Dear G and B
Yesterday I was back on Nigerian roads for a nine hour journey after vowing to myself 4 years ago that I would never risk it again.
My last experience of highways in this country was the 6 hour hair-raising journey from Abuja (the capital in the centre) to Kano in the north. The bus ride was in place of a Virgin Nigeria flight that had been cancelled due to serious dust storms and was organised at the last minute. It started out fine with good spirits in the minibus and lots to see out the windows – the raw humanity of life in rural Nigeria. The landscape started to change from lush green jungle to dusty plains and the peoples’ dress also altered to Islamic as the majority. The dust storm was now around us and it was starting to go dark. Along the road were lots of small black plastic bags; thousands upon thousands of them carpeting the first 20 metres of roadside. I asked a local girl I was with what they were. “The lorry drivers do not have toilets,” was her reply. A carpet of plastic wrapped poo.
I started to watch the driver in his mirror as he was swerving a little bit and I could see that his eyes were closing and he was lolling with tiredness. After some shouting we substituted in a fresh driver much to the original’s embarrassment. It was now dark and there was no lighting on the road, with the added treachery of the dust to hinder our vision. We were now pretty scared of dying in a mangled bus as the driver was going dangerously fast, many of the cars coming the other way did not have lights on and the road itself was a potholed assault course. At one point I tied a scarf around my head as protection from the imminent crash. We finally pulled into Kano with a collective sigh of relief only to see the lights of a plane landing at the airport. It was our original Virgin Nigeria flight!
The trip yesterday was not as perilous as we made sure we wouldn’t be anywhere rural in the dark, but there were still plenty of interesting distractions. Apparently,the state we visited (Osun) is well known for human sacrifice. I joked with my colleague that I was bringing her there to sell her for top dollar to the witch doctors. Some of the overtaking manoeuvres were verging on suicidal and I don’t think I’ve had adrenaline in my blood for such a long period of time before. 4 hours out, 5 hours back, including a one hour traffic jam and we were both absolutely desperate for the toilet for a good sixty percent of the journey.
The Nigerians we have mentioned it to since thought we were crazy for taking such a risk and that they avoid the interstate highways at all costs. Stupid tourists.
I’m writing this in the business lounge at Accra airport, Ghana after 9 days away and looking forward to seeing you both tomorrow morning. G is currently obsessed with making things from favourite TV programme Mr Maker. I look forward to a house full of pipe cleaners and cut up paper plates.