemed that everyone felt him better-off in a faraway land. And for few moments afterwards, he always found himself questioning whether that occasional desire to return to the old place that sometimes spring up on him unexpectedly is conditioned by anything other than his own restless feet.

Travelling

Kola — Wed, 09 Jun 2010 17:10:14 +0000

Some things are just plain wierd, occasionally funny, depending on who you ask. Nigeria is a country, as is the Republic of Benin, or Togo, or even Gambia. Those other countries are almost as big, or as small, as some “states” in Nigeria; small enough, sometimes, to be called a local government in such a “big country” as Nigeria. But that is talking about geographical size. In population, Nigeria seems to dwarf them all. It is said that one in every five Africans is a Nigerian. Then I went to the US and found that the Nigerian country by geographical dimension is the size of Texas – one out of fifty American states. The truth, of course is that Texas is a country of its own with distinct history, language and culture.

What am I driving at here? I have spent almost three decades in Nigeria and could say that there are so many places that I’ve never been, that form a big part of the country’s history. Yet in one year of an exchange programme, I saw more places in a different country than I’ve seen in mine. Guilt form this, in part, has motivated my desire to see as many places in Nigeria as are important either for history, or for recreation. Lagos alone has more recreational landmarks than can even be counted on two hands, and yet many of us busy folks in day jobs spend so little time exploring them.

Who has been to Whispering Palms? I got a chance to go there as an undergraduate, but didn’t take it. Could this be the appropriate time? What about Seme, the trade town in the neighbouring Republic of Benin? What about Obudu in Cross River state or the Tinapa trade zone? What about Kano and its ancient city walls? What of the slave castle in Elmina, Ghana, or the old markets in Timbuktu, Mali? What makes a country is not just the people, but the history and a repository of lore passed down from generations to generations. And they abide in the monuments, and old landmarks. And as difficult as it might turn out to be, it is my resolve to connect myself to the very many spaces that make Nigeria and us its people the kind of people we are, beginning now.

Yet, the last time I invited an old friend from Delta to come with me on my planned journey back to Jos where we both had our Youth Service, his reaction was unrehearsed and spontaneous: “Why didn’t you invite me when you were going to the US?” or was it, “Why don’t you invite me when you’re going back to the United States instead?” ? Just when I thought it could be exciting.

New Week

Kola — Wed, 02 Jun 2010 19:05:47 +0000

This is a rather late update since the month began, I realize. Please forgive. I’ve been shuttling between towns and responsibilities. But June is already here, what are we going to do about it? We can sit and watch it go by as it will inevitably do, or we can sieze each day and make it count? I’ll personally go for the former. Gotcha, I bet you didn’t see that one coming! :D

I cut my hair today, and I’m looking fresh. And young. Gone are the grown bushes of Edwardsville on and around my head. I’m now a good looking man with tufts of beard in the right places. When the wind blows, I feel the waft of peace drive by around my head. Ha, lest I forget, I cut my hair for the equivalent of $2. Back in my “barber’s shop” in Edwardsville, we’re talking $15, and that’s without a complimentary lunch. Take that, barber’s shop!

Did you hear of the joke of a man who walks into a barber’s salon and looks through the list on the wall? The list read: Haircut= 200 naira, Shaving= 100 naira, Waves= 500 naira etc. So when the barber looks at him finally and asks: how do you want your haircut? The poor man looks again at the list, then at his pocket. Then holding out only a hundred naira note, he responds: “Barber, I’d like you to shave my head!”

What I intend to this month is to travel. Yes, you heard right. So get prepared. The traveller is coming to a town, city, village or hamlet near you with a knapsack bag an ipod and a little camera. It’s time for some adventure. Have a wonderful month.

ktravula - a travelogue! » Travelling

Back on the Road

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