Kano,
Nigeria, Sunday, 2 January, 1983
(DAN) Since Saturday was New
Years, the bank holiday was to be Monday; therefore Sunday was our work day. We
got up and washed our clothes before many other revelers were stirring. We then
set out for an honest to goodness walk. We headed toward the old “walled city”
but first passed through a fringe of town that we guess dated to British
colonial days. The architecture was very
reminiscent of Banjul, Gambia: two story plain buildings with rusting tin
roofs.
Our approach to the more traditional sector of town was heralded first
by a herd of cattle that got loose as we were going through a market. Some of the animals got out in the
traffic while others scattered among the stalls. Next we came upon an untended
herd of sheep trying to get close to one of the city’s main intersections. It
took us a while to get oriented, but we finally found a street that would take
us to the center of the old city and the famous Emir’s Palace. We never did see any actual walls a la
Morocco, but the old city seemed to be surrounded by high dirt ramparts. All of
the buildings inside were of mud, so possibly the walls have given way to
urbanization/progress.
The houses are one and two story windowless structures with an empty
room at the entrance of every house. The street we were on was wide and paved,
but all paths leading off of it were winding sub-automobile streets. Some of
the buildings had very attractive designs scraped in the mud. The British High
Commission building blended in well with patterned mud walls, and it even had
the muted steeples that we have been seeing since Bamako. We have come to recognize this as “Sudanese”
architecture.
There are no sewers here and possibly no running water because we saw
some people washing a Mercedes station wagon from a hand dug well. The Emir’s
Palace was a huge walled-in area that looked chock full of fascinating
“Sudanese” mud buildings, but the interior will remain a glimpse through the
gate to us because the guards would neither let us in nor give us a reason why. We walked all the way around and found
another gate, but here two men said we could not go in because there are
“married women” inside. We found out later from Al Hadji that we had to have
permission from the tourist board (himself) but I got the idea that it really
meant “only on one of his guided tours”.
Thus thwarted we decided to explore one of the side alleys and got one
of the biggest surprises or “educational experiences” of the trip. The old city is a beehive of closely-built
mud houses connected by winding alleys with shallow, open sewers running down
the middle. The trash was there, but it
was partially consumed by the herds of sheep that were “grazing” up and down
the barren alleys or lying about exhausted.
When I finally got up my nerve to take a picture (the place was just
teeming with people) a man called me over and accused us of being CIA. I told him “No”, we were Bolivian, that it is
close to Brazil and had he heard of Brazil’s soccer team? He did not bite. “We hate the CIA here!”
Seeing that we were in basic agreement, we moved on. That is the first time on the trip
that we have received the “Yankee go home” signals. Mostly, it has been the
derisive “White man” calls, “Toubab” in the Francophone countries and now
“Batouri”. It is the worst here in Nigeria where full-grown men chant “Batouri,
hey Batouri” as we walk by.
 |
| Old Kano street scene, with modest Sudanese style in some of the buildings. |
We passed through several markets in the maze and a couple of times saw
people butchering sheep or goats in the street.
We eventually cut back to streets that had traffic (and how) and made
our way along one of these. In all we witnessed
six road accidents that day and several close calls. It occurred to us that we
had seen virtually no policemen in Kano (I ran into some at a kiosk just after
changing the money). The atmosphere is somewhat like that in Montero (Bolivia)
in the real cocaine days[1],
a feeling that nobody is controlling anything. This is just the opposite of the
super-bureaucracy we had built up in our minds for Nigeria.
When we sat at a store for a drink and some bread, we were not bothered
by begging dogs but by rather large sheep that shuffled around and crowded us.
The people, the dress and appearance, are the most Muslim we have seen
since Mauritania. Ostensibly all of the
countries we have come through are Muslim-dominated, but here you get a much
stronger feeling. There are virtually no women on the streets, and all the
traders are again men. The long robes
and hats are almost universal once more[2].
We cut our walk to five hours because the clay-dust is still so thick in
the air that one can only exercise so long. Now, this description may sound
completely negative, but Helena and I went home feeling a bit better about
Kano. The old town had real life.
Our first day in the camp we noticed that there was a small van parked
there that had MISSIONARIES stenciled across the front. Then we heard from the young British couple
that there was a group of missionaries here from the Unification Church, better
known as the Moonies. Helena and I talked from time to time with one of them,
Michelle, a woman from Tahiti around 30 yrs/old. She had learned that she was descended from
Scottish sailors, several kinds of missionaries, and a Tahitian princess. She had worked some time in the
Philippines. They have had a mission in
Lagos for six years, and are now looking into one for Kano.
Their efforts in Kano seem poorly timed because of the bloody religious
riots they had here a few months back. People are out there ready to kill for
their faiths, and here comes a new one blithely tripping along in a van that
says “MISSIONARIES.”
Kano-Jos,
Nigeria, Monday, 3 January, 1983
(HELENA) Last night was our third late night in a row as Dan and two of
the “Encounter Overland” people brought several piles of wood over for another
bonfire, and we all sat around the fire and talked. Actually, only about 10 of
the others came over to join us. Before
the others came over, I played Michelle’s guitar, and Dan and I sang a bit.
This morning we got up at 7:00, did all of our packing (something that
should have been done last night but which did not make us late today) gathered
up the tent, had a cup of coffee over at the “Encounter” truck, had our
showers, and left. The “Encounter”
people were also breaking camp today. They head for Maiduguri and Cameroun.
Fortunately, the place to catch a taxi for Jos is not out at the truck
park. It took us only 1/2 hour to find the place, find a ride and be on our
way. Amazingly enough, we left without
being full, the taxi, that is. Along the way the helper would call out the
window “Jos, Jos” while the driver would honk. Occasionally we would pick
someone up or let someone else off, but the driver was definitely not in a mood
to dally. In fact when he stopped at
noon, I got right out to “find a high bush” (there are no “curves in the road”)
and I didn’t even get a chance to go back to the car; they picked me up. Our driver was a little more careful than the
one to Kano, but he still took a lot of chances. Our transport today was a Toyota Hiace van,
the same as the one our French friends had on the trip from Niamey to Dosso.
They are quite common in Nigeria[3].
The trip took 4 hours for about 400 kms, so we were in Jos by 14:00. The
letter we received from Mr. Ottemoeller in Niamey suggested that we go first
to Hillcrest school, and the director could probably tell us how to find the
Methodist Mission where he had asked a Lois Kohler to “look after us”. We tried
walking to the school, but we kept getting conflicting instructions. Someone finally flagged a taxi-van for us,
and we agreed that the price would be 60 Kobos. They loaded us on and started
off before the assistant happened to say, “Oh, by the way, it’s 20 Kobos apiece
for your packs.” Dan’s nostrils flared,
and he asked why they had not told us before we had gotten in. They took on more passengers, and we started
toward the edge of town. Once again they
insisted on charging extra for the bags. We refused, the driver threatened to
let us down then and there; Dan said, “Fine”, and next thing we knew we were
standing by the side of the road, but at least we knew in what direction the
school lay.
We had to ask directions a couple of times, but Hillcrest was not too
far, nor hard to find. It was a beautiful campus in the “classical” sense of the word on “22 acres”[4]. The director was very nice to us. He was about to go running, but he took the
time to give us a Pepsi and then drove us over to the U. Methodist compound.
Lois Kohler, (a 69-year-old volunteer who is working as treasurer) said
“Hector” (Ottemoeller) had told her about us and she kindly let us sleep in her
guest room. Lois almost immediately
handed us an envelope of 23 letters which “Hector” had left. DID IT FEEL GOOD! Among them, there were letters that had been
sent to Hugo’s in Spain clear back in October, which he had forwarded. Thank you all for writing.
Lois informed us that “Hector” had mentioned that we could volunteer
with Mr. Fitzgerald, an agricultural missionary in Zing, near Jalingo, but that
Lois had not talked about it directly with him. However she will talk with him
over the (ham) radio in the morning. While
we were deciding our plans, a young, single missionary, Ann Kemper, offered us
the use of her house in Zing, so all we need now is work to do.
We had supper with Lois over at another missionary’s house. Lois Schmidt teaches 5th grade over at
Hillcrest and has lived here for 31 years.
It was a mighty pleasant evening with a special meal (chicken pot pie
and delicious homemade lemon ice cream for dessert).
Before supper we had our first bath in a tub in three months.
Jos,
Nigeria Tuesday, 4th January, 1983
(DAN) Lois K. was up early to
talk on the radio. Then after breakfast
we went into town to stock up on foodstuff for our trip. On the way we stopped
at Elm House, the Lutheran Hostel, and picked up 21 more letters. Thank you so
much everybody! Helena and I have
proclaimed these the two best mail days in our lives. Because of the wild
traffic situation here, Lois K. has a chauffeur to shuttle her around on all
the church business-- treasurer, manager, dispatcher, etc. They showed us the location of the post office
and some markets and then let us out at the COCIN (Church of Christ in Nigeria)
compound. They are a conservative off-shoot of the SUM (Sudan United Mission)
to which the United Methodist Church belongs. That is not to be confused with
the SIM (Sudan Interior Mission) which is much more conservative. Apparently at Nigerian independence the
mainline churches from the US founded the SUM and divided up Nigeria so that
there would not be duplication of services. There are a lot more A.B.B.R.E.V.I.A.T.I.O.N.S.,
but I haven’t gotten them straight.
We bought our vegetables and then started our trek of 3 or 4 kilometers
back to the U. M. compound. On the way we got a good look at Jos. The Harmattan is still blowing strongly, so
the clay-dust cloud reduces visibility considerably. The lay-out of the town
reminds me somewhat of Hot Springs, Arkansas, in that it has two or three long
main streets running between wooded, rocky hills. The effect is very pleasing. The town is
4,000-5,000 feet high, and the weather has been cool, between 40 and 60 degrees
F.
 |
| Jos street scene |
As in Kano there are a lot of government buildings, this ministry, that
office, and a lot of the corresponding vehicles. There are so many government offices and
official vehicles that I would describe Jos and what we have seen of Nigeria as an overdeveloped Third World
country. There is a remarkably greater amount of Western/Christian influence
here than in Kano. There are many fewer
long robes on the men and more mini-skirts on the girls. The taxis running
around say, “Trust in God; He shall reward,” instead of whatever the Arabic
squiggles on the taxis in Kano said. There are also more church buildings and
vehicles belonging to Christian organizations.
We have yet to see a mosque here. The people seem a little friendlier
and are less prone to call out “white man, white man” as we walk past.
 |
| Ministry of Finance building in Kano. |
Jos,
Nigeria, Wednesday, 5 January, 1983
(HELENA) A day spent mainly
answering some of the newsy letters we have received and reading more of the
tantalizing collection of books in the house.
Lois was able to talk on the radio this morning to Bill Fitzgerald. Mr. Ottemoeller
had talked to him about us clear back in November, so he had to be reminded
about us, but he said “Come on out.”
Then, Charles Benson, a single missionary who works in Jalingo in
evangelism, asked if we wouldn’t like to get a ride with him on Friday, taking
a small detour through the Yankari Game Reserve. We said we would think about
it (even though we loved the idea) because we would have to consult Lois about
staying here another night.
Jos,
Nigeria, Thursday, January 6 1983
(DAN) Ann popped in about 9:00
and asked if we wanted to go into town with her. We had letters to mail and wanted to buy some
provisions for our stay in Zing, so we trucked in with her. Apparently most of
the missionaries have private cars that they have bought with non-church loans.
Ann has a Toyota station wagon. When we
stopped at Kingway’s, a big supermarket chain here, I stayed in the car to
finish a letter. Then in the fifteen minutes after I finished it and waited for
them to come back, I saw two accidents in our block. Even as common-place as accidents are here
(apparently), they still draw large, curious audiences. Both times cars were going too fast and
stopped without warning before the one behind could react. One blockage-accident occurred when a car
decided to make a U-turn across a foot-wide curbed land divider. The way vehicles are handled is amazing in
view of the cost of them here in Nigeria. A new Toyota Land Cruiser runs around
$33,000. The most common cars, Peugeots assembled in Nigeria, cost $12,000[5]. One explanation is that during the oil boom,
it was very easy to get low-cost loans from the government. In any case people treat them as if they did
not cost much, and, as we have mentioned both urban and rural roads have wrecks
littering at frequent intervals.
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