Friday, April 30, 2010

A Very Long Engagement

April 15, 2010
We played beauty shop last night, untwisting and detangling "The Supremes’" hair until almost 2am. Renny woke up early this morning to wash and style their hair for the special day ahead. There was lots of activity in the house as everyone prepared for the wedding. It’s also Mr. Bello’s birthday. The engagement/traditional ceremony was scheduled to begin at 12pm, but everyone assumed it would start much later (African Time). We left the house late and made a quick stop at a salon to tie our gele (gay-lay). The gele is a piece of cloth that is tied ornately (or not) around the head. It sounded like thunder as the stylist folded and tied the stiff fabric around my head covering my ears. It was extremely tight and pulled my face and eyes up at least 2 inches I’m sure. Who needs a facelift when you can tie a gele.



We arrived in Fair Stock around 2pm and things were just getting started. The ceremony was under a tent in a vacant lot next to the bride’s family home. Their family is from I___ and the groom’s family is from Edo state, so they had different rituals to perform during the engagement. There were traditional dancers from both sides. The emcee had more collections than a Pentecostal church – “Please contribute to the band…the dancers…the bride…the groom, etc.” Just when you think you’ve given your last offering, they ask for more money. The families gave cola nuts, drinks, and money to the elders on each side. The groom was escorted to the ceremony surrounded by the dancers and his parents. Later, he along with his parents and elders from his tribe met with elders from the bride’s tribe to negotiate the bride price. Onome was part of this meeting because he was the oldest son and stood in the place of their (deceased) father. The bride price was more for show than anything else. They “agreed” on 1.5 million naira.

The bride was finally escorted into the tent alongside her groom surrounded by the dancers and elders in the Ikeja way. She wore a beautiful lime green gele and dress while he wore white robes. (He actually looked Simoan to me, but his parents are Nigerian.) They danced together and were sprayed by the guests. They sat down to take pictures, danced some more, and went back inside the house. The emcee announced that they were coming back to the ceremony in the Adu tradition. The bride changed into a wrap and was adorned in beads around her head and neck to match the beads that her new husband and his tribe wore. The elders from each side prayed for the couple. Then, there was more singing, dancing, and picture taking. The ceremony eventually ended around 7pm and we left around 8pm.




When we arrived at home, we celebrated Mr. Bello’s birthday with 2 different cakes – both very delicious. A few of his friends came over to toast him and join the celebration. Before the guests arrived, the consensus in the house was that I should have a Nigerian name - Chioma. It is an Igbo name that means "God is Good" or "good luck/fortune", but everyone in the house speaks Yoruba as do most people in Lagos. They thought it was most fitting for me after going through a short list of possible names. I was still dressed in my wedding attire when the guests arrived, and I confused them when I talked. They said I looked like a Nigerian, but I didn’t sound like a Nigerian. The hosts told them my new name and they called me Chioma a couple of times. It was my turn to be confused. I didn’t realize they were talking to me. One of those guests offered to show me around the city the following evening.

Overall, it was a wonderful day full of tradition and memories that will last a lifetime. I was thrilled to participate in the engagement ceremony and to wear traditional clothing along with all the other beautiful people dressed in brilliant materials and patterns. Plus, I like my new name. Maybe I should make it official and fill in the blank on my birth certificate. (Trivia: What blank am I referring to?)


"Chioma"



"The Supremes"

“Where are you from?”

April 12, 2010
Today, I went to the market with Renny and Aunty Bose. The market was on the side of a road, and we parked in what would probably be the shoulder or a sidewalk in the US. There were cars crammed into that space, and I couldn’t see how we would ever get out. The “area boys” who told us we could park there said that we should leave the keys. Aunty Bose was reluctant, but finally gave them the keys. We walked to the main shopping area where I tried to hold my breath. The smell was horrendous. We walked around the crowded, dirty, sweltering market until they found what they wanted, and I felt like I’d lost 5 pounds from sweating so much. We walked back to the car praying that it would still be there. It wasn’t exactly where we left it and it was surrounded by several more cars. How were we supposed to get out of that jumble? At that point, the “valet” walked up and started moving the cars behind our car and narrowly dodging other cars parked on the road. Driver’s Ed. never taught me how to park like that.

"Valet" parking


After the market, we headed to the tailor to get my dresses altered for Thursday and Saturday. When the tailor heard that I was American, she treated me like royalty. Not really, but she was nicer to me. Aunty Bose told her that I was interested in taking more dresses home with me, and the tailor offered to make them at no cost for me. We planned to go to another market to buy material, but she told us that the shop across from her sold better quality than what is found in the market. It is also more expensive. I’m sure they scratched each other’s backs all the time. We bought the material anyway and told her we would pick it up later in the week.
After leaving the tailor, we went to Mr. Bello’s office. He took us to a late lunch at a popular restaurant where we had pounded yam, efor “vegetable” stew, stuck fish for me and goat for them. Stuck fish is dried cod that is later cooked in a sauce. The server brought it to the table and cut it up for me. It looked painful just watching her cut that tough meat, but I decided to try it anyway. I tried to bite into a small piece and felt like I might lose my teeth. It was so tough to chew. I gave up and just ate the yam.

Pounded yam



Before going home, Mr. Bello decided to stop at an old friend’s house that was around 75 years old. He introduced me as "his daughter’s friend from America". The man asked where I was from in America, and I told him I live in Houston, TX. He asked where my parents were from as he studied my face. Then he asked, “Are you from Nigeria?” I reminded him that I was American. He said, “Yes, but where are you from in Africa?” I told him I didn’t know, but it was most likely somewhere in western Africa. This prompted a conversation about the slave trade and how we Africans in America have no memory of our origins. Mr. Bello told us that he visited a slave port in Ghana and how unimaginable it was to think that people were shipped from that place never to see home again and many times they were sold by their own people for trinkets. I asked them if schools in Nigeria taught about the slave trade, but they did not remember learning much about it in school. Renny asked if I felt at home in Nigeria, like maybe there was part of me that reconnected and felt familiar in this land. Maybe if I had that feeling it meant that my ancestors were form that area. I didn’t really feel that way in Nigeria. (In fact, there is only one place where I have ever felt that I truly belonged and my spirit felt at peace there.) Maybe if I visited Ghana, or Mali, or Niger, or Cameroon, or some other country, I would feel that I was finally at my African (original) home in my spirit. As I flew into Cairo, I did feel elated about being in Africa in general. (Even though Egypt doesn’t believe it is African.) I felt like I should kiss the African ground when I walked outside the airport to say that I was home, but I didn’t.



I plan to come back to Africa many times in my life. I hope one day soon I will be able to answer the question “Where are you from?” with “I am from ________.”, and say it confidently and definitively.


Post script – I felt most connected to the African continent when I stood on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean later in my stay.


Party Like It’s 1999…

April 10, 2010
On Saturday afternoon, we attended a wedding reception for Aunty Bose’s son’s best friend. As I stated previously, you don’t have to know the couple to go to the wedding. No invitation required. The church ceremony started at 11, but we did not attend. Instead, we arrived at the reception at University of Lagos (UniLag) at 2pm thinking that we would get there a little after it started factoring in African Time. As we were walking into the hall, we learned that the church ceremony had just ended. I could not imagine a 3-hour wedding. They told me that the norm is usually around 1-1.5 hours for the Catholic ceremony, but this one doubled because of all the dignitaries present who had to be acknowledged. The bride’s father was a government official. Bode told us to keep our purses and cameras close to us because of pickpockets and thieves. A wedding is a prime target for criminals because there are so many unsuspecting people with money in one place. In fact, sometimes the families hire police to escort them to their homes to prevent armed robbers from attacking when they see all the gifts and money given to the couple at the wedding.


There were so many beautifully dressed people around me. The primary color for the Aso Oke (ah-sho oh-kay) and decorations was gold with woven sand-colored gele’ (gay-lay). Even those who did not wear the aso oke were dressed impeccably. We were escorted to the front after the militant ushers heard that we were friends of the bride and groom from abroad, which was only half true. Those of us who were from abroad did not even know the couple, but we went along with the rouse to get a good seat. There were probably 2000 people there. We also participated in the processional for the bridal party. All the friends danced down the aisle in twos and then separated to form 2 lines for the bridal party to dance in between us (Soul Train line). The governor of Lagos State, Babatunde Fashola, attended the reception along with many other dignitaries. The emcee told all the bride’s friends from abroad to come to the front to take a picture with the governor. Renny and I were prompted to get up again since we were “friends from abroad”.
After the food (that never ran out), speeches from the couple as well as family and friends, and the cake cutting, the real party began. The bride seemed to dance tirelessly. Many people joined the couple on the dance floor and “sprayed” them with money (made it rain). The bride and groom took a break from dancing to take more photos. The people who remained on the dance floor sprayed other dancers. Even Jite, Renny’s 3-yr old, danced with another little girl and was sprayed.
It was a fun event for all of us and it somewhat prepared me for the wedding to follow on Thursday. Onome told me his sister’s wedding wouldn’t be as big, but it was sure to be spectacular.


Wedding for government official's daughter...millions of naira

Amount of money most guests spent on gifts for the couple...zero naira

Seeing Jite getting sprayed and stuffing the money in her "breast"...Priceless!







Monday, April 26, 2010

"De Nile is not just a river in Egypt…"

I looked out the window of the plane as the pilot announced that we were starting our descent into Cairo. All I could see was sand, then sand-colored building, a river, and more sand. I also saw 3 large pyramids and several smaller pyramids and the sphinx in the distance. When the plane finally landed, I felt the heat outside as I walked from the plane to the terminal. After some confusion on whether I should go through Customs or the transit counter, I purchased an Egyptian visa without showing any ID for $15 from a bank. I then walked through customs with my own escort. (Aside: As I walked around in a circle, I saw various airport personnel pull out their prayer mats at different times and pray in a corner or an open spot on the floor.) I went to Baggage Claim and saw that my bags were the last 2 to be collected from my flight. I walked over to the information counter and asked about tours around the city. I settled with a company that would take me to the Egyptian Museum, outside the pyramids at Giza, around the city, to dinner, and then take me back to the airport.

My guide, Tarek, was very helpful and knowledgeable about the city and country as a whole. My first impression of Cairo was that it was dirty, but not in the sense of piles of garbage and waste everywhere. Rather, there was a lot of sand and dust everywhere because it’s the desert. It is a city of ruins after all. There was lots of traffic on the way to the museum from the airport. The 2-lane road became 3.5 (.5 for motorcycles). Tarek pointed out different buildings, like the Military Academy where Anwar Sadat, Muammar Gaddafi, and Saddam Hussein were trained. “Good things come out of that academy”, he said sarcastically. We passed President Moubarek’s gated estate, as well as palaces built by former kings. There was also a memorial dedicated to the October 1973 war with Israel, the last war between the 2 countries. It seemed like he uttered “mosque, mosque” every 5 minutes indicating that I should take pictures of yet another mosque. Egypt is a country comprised of 85% Muslims and 15% Christians, and “Everyone lives in harmony.”, according to him. At least that’s what THEY want us to believe.

The Egyptian Museum was amazing. The artifacts were either originals or replicas of pieces that were found in tombs and other excavated sites in the country. There was also a new exhibit on missing/stolen relics that should have been there and where the pieces were being held. The most prominent artifact was the Rosetta Stone, which is being held captive at the British Museum. (I know it’s there because I saw it with my own eyes.) In a small, almost hidden corner of the museum was a small collection of 10 or so Greek and Roman statues and busts. They looked so out of place relative to the rest of the collection. I took a few “unauthorized” pictures until someone yelled at me. I walked out of the museum at closing time to the sound of the call to prayer as the sun set. There was a mosque across the street. The rest of my tour would be in the dark.

We drove along the side of the River Nile, and then over it and took a few pictures on the bridge. Tarek asked if I wanted to do a dinner cruise on the Nile, but I thought that was a bit too touristy (says the tourist) and expensive. I wanted to see more of the city. He took me to the obligatory shops where most tour guides take their customers and get commissions form the stores. The first store sold glass, jewelry, and body oils. The owner showed me how they make the oils and handed me a list of all the scents and their purpose. I was not interested. Next, we went to a papyrus show where the proprietor showed me how the paper was/is made. The stalk is first cut into pieces and trimmed. Then, flattened as much as possible and soaked in water to cure. The strips are thatched together until the paper is the desired size and for days to dry. I walked around the shop and found a ready-made papyrus that could be customized with my name. I received a 30% “discount” because I was the last customer of the night. I’m sure I was still overcharged because they had to pay Tarek’s commission, but I really liked my selection and did not have time nor energy to look for something cheaper somewhere else.

We went to Giza to view the pyramids and sphinx from outside. I arrived minutes before they closed and turned off the lights. I could only see the silhouettes, but that was good enough for me. One day I will go back & see more in the daylight. I went to dinner at a restaurant that served traditional food without a menu. The waiter asked if I wanted chicken, beef, or shrimp. A few minutes later, he brought out a huge basket of flatbread surrounded by eggplant, cabbage, white beans, chick peas, and 2 kinds of dipping sauces. My main course was chicken kebabs with white rice and fries followed b ice cream. From my seat in the restaurant, I could look down on the traffic below, and I could also see 2 pyramids in front of me on the other side of the road, It was amazing to me to be sitting in a city where people built these great monuments thousands of years ago.

Tarek told me he was going to take me to “Old Cairo”. I thought I was already in old Cairo. The city has been there for over 5000 years. (It reminded me of when I was a little girl and asked my mother how new was the New Testament. She told me it was very old, and I asked her if it was older than my grandmother. I thought it was just written recently. Why else would they call it “new”?) Old Cairo was very crowded even at night, and most of the people out were male. That is the only area where I saw garbage piles and smelled unpleasant odors. There were many stray cats in the street. I noticed lots of stray cats around the museum too. I only saw a couple of stray dogs while there.

By that time, I was really tired. I kept yawning as he pointed out more and more mosques. I finally said I wanted to go back to the airport around 10:30pm. He was willing to drive me around all night, but I just couldn’t keep my eyes open. I did not want to fall asleep in the car with a strange man in a strange city at night by myself. I camped out in a 24-hour restaurant in the airport. The manager told me it was okay for me to stay there until 6am when it was time for me to pick up my boarding pass for my 8:15 flight to Lagos. There was a long booth along the wall where I slept, read, ate, slept, and talked to the workers. There was also a restroom in the restaurant for me to freshen up. Later in the night, a man had the same idea as me and slept on the opposite end of the wall. Later, I saw him on my flight.

Six o’clock finally arrived and I bid farewell to the restaurant manager who checked on me off and on during the night. He even told me that he would wake me up so I wouldn’t oversleep, but I was already awake. He along with most of the other airport workers and people I met in the city were very nice and seemed to read from the same script. They would ask where I was from and then say, “Welcome to Egypt” or “Welcome to my country”. I picked up my boarding pass, checked my bags, and waited for my flight to start boarding. I had a little time left, so I walked around the terminal. There were a couple of shops and eateries grouped together. As I passed a bar, I saw Michael Jackson’s “Remember the Time” video. I stopped to watch thinking how ironic it was that I was watching that particular video in Egypt.

A short time later, I went to my gate to board a bus that took us to the plane in the middle of the tarmac. I was no longer in 1st class. I sat in my usual window seat and thought I might have the row to myself. A few stragglers came on and a young man sat next to me in a row of 3. I thought he would move to the aisle seat when no one else came to our row, but he stayed in that middle seat. He seemed to have no awareness of personal space. I know that is a “Western” concept, and I am even more conscientious of personal space than most others, but I couldn’t understand why he thought it was okay for his newspaper to spread to my area or his arm to push my elbow off the armrest. His friend had a whole row to himself right behind us. This guy obviously was not going to move. I stood to go to the restroom and saw that there were several empty rows. On the way back to my seat, I moved my bag from the overhead bin and sat on one of those empty rows. I could finally relax. The flight attendant made an announcement as we started our descent to tell us she would be spraying the cabin with a required non-toxic spray to kill all the parasites we might be bringing into the country I assume. As the plane landed, my former neighbor and his friend stood up and walked to the back of the plane. The flight attendant told them to sit down, but they kept walking. He (flight attendant) yelled at them, they finally sat, then stood up again to look in a bag. The other passengers looked at them and shook their heads. I gave the “space invader” the side eye. When we arrived at the gate and everyone could safely stand to collect their items, those guys walked to the back of the plane again to the annoyance of all the passengers standing in the aisles waiting to deplane. I don’t know if it was their first time flying, or maybe they were unaware of the additional scrutiny placed on Nigerians since the “attempted bombing” in December that made people very wary of their actions.

Thank God I made it to Naija safe and sound where Onome was waiting for me at the airport. Renny and the girls were waiting in the car and drove up after Onome told them he found me. I was so happy to see them all, because our last time together was in 2008. Let the Nigerian adventures began.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Sunrise, Sunset…

Sunrise

My journey to The Motherland began on Wed. afternoon. My cousin took me to the airport where I checked my bags, ate lunch, and waited to board the plane. I took the longest route possible – Houston to London to Cairo to Lagos. I think the flight was so indirect because I used my frequent flier miles. I flew 1st class from Houston to Cairo, and watched the movie Precious while eating dinner. I sat there balling my eyes out 36,000 feet in the air surrounded by strangers. The flight attendant offered drinks and dessert while I was wiping my eyes; I’m sure she thought something was seriously wrong with me. After that movie, I only wanted to watch comedies the rest of the trip.


I opened my window to see the sun setting on North America before we crossed the Atlantic Ocean. I slept for a few hours and then woke up to see the sun rising over Europe. I’m glad we crossed the ocean in the dark, because seeing all that water scares me. Knowing that my seat cushion turns into a flotation device is not comforting in the least bit. I arrived at Heathrow Airport early Thursday morning. The airport knew that a special guest had arrives and made arrangements for a Benz to pick me up. I took pity on the other passengers and allowed them to ride with me to the next terminal. Actually, the airport shuttle bus was a Benz, but I know they planned it just for me. After arriving in the new terminal, I looked for my gate, but the gate # was not displayed. Instead, the screen showed a time when the gate # would be displayed 30-45 minutes before boarding. All passengers sat in the same waiting area of the terminal until it was time for their respective gates to be displayed. Basically, there is a mall 1/3 size of The Galleria inside that terminal where passengers are forced to wait until they know where to go. The retailers have a captive audience. Most people do not sit still while waiting; They walk around this “mall” and buy drinks, food, clothing, jewelry, electronics, etc. The genius who came up with this layout was probably given a key to the palace.

I walked around for a while since I’d sat so long on the plane. One thing that stood out in the Duty Free shop was a huge sign that said “Smoking Kills”. At first, I thought it was a joke or a sign posted by an anti-tobacco vigilante. However, as I stepped up for a better view, I realized that this same message was on all the cigarette cartons in huge letters taking up nearly the entire box. There was also another label that read “Smoking seriously harms you and others around you.” Wow, those Brits do not play with the tobacco companies.
Finally, my gate # was displayed, and I walked over to board the plane to Egypt. Muzak boomed (you didn’t know Muzak could boom?) on the speakers and "Sunrise, Sunset" was the last song I heard before stepping on the plane. I sat next to a young man whose wife and 4-year old son sat across the aisle. We chatted briefly as the rest of the passengers filed in. I asked him if it was his son’s first time flying, and he said he’s flown several times. In fact, he flew to India for the first time when he was less than 2 months old. That little boy is off to a great start.

I chose to watch “Up in the Air” for my in-flight entertainment while flying to Cairo. There were various points in the movie where the sound cut out and came back. However, at the end, there was a long section where I could hear music and see the mouths moving, but I could not hear the words they were saying. That was a bad bootleg. I told the flight attendant what was happening, and he restarted the whole system. I did not have time to start over and just to see the end. I will have to watch the movie again later to see what I missed. Please no spoilers.



Sunset

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Home Again

I made it home last night. I wrote a lot about about my experience, but I did not have internet access to blog real-time. I will begin posting about my trip later this week and continue to update until I get them all done.

Stay tuned...

Sunday, April 4, 2010

The Countdown...

Today, I celebrated Easter with the Iwus and their family. They answered some of my questions about Nigeria and told me that it is like nothing I've ever seen. I'm presuming that's a good thing. I also tried a traditional dish called moy moy (sp), which is made of beans. I have never liked beans or peas since childhood, but I really enjoyed the moy moy. I'm sure I'll have no problems with food in Lagos, because I'm pretty adventurous when it comes to food.

Tomorrow, I start taking the malaria pills. The recommendation is to take them 2 days before arrival, everyday while there, and 7 days after returning.

I will leave home on Wednesday with a long layover in Cairo on Thursday, and arrive in Nigeria on Friday. I've decided that I will get my Egyptian visa at the airport so that I can leave for a few hours to see the Egyptian Museum and have dinner before returning for my connection to Lagos. I'm not planning to take my laptop, which will be hard for an internet junkie like me, but I will definitely write about my experience while I'm there. If I have access to the internet, then you'll see me post updates real time. Otherwise, I'll post when I return.

Bon voyage (to me)!

Saturday, April 3, 2010

Travel Writer

Periodically, my mother tells me I should be a writer. I always disagree, because 1)she's my mother and she thinks every thing I do is great. That's just how mothers are; and 2) I don't actually like writing. I did it in school because it was required, but I've never really been a fan of just writing on my own. Except, sometimes I get in the mood for it. I might journal for several days in a row, then stop abruptly and pick it back up months (or a year) later. I actually enjoy writing about my experiences sometimes. Writing this travel blog is both creative and therapeutic for me. I also enjoy reading about other people's travel experiences, like those who inspired me to first chronicle my trip to India. I hope I inspire people to travel and write the way they influenced me.

A couple of weeks ago, I posted a Facebook status saying that I want to be a travel writer after reading a couple of travel magazines and articles online. A week later, my friend sent me an email about a travel writing class at a local college. I will start that class later this month. I also joined www.blackatlas.com, a website sponsored by American Airlines for people to share and learn about travel experiences around the world from a black perspective.

I appreciate all of my "50,000 coaches", but especially my mother and my friend, Tiffany for encouraging me to pursue being a travel writer.

Stay tuned...

By the way, can anyone guess the movie with the phrase "50,000 coaches"? Reply in the comments for this post.