Browsing ktravula – a travelogue! blog archives for December, 2009.

The Gold Coin

dollarYesterday, I discovered the American gold coin called the dollar. No, not the paper dollar bill, but a coin. I’ve been here for over three months and can’t believe that I never encountered the dollar coin in all this while. It is fascinating, especially for someone like me who has liked to pride himself as a relentless numismatist – a collector of coins.

25koboI remember the first coin that ever fascinated me. It was the old 25kobo coin of Nigeria’s late 80s. Along with other coin denominations of 10k, 5k and 50k, the 25k coin had a very interesting significance for me perhaps because of the engraved symbols on it that looked like blisters on a black man’s hand. The coin was brown, made from brass, I think, and different from all the other coins that were made of silver. On it was the embossed image of the Kano groundnut pyramids of the 60s as well as groundnut seeds. On the coins, the pyramids looked just like little cones, but in larger pictures, they showed a concrete symbol of industry and hardwork with strong men moving huge sack produces of their all-year round labour. And although the images never really inspired me to pursue agriculture, there was always something very moving about staring at the image of the mammoth structure built from stacked sacks of annually harvested groundnut (peanut) from the land awaiting exportation to the corners of the globe. Those were the times of our great prosperity, when Nigeria was totally self-sufficient, just before oil was discovered in large quantity and everyone went around to sitting on their asses in government offices, waiting for their piece of the “national cake”. I never did ask exactly how the groundnut pyramids were eventually transported, or how many sacks/bags of groundnut made a pyramid, but looking at more than scores of man-made mammoth mounds of harvested food sitting around the northern deserts stamped in my mind an image that has refused to shake for over twenty years. And the 25kobo coin has always remained my favourite of all the coins made in Nigeria. Of course, today at home, no one spends the coins anymore even though there has never been any official pronunciation declaring them no longer fit for transaction. My University in Ibadan has remained the only place in the country where taxi drivers (and them alone) still collect coins in exchange for services. The twenty-five kobo bronze coins have by now been relegated to the dustbins of our profligate history.

dollar2The dollar coin that I saw has the image of James Monroe, the 5th president, on one side, and the statue of Liberty on the other. A quick search through Google has now shown me that there actually have been several issues of the currency bearing several different  president’s images. I don’t know why the coin is not is much circulation, but I know for a fact that, unlike in my wasteful country, this coin is actually a legal tender acceptable by everyone and at every vending machine. I know this because when Tola put it in the machine yesterday, it gave me my Mountain Dew and returned the right amount of change. So what exactly is wrong with Nigeria? I mean, besides profligacy!

I Miss Her Too

One of the hardest punches of exile for those who choose it above the shackles of hopelessness and the frustration of home must be loneliness, and perhaps a certain pull towards old sources of their romantic filling. I believe it now. The mind wanders, wondering what must it be like for them, the travellers running away from fiery dictators, while risking the lives of their families still left in the jaws of the fiery dragon. Even for those with breaking or troubled families, the pain of distance could be a sure enough catalyst for at least a kind of shared grief and shared catharsis sufficient to sustain their bond across space and time.

So besides regular phone calls, text messages and long nights in the reverie of the good old times, how else does a traveller stay in touch with the feelings of what once rocked his heart with a certain kind of joy from his distant beloved? And for those on the other side of the ocean, just what sustains that drive beyond memories, hope and pride. When does temptation overtake common sense and the flood of personal desires drive the once resolute into the throes of restless passion, reckless or relaxed experimentation?

I’m not in exile thankfully, yet my case is hardly different from those far from home on causes sometimes beyond their conscious control. I am a man, thankfully also human, which could explain why food is not the only reason why I could be missing my home tonight.