Nigeria 2003
You’re Welcome! (Still the most common greeting from a Nigerian!)
It is so good to be back in Nigeria. I expect to be released at any time. Just kidding - I don’t expect to be released any time soon. You hear the term “big wahalla” here a lot. I began to understand the concept when I heard someone refer to a problem on a rig as “big wahalla”, talking about clearing customs as “big wahalla”, horrible traffic as being “big wahalla”, etc. Speaking of clearing customs, the most common line in the airport is “What have you got for me?” I heard it at least five times while in customs. The government is trying to crack down on the bribes, or “dash”, solicited by government employees, so when you hear it someone is usually bent over your suitcase studying something when they whisper it out of the side of their mouth. Dash is big wahalla.
Signs are periodically posted on the strangest things and on the most public of places, stating “Don’t Urinate Here”. I don’t know if that means every place not posted is an acceptable urinal. There are no tow trucks here. If a car breaks down, you get out and fix it. If you need parts and can’t buy them, you go get a job. While the car sits. In traffic, or where ever it broke down. Of course, the longer you’re gone, the more stripped parts you will have to replace in addition to the broken parts. Driving down a main street in Port Harcourt can be challenging because you never know when there may be an abandoned car backing up traffic in your lane. While riding traffic last week, we got in one jam in which we had to move around a stalled commercial truck in the left lane (out of two lanes total) of the divided “expressway.” The only reason traffic was not bumper-to-bumper was that most cars have lost their bumpers, driving being a full-contact sport in Nigeria. I learned the next day that the truck had been abandoned in that lane of traffic since shortly after my last trip here, over a year ago. On market day (Wednesday) traffic becomes so bad that I counted 7 lanes of traffic where two were supposed to be. Not counting motorcycles. (Mortalcycles is a more accurate term here.)
None of the previous traffic problems topped Friday night when we went to an Irish Music Dance and Song Festival (Port Harcourt is known for it’s Irish Festivals?!) the Irish Embassy sponsored. The Eleme (pronounced like Jed Clampett’s daughter) turnaround got backed up and before the police could react, traffic was crossing medians and coming in the wrong way. There are five roads that intersect at Eleme and instead of each road having one or two incoming lanes, all roads ended up with only incoming lanes. And shoulders. And medians. Plus all side roads that feed these roads. It is hard to clear out an intersections with only incoming possibilities within a 5 mile radius in any direction. Such a mess is referred to as a “slowgo”. I think it should be referred to as a “nogo”. The slowgo Friday night was backing up at 5:30 when we managed to still get one shoulder that was headed away from the turnaround instead of into it. When the Irish shindig was over, and we headed back at 10:30, it was worse with virtually no clearing out. We saw some trucks that had not moved since 5:30. Finally a driver was sent to meet us on the other side and with a little four wheeling through a swamp and walking past a riot in the turnaround we managed to make the last 2 miles in just under two hours. Our original driver who we abandoned to walk did not make the same two miles until 2:30 am. Slowgo is bad wahalla.
The main cash crop in Port Harcourt is potholes. The beggars make and maintain them on the main roads, because it means the cars will be forced to slow down or completely stop to navigate through or around refrigerator-size potholes. They will block the path then and solicit a donation. But the beggars are preferred over the boarders. A boarder here is not some teen in baggy pants; he is a local with a long board with nails pounded through with the business end protruding on the other side. Two locals with be on each side of the road where there are bushes next to the road and some obstacle such as ruts or potholes to slow you down. As you try to navigate the natural obstacles, they shove the board out at the last minute and take out your tires. Then they have demands that must be addressed such as you are trespassing, you are damaging their Chief’s land or you have money and they don’t. Boarders are big wahalla.
There is a basketball goal outside the staff house in the compound where we are staying. I found a basketball and, unable to take anymore bad TV, went outside to battle the malaria infested mosquitoes and to shoot some baskets. I was just shooting and running trying to get something resembling a workout in, when I heard some guy behind me say “Use your elbows.” I turned around and there was an army guy standing there with a machine gun, a side pistol, a strap-on knife and lots of bad things hanging off his belt. I thanked him and started using my elbows. It didn’t help me make any more baskets, but if the guy with the gun had said “throw the ball while standing on your left hand with your right leg around your neck,” I would have complied. He was big wahalla.
I had lunch on Monday with Sal. You have probably heard of him, Sal Monella. I got really, really weak and nauseated, so I went to bed when we got back to the staff house after work. About the time I would lay down and doze off, I’d have to jump up and run to the bathroom, debating which end had priority. This repeated 5-6 times over the next 2-3 hours. Then it got really bad. I rolled over in bed and came face-to-face with the largest tarantula-type spider I have ever seen in person or in the movies fighting Godzilla. He promptly disappeared along with any intentions of sleep I had. I tore the bed apart, pulled the frame out from the wall and looked all over for him. He had plenty of time to get away because the actual sequence of events was sit bolt upright, run into bathroom and wretch, come back start to pick up the covers, run into the bathroom and wretch, move the bed, run into the bathroom and wretch, etc. If I had found the spider, I’m not sure what I would have done. Probably puked on him. Big, big wahalla.
You have to watch the ju-ju here. Last year, locals would not come to work because of two skulls with candles set on each side of the gate into the compound. Some local witch doctor was either upset or needed cash and was trying to get some dash of our management. Management had to get their own witch doctor to remove the ju-ju to make it safe for everyone in the compound. I don’t know if it was connected to bad ju-ju, but another time, one of the managers in the office noticed his printer had a hole. He opened it up and found a bullet in the bottom. He was complete confused until he looked up and saw a bullet hole in the roof. Evidently, someone had been firing off either a warning or celebration shot within a few miles and the bullet came down through the roof and wiped out his printer. He had used the printer earlier in the day, so it had happened at some point during the day when he stepped away. Ju-ju is bad wahalla.
Drop by and say “you’re welcome” if you’re in the neighborhood!
Take care,
Keith