Make It, Or Break It

For the past two weeks, I (and probably everyone else in America) have been mesmerized by the Olympics. Speedskaters being disqualified, the Canadians most revered sport ending in upset, and America's first medals in a sport dominated by Europe for 86 years. But along with the actual competitions come the stories: stories of strife, stories of disappointment, and stories of dreams coming true.

There's Tugba Karademir. A figure skater from Turkey who is the first to represent her country in her Olympic sport. But it did not come without a price. Her mother left her job as an engineer in Turkey so her daughter could train in Canada. Both parents now work menial jobs, and could not even land tickets to watch their daughter perform until an unknown benefactor stepped in.

There's Olympic ski crosser Chris Del Bosco, who has struggled with substance and alcohol abuse. After being stripped of two US national titles and being found drunk in a ditch with a broken neck, he entered rehab. Now being clean and sober, he is one of Canada's finest.

We, as Americans, love these stories of tribulation and triumph. But elsewhere in the world, they are not so revered. I remember a conversation I had with a friend before I left Singapore. His upbringing was less than stellar: his grandmother raised him, being abandoned by his mother. And the mother–son relationship today barely deserves the label "relationship." He has had to make success for himself, with little support from others. When I heard his story, I thought "that's a story that American dreams are made of." But according to him, Singaporean stories of struggle don't boost, they blemish.

When he opened my eyes to this fact, I thought back to my time in Nigeria. Not only were stories of tribulation and triumph not appreciated, they were the stories of everyone's lives. It's not just the poor, it's not just the middle-class. Everyone has trials, everyone has tragedy. And having money or an advantaged-life doesn't preclude you to a life without them.

So last night when I opted for American Idol instead of Olympics and the stories began again, I felt a little less sensitive. The story of Andrew Garcia whose parents were in gangs and they only sought a gang-free life for their son. The story of John Park whose family has struggled with money their entire lives. The stories were as much a gauge of success as the performance itself.

You see, here in the United States, our "stories" often make our success. Who knew that elsewhere they might break it.

By the People, For the People

As our time living abroad comes to a close, it seems appropriate to reflect on the differences between Lagos and Singapore. But what most travelers do not realize is just how much Nigeria and Singapore have in common. The countries' histories and cultural make-ups seem all too parallel. And if you visit both countries today, you may wonder how one could have done so much and the other done so little.

Nigeria and Singapore were both occupied not only by the British, but the Portuguese. Lagos is actually Portuguese for "lagoons" and Portuguese influence in cuisine and architecture is still found in Singapore’s homeland of ‘ole, Malaysia. While the past Portuguese influence in both countries is present but scant, the British influence permeates, most obviously in language. English is the lingua franca, with most using the local creole (Singlish and Nigerian pidgin) to communicate.

Nigeria and Singapore both claim a mixed cultural backdrop: Nigeria’s dominant tribes being Hausa, Igbo, and Yoruba; Singapore’s ethnic mixes consisting of Malay, Chinese, Indian, and Eurasian. Both are key port cities, boasting prime locations for stop-offs and drop-offs. And their equatorial climates encourage rampant growth of just about anything that is planted.

But most surprising is both Nigeria and Singapore parted from the British empire the same year (1963). In the almost 50 years since independence, Singapore has grown to cosmopolitan acclaim, provides high standards of living for a large percentage of its population, and boasts some of the toughest schools and brightest professionals worldwide. Nigeria, on the other hand, still struggles to provide for even its richest inhabitants and has been riddled with corruption, civil war, and poverty.

So why has Singapore thrived and Nigeria dived? After all, Nigeria has oil (and lots of it) and Singapore boasts no resources of its own. Many may claim greed the culprit…after all, how often in history have we seen countries swimming in the coveted resources of the day only to fall victim to thievery and social decay? Others may think it’s cultural work ethic or unresolved tribal conflicts.

For me, I believe it goes beyond this, yet all being symptoms of the bigger culprit at hand. While Singapore evolved, Nigeria was created. As a well-respected friend and brilliant theorist wrote, “our superconductor world is at odds with centuries of native tribal and religious conflict. Consequently, when the pressure is on to ‘make it happen’– get that infrastructure up and running, stop the tribal infighting, hold free elections, and join our United Nations – the emerging nations are like high school football teams playing against the New England Patriots in the Super Bowl. It is not that nations can’t make it happen; it is that their nation-building process has yet to evolve and may not evolve for 100 years.”

You see, Singapore was given the chance to evolve as it should, to face troubles in its own time and way, to create a country when the time was right. From the beginning, Nigeria’s nation-building process was forced. Three major tribal groups were shoved into one country for no other reason than convenience. Its borders were drawn by Europeans living far away from the reality at hand. And, as with many African nations, particular tribal groups were given favor by the colonialists and granted the power to rule over all tribes. For too long, Nigeria was denied the right to develop on its own time line, in its own way.

While Singapore had a hand in its own creation, Nigerians still struggle in a country that was created neither by the people nor for the people.

*The picutre of Lagos is courtesy of outhere.de

Culture Shock

Thanks to all of you who are sticking with me despite a month-long hiatus from blogging! As a segue into Singapore life, I thought it might be amusing to explore what might happen if a Nigerian showed up in Singapore or vice versa. This is how I see it playing out:

Nigerian in Singapore
"Tunde" arrives at the airport in Singapore and is immediately stopped by customs. He bought 20 IPods during his layover in London and brought two cartons of cigarettes from Nigeria. He's questioned by customs thoroughly, tries to slip the agent some cash which is quickly rejected, raises his voice and yells a bit (to the consternation of the customs agent), and gets his cigarettes confiscated.

Looking to replace his lost goods, he browses in the duty free shops for a bit and finally emerges at baggage claim to a worried looking chauffeur. Your plane arrived over 2 hours ago. Is everything alright? No wahala, Tunde says. His nervous driver quickly drops him off at his new home and leaves hurridly...he's already 5 minutes late picking up his next appointment.

Tunde leaves for work the next day...no car, no driver, no security? He wonders why he must take care of his commute himself and opts for a cab over the subway. He stops at McDonald's on the way, eats his McMuffin enroute, and discards his wrapper out the car window getting a couple odd looks as he does so. He arrives to work about 9:30...not bad considering he had to arrange transportation himself.

His new boss introduces herself, gives a quick overview of his job duties, and sets him to work on a project. Rude, he thinks. She didn't even ask about my family.

Singaporean in Nigeria
"Wan Li" arrives in the Lagos airport and waits for her company vehicle to pick her up. Why she couldn't just take a cab into the city she does not know. After two hours of waiting, her van finally arrives. She's wondering if the van driver did something terribly wrong; afterall, there are four gentleman armed with AK47s following behind. Just for security they tell her. Security? How dangerous is this place?

She's been informed that her commute to work will be long. I've had to commute in from Ang Mo Kio 6 days a week in Singapore, she thinks. Long commute, no problem. Her first day of work, she arrives late...two hours late! Who'd have thought 15 kilometers could take 3 hours! Completely embarrassed she profusely apoligizes to her boss. No wahala, her boss says. He's just arrived as well! Her boss procedes to ask her about her family and chat for the next two hours. By now it's lunch time. Wan Li is getting nervous that she has not yet settled in and been given an assignment. Once again, no wahala. The assignment will come when it's time.

She decides after work she wants to do a bit of shopping. Wan Li heads to the market and is immediately accosted (figuratively, of course) by 10 salespeople wanting her business. She quickly ducks into a make-shift booth to look at a tank top from H&M. "3,500 Naira" the gentleman says...she does the math in her head...$30? I could get this for $5 in Singapore! She finally talks him down to 2,500 and leaves feeling ripped off.


As Americans, I believe we have an advantage. Partly because of language (everyone speaks English, and those that don't know someone who does); partly because of media (we automatically have a common ground based on the international reach of American films and TV); and partly because of a general American knowledge (because of its high profile on the international scene, most people know how Americans act more than Americans do). But for those coming to and from countries such as Nigeria or Singapore, good luck. They are the ones who will truly be culture shocked.

Nigerian Networking

Today our seamstress Victoria arrived at our house to work on a couple projects. She had trouble getting in touch with one of our neighbors regarding another sewing project and asked if I knew where he was. I quickly e-mailed him and arranged for the cloth she needed to be dropped at my house for her retrieval tomorrow. She then pulled out a package of Popsicle sticks that she had bought for another neighbor. I asked her, "where the heck did you find Popsicle sticks?" Well, you can't always find Popsicle sticks she replied, but if you ask enough people at the market someone is bound to know someone who has them.

That it how things work here for just about everything. The reliance on personal networks is invaluable for survival in Lagos. Just take the restaurants for instance. The first time we visited "Bottles," the only Tex-Mex restaurant in the city, our driver took us down this windy back road and parked us in front of a rundown building. Hmmm...no "Bottles" sign in sight. He pointed to the door, and sure enough we found the lively well-maintained restaurant inside. Most of the restaurants and businesses are like this in Lagos. But really...why do you need a sign when you can just ask around?

On my recent trip to Badagry, networking proved key to our successful trip. A fellow expat had been there just a couple of weeks before, so I sat with her to discuss the dos and donts in the former slave-port city. She told me to show up at the Heritage Museum (just ask when you get to Badagry and the locals will point you in the correct direction) and there I would find a guide named Tunde who basically knows everyone in the city. He was able to get us from point A to B to F for a nominal fee and safely on our journey back home.

For someone not used to the Nigerian way, networking may seem a nuisance especially in a work setting. Picture the following situation: you work in an office shared by three others trying to get your day started and projects on a roll when an entourage of coworkers come to visit, talk...yep, network. Perhaps this is why socializing and spending time with others is so valued here. It's a necessity and plays a large role in how your performance is viewed at work.

You need something, just ask around. You have something to sell, just mention it in conversation. You need to find labor, someone knows someone else who would be "perfect" for the job. Like in the States, networking is considered a "must" for finding a job. But in Nigeria, networking is also a "must" for life.

Emergency

Nigerians have a reputation among the expats for being slow to work. Whether it is actually showing up to do the job, the amount of time it takes to do it, or the quality of the work once the job is complete, it never seems to meet the "American standard." There is one exception to this rule, however...emergencies.

It seems as though an emergency is an emergency no matter where you are in the world (or at least in African and the United States based on my experience). The first time I noticed this was after returning home late only to find on our bathroom floor 2 inches of water that was quickly gaining ground toward our bedroom. Our water heater was leaking. It was 10 pm on a weekend, and wouldn't you know...we had a repair man there in 10 minutes, the water heater was repaired in 30, and there was no sign that water had been on the floor by the time he left.

Now, if this had been a planned project to, let's say, replace an old water heater that still worked, we would have had anywhere from 3 to 5 guys assess the situation...then assess it again. We'd plan for a day and time for the replacement and they'd show up 4 hours late if at all. The repair would then be rescheduled for a time when I could devoted the entire day for the repair, in anticipation of late arrival or missing parts. The project would start, a part would be found missing, then hours (or days) later the workmen would return with the part and complete the project.

Just a couple days ago, we had another "emergency" on a much grander scale...our kitchen caught fire while we were out of the house. By the time we returned, guards were already investigating the situation, fans were being brought in to clear the smoke, and windows were opened for ventilation. The next day, we had unsolicited workmen and supervisors coming to assess the situation and by noon they were removing the damaged chimney and cleaning soot off the walls. Fast, and friendly, service!

So what I've taken from these various experiences is to have patience with projects and be prepared for the long-term time commitment; but if you really need a new stove fast, burning down your kitchen is a good strategy!

Just a Couple "Tips" for Lagos Living

The concept of a tip is not foreign to me. As everyone in the States knows, there are certain jobs that by nature of the pay (waitresses) or by nature of the work (personal service jobs like hairdresser or taxi driver) warrant a bit extra when a transaction is complete. Here in Lagos a process of a similar sort occurs - dashing.

There are a couple major difference though. The concept of dashing itself, as I have experienced, is not necessarily reserved for going above and beyond what is required for the job. For example, our driver Godday is employed 6 days a week from 7 am to 8 pm according to his salary agreement. However, if asked to actually work all of those hours (with a lunch break of course) I would be compelled to "dash" him. Or if I take him far from the confines of "Chevron-land" I may dash him as well. Understandable considering the man works 13 hours a day, six days a week.

Dashing also isn't reserved for particular vocations. Under certain circumstances I would dash guards (which are everywhere), my steward, the grocery store butcher or checkout person, my seamstress, and even the gardener. It seems to be socio-economic in nature (for example I wouldn't dash my husband's coworkers) and based on relationship rather than service (I may dash the checkout person at our local store but not the street vendor I have never seen).

The frequency of dashing is much higher as well. For example, back home I would very rarely "dash" a restaurant host to expedite our seating at a restaurant. Here, however, just a little naira gets you a long way in almost all situations. Bending the rules is ALWAYS an option with a little dash, and sometimes it is customary.

Dashing can even informally work as a consulting agency payment might back home. For example, I needed to hire security for our recent trip to Badagry. Though there isn't an official process for submitting payment through Chevron for private use, the security manager happily provided the people and services we needed (and promptly for that matter) in return for a dash.

In the end, the habituality of the "dash" in Lagos makes sense given situational factors. First, most people work long hours for little pay so dashes seem to be more necessary than the "tips" of back home. Also, the tradition of chiefdoms still reigns in Lagos. Though the chief no longer acts as the main provider for his chiefdom, his/her role as figurehead, decision maker, and overseer of his land and people is respected in Lagos even today. Finally, affluent Lagosians love to flaunt what they have. A mere salary increase for those in service to the affluent isn't as showy as offering money in hand and in public.

So if you are looking for advice for your next trip to Lagos, here is my tip to you: bring more naira than you think you need and prepare yourself for a good dash!

A Dyeing Art

For many, part of the vacation ritual is spending anywhere from a couple hours to a couple days searching out the best souvenirs and tchotchkes to commemorate the trip. Depending on where you visit, you return with anything from Venetian glass to woven silk rugs to a simple T-shirt implying "I was here." In Lagos, the more popular curios are trading beads (which I'm sure are mass produced in a factory outside the city and have never been used for trading), items made of ebony (or not, which is most often the case), or centuries-old Portuguese gin bottles (mostly fakes...after all, Nigerians know the real value of these items and won't let them go for a pittance).

But amidst the curios of questionable value is an art truly worthy of remembrance: cloth dyeing. It is undeniable that the textiles in Nigeria rival designs found anywhere else, even other parts of Africa. (Our roommate's mother who lives in Uganda specifically requested Nigerian cloth from her son.) Bright yellows, fuchsia pinks, and neon greens are routinely worn street-side, in offices, and at home. And among these more vibrant colors is the batik and tie-dyed indigo cloth still dyed by hand.

In both Kano (in the north) and Abeokuta (just outside Lagos), I've seen indigo dyeing first hand. Despite synthetic indigo becoming more widespread, much of the indigo dye in Nigeria continues to be produced naturally -- indigo shrub leaves are soaked and fermented to produce the blue color then caked with a base before dissolved again in water. Dye pits consist of concrete well-looking vats where cloth is dunked repeatedly to obtain its rich color. The final color can range anywhere from light sky blue to almost black depending on the length of contact time between cloth and dye. You can usually identify the village "dunkers" by their conspicuous and permanently blue-tainted hands.

To produce various designs, from stripes to flowers to circular patterns, the cloth is strategically sewed together (not rubber-banded) during dyeing then the thread is ripped out before it is dried. Often the ripping requires a foot-on-cloth method for balance and leverage then a violent thrust upward to remove the temporary seams that created the design. For a more shiny (and pricey) piece, the dyed and dried cloth is then sent to be ironed. For this the cloth is placed on the curved length of a halved log, then beaten against the log with large wooden mallets. This produces a shiny finish on the cloth and also a beautiful percussive rhythm for those that happen to pass by.

One of the more beautiful and celebrated art forms in Nigeria, cloth dyeing has maintained its true essence here. Where cloth and its production has turned to mass production in much of the world, this "dyeing" art remains a fundamental process and industry in this West African country.

Land of Opportunity

Those who follow my blog regularly will recognize the name Eko...one of my very good friends here who is willing to answer all my curious questions about how things work in Nigeria. Over the Christmas holiday, as is customary, he returned to his village north of Calabar and just on the other side of the Cameroon border. Rather than simply traveling to visit his family for the holidays, Eko's journey had a different purpose: to acquire land.

Land in Nigeria can be acquired in two ways. You can purchase it (the process of which is similar to buying land in the US) or you can inherit it. In Eko's case, he was entitled to a piece of land left behind by his father, a former high chief in the region of Calabar. But the way the land is acquired is a delicate dance of flatter, gifts, and exhibitions of loyalty. Families here in Nigeria are typically large and the lines between immediate and extended family blurry. As is the case with Eko's family (and knowing very well that many sought their same inherited right to his father's land) Eko had to act fast...well relatively speaking.

The process took the better part of December to finalize his land acquisition. Eko explained that he had to approach a number of chiefs, bringing with him good wishes, fine cloth (considered one of the most reverent gifts one can give), and of course money. After meeting with several chiefs, he was finally referred to the high chief offering the same accolades and signs of devotion. At long last, he was escorted to the property which would be offered to him by entitlement, all the while providing good meals for those who accompanied him.

When Eko first explained this process, it seemed a long, drawn-out, and arduous process of flattery just to acquire a small plot of land. But as I thought more about, I realized we do this back home. Though not necessarily reserved for land purchase, it resembled our process of schmoozing...vendors sending gifts of appreciation for business; lunches and dinners meant to gain new clients or appease old ones; golf outings in which more business agreements are made than from behind a desk. It rang all too familiar.

So when it comes to land and opportunity, the delicate dance seems similar and familiar. Though the thing being sought and the "perks" offered along the way may be different, the way to opportunity remains the same.

African Diversity - What I See Is What You Get

For the past couple of weeks, I focused my blog topics on African Diversity based on several recent trips...from Kano to the Eleko Beach Fishing Village to Cape Town. Now I must make a confession...all is not as it seems. The most poignant thing I've learned about diversity and culture during my travels is that you cannot possibly grasp, in totality or truth, the reality of a particular place or culture during a vacation.

Case in point...until our last day in Cairo, I created an image of the city that was a far cry from the comforts of back home. A city that seemed much like Lagos (busy, crowded, a bit "third world") yet it still portrayed an "exotic" feel to me that was unlike Lagos or the United States. But on our last day the falsity of my mere glimpse of Cairo came full focus.

Due to a hotel mix up and end-of-trip exhaustion, we headed out of the city confines early and grabbed dinner close to the airport. A local Cairo restaurant guide indicated there was an On the Border in the Cairo suburbs and just a few miles from the airport. The existence of an On the Border in Cairo was not too surprising; after all, we had seen American food chains speckled in the tourist areas of the city. But the sight we saw when the cab pulled up to our destination blew our mind!

On the Border was housed in a two tower, multi-level building complex that put most American malls to shame. Named "Citystars," this mega-mall accommadated stores such as FCUK, Levi's, and every athletic appareal establishment you could think of (Puma, Adidas, Nike, etc.). And...it was overrun with teenagers! Just like teens and tweens back home, the mall seemed to be the local hangout. Other than the multitudes of scarf-covered heads, this could have been any suburban mall in the United States. So I guess Cairo was more like home than I thought.

As I found out first hand in Cairo, often our perceptions of other cultures, countries, and ways of life are shaped by what little we see and encounter during holiday. Even now, having lived in Lagos for five months, I know I still have much to learn and in some ways am sheltered from the reality of Lagos living. So I ask all of you to take what I say with a grain of salt; know that what I see and what I write is based on my own perceptions and limited experiences; and go out and see for yourself, create your own perceptions, and challenge mine.

(For those of you trying to figure out which Citystars establishments are pictured above, here are your answers: (1) Starbucks (Yep, even in Cairo); (2) Chile's; (3) Macaroni Grill; (4) Toys R Us; (5) On the Border; and, (6) Duh...

African Diversity - Badagry

"Go to Lagos, then die; go to Badagry, then live." That's what our tour guide (Baba)Tunde told us on a recent visit to this Benin-border town west of Lagos. Presently, his statement is probably true. Upon arrival to the city, there was a noticeable absence of trash on the side of the road, and the people seemed relaxed, content, and markedly quieter than the yelling Yoruba of Lagos-town. The serene walk across the sandbar beach that takes you from lagoon to ocean remains practically desolate and undisturbed, at least for the time being. (Michael Jackson has traced his roots to Badagry and has plans for commemorative restorations...and an amusement park, of course).

But prior to 1832, Tunde's adage probably went more like this: "Go to Lagos, then live; go to Badagry, then die." Badagry is the second largest slave port on the African continent after Goree Island in Senegal. While many an African waterfront carried names such as "The Ivory Coast" or "The Gold Coast" after the most abundant items exported, shoreline parallel to Badagry became know as "The Slave Coast." From the time of Portuguese "discovery" in the 1440s to the abolition of slavery and beyond, millions of Africans were captured and shipped from Badagry to the Caribbean as domestic and farming slaves.

Today, you can still visit the slave market where men bartered for men, and the Badagry Heritage Museum makes the realities of slavery all too real. On display are large circular troughs from which slaves used to drink and neck harnesses with connecting chains for keeping slaves in single file captivity.

As a final testament to the reality of historical atrocity, you can ride a canoe propelled by motor across the Badagry lagoon and walk the same path former slaves did to the Point of No Return. Looking toward the point from the sandy path, it almost seems inviting -- tall palm trees framing the exit point, blue sky lying in between, and the Atlantic waves heard but not seen. This would be the last glimpse enslaved Africans would see of their beloved continent.

Though living side-by-side with a tainted history (literally...a woman hung laundry to dry in the former slave market), the city and people continue to live and thrive. I guess Tunde was right: "you go to Badagry, then live!"

Kano - The Sight of a Woman

While in Kano, we also visited privately with one of the emir's 4 wives. Because of Muslim tradition, only women were allowed to see or speak with Ada. Wife number 3 of 5 (which has since risen to #2 with the death of wife #1), Ada spoke candidly about life as an emir's wife. She married when she was 19 and had ambitions to be a pastor and travel the world. Instead she chose a life of seclusion with the emir inside the palace. True, the emir takes her traveling when opportunity arises, but without the emir she must stay in the confines of her living quarters with a couple hours in the evening allowed for courtyard meandering.

She mostly communicates with her husband through concubines...and yes, they are concubines in the traditional sense of the word. They may sleep with him and mother the emir's children...children who will enjoy the same benefits as Ada's. When we asked if she despised the concubines for their relationship with the emir, she seemed a bit surprised. After all, she and the concubines are in the same boat...devoted to the king as helper, companion, and mother of his children. Instead of animosity, they have a mutual respect and understanding for a situation they both share.

It is interesting...when visiting Cairo I expected to feel compelled toward respect of Muslim traditions and beliefs. But it was in Kano that I most noticed the restraints placed on people of my own gender. It isn't just the emir's wife who is confined to her home; it is pretty much any woman over the age of 16 (or so it seemed). We saw girls and older women frequently lining the streets. But as for the other demographics, they were nowhere to be found. And while in Cairo I would not have felt too out of place wearing a modest tank-top, in Kano I did not see one woman without headgear and covered from head to foot. In fact, we were advised to cover our necks before visiting with the emir's wife.

Despite a tradition I do not fully understand, and an anonymity that is true for most women not often seen outside their homes, it did not seem a hindrance to who these women are. The emir's wife is strong, she is outspoken and candid, and she has accepted her choice in life as her own. She has three equally strong daughters, all of whom chose different paths than their mother's...to see the world and be seen by it.

Kano - Barka da Sallah!

As it happened, we visited Kano (and Katsina) during one of their biggest festivals of the year - the Durbar. In celebration of the end of Ramadan, the emir hosts a colorful parade of flags, music, and horsemen. Historically organized as a show of forces and undying allegiance to the emir, its modern day participants are usually high-ranking community officials and businessmen exhibiting symbolic allegiance to the king. The emir's family are often involved (the men at least) and can be identified by conspicuous "bunny ears" atop their heads.

The procession proceeded much like a parade except in the round. Acrobats demonstrated their flexibility and tricks; drums, xylophones, and long pipe-like instruments provided musical entertainment; and extravagantly adorned horsemen marched to the arena center in anticipation of the emir's arrival. At its climax, the more prominent community members rushed full-speed from one arena end to the other to greet the emir himself. Clothed from head to foot and shaded by a large ornate umbrella, the emir accepts the honors then retreats to his palace for visitors.

From those living in the palace to those living in the bush, all celebrate this holiday (the Eid) with a sacrificial goat, cow, or chicken for the most impoverished. The day before festivities began, we watched Kano residents chose from among hundreds of cows the best one possible for their Sallah celebrations. We also saw goats being expertly skinned having been carefully slit at the throat in halal style, then blown up like a balloon through its hind leg for easier skinning.

The Sallah meat itself is cook, fried, and cooked again it seemed, and the final product texture is somewhere between overcooked shredded beef and beef jerky. Tasty, salty, and as dry as the Sahara desert! The Durbar, with its colorful adornments and regal procession, is an event northern Nigeria can truly claim as its own.

African Diversity - Kano, Nigeria

Though I was able to "Walk Like an Egyptian" in Cairo, Kano was a different story. About 500 miles northeast of Lagos, this Sub-Saharan city could have been on another continent. Sure, it had notes of Nigeria - kola nuts and sugar cane sold road-side, okada (and LOTS of them), traffic which would test any patience - but if the airport sign hadn't read "Welcome to Kano," I would guess we had landed in the Middle East or Afghanistan.

Kano, with its significant Muslin influence, seemed more Muslim than Egypt. The buildings and palaces invite visitors through Arabic-style entrances. The weather, wind, and sand reminded you just how close you are to the world's largest desert. And you can't drive two kilometers without seeing quotes from the Koran conspicuously displayed on highway signs (in both Arabic and English).

In Lagos, where poverty slaps you in the face, poverty in Kano gets into your blood. Perhaps it was most evident while visiting with the emir's wife. Our tour guide had lived in Kano for many years and befriended Ada during her extended stay. Every year when Paulette brings her tour group for the Sallah celebration, Ada invites the women to share drinks and company in the palace. Though generous and inviting, it was hard to believe we were visiting with an emir's wife! Her living quarters were comfortable but conspicuously rough around the edges...tattered carpeting that frayed as it approached the walls, furniture that probably had seen decades of Sahara dust, and no running water in the toilet facilities. If presumably this is how kings and queens live, it's difficult to imagine the hardship of the general population.

The city of Kano itself proved a far cry from Lagos. Sidewalks make traversing on foot much easier, traffic laws for the most part are obeyed, and foreigners were few and far between. While residents of Lagos construct make-shift homes out of scrap wood or metal, homes in Kano possess a Santa-Fe-esque quality with clay being the most common home construction material. Kano residents are decidedly tamer than Lagosians as well. Street vendor vie politely for business but rarely cross the border from persistence to annoyance. And not once did we witness confrontational yelling between drivers or vendors (a daily occurence in Lagos). A noticable deficit of English speakers made communication more difficult than anticipated (most opt for Hausa, the "language of government" in Nigeria), but despite the language barrier the citizens were warm, welcoming, and just as curious about us as we were about them.

Overall, the calm of Kano was a needed and appreciated break from the everyday mayhem of Lagos living.

Egypt - Walk Like an Egyptian

As a typical part of my pre-travel ritual, I do extensive research on what attire to pack. Weather, terrain, cultural activities, and the like all play a role in my complicated decision-making matrix for proper packing protocol. And as with our other jaunts in and outside the US, I went through the same rigorous process for our trip to Cairo…with one slight alteration: I was a woman entering the gateway to the Muslim world.

With the Middle East a mere hop over the Red Sea, my ways had to amend and not offend. No shorts, no scoop necks, no tanks. A friend who used to live in UAE had told me stories about Sharjah (a small emirate beside Dubai). Even if just driving through, she had to cover her head in observance of Muslim law. Another friend who lived in Kuwait always carried an emergency jumper she could toss on if so compelled. As a visitor to Egypt, I was determined to blend in and respect the traditions of a country I knew little about. So armed with a scarf and no-wrinkle, ankle-long skirt I was ready to walk like an Egyptian.

As it turned out, my worries were unwarranted. Now, you wouldn’t want to sport your Daisy Dukes, and most women did wear headgear; but, you weren’t obligated by any stretch to alter your typical American dress. Though definitely in the minority, scarfless women were not an unusual sight. And after a while, the scarves themselves seemed to pass your notice, blending in as another accessory to the outfit as a whole. Maybe it was because the women in Cairo had an impeccable sense of style, or perhaps it was the utility factor amidst wind and dust; whatever the reason, the missing hairdos and ponytails faded into the unremarkable.

Tradition carries such a ring of normality in Egypt you almost cease to notice. Take the all-woman subway car for example. In each subway station, a two-car length shaded section along the track indicates where the “women cars” stop. You aren’t forbidden to ride the other cars alongside men (I saw a number of women do so, with and without headgear); it’s just a small Muslim convenience, and widely used I might add, for the women abiding by more conservative beliefs.

Though we saw the occasional full-body coverage with gloves and face scarf, coverage was not a requirement for females by any means, nor was walking three feet behind my husband on the street. As it turned out, it was much easier to walk like an Egyptian than I thought.

Egypt - More Than You Bargain For

After living in Lagos for 3.5 months and having to bargain on a biweekly basis for everything from tomatoes to key chains, I thought I had it down. The seller starts high, the buyer goes way low, and then somehow you manage to agree on a price that is suitable for both parties. In Lagos, bargaining (or pricing) seems to be a way of life. A price is never set so pricing is the natural progression of the buying process after you've chosen what to buy and before you bring it home.

But the minute we set foot in Egypt, all bets were off. Bargaining was like walking into crossfire. You could not walk 20 feet without a street vendor shouting at you, a cabbie soliciting your business, or an eager seller following you down the street. Wherein Lagos you simply pass a vendor by, in Egypt there is no such thing as "no." Persistence seems to be the way to subsistence, and with good reason. If one vendor doesn't attract your business, there are 10 others waiting for it just down the road.

In Lagos, if a vendor doesn't like your price you may volley once or twice, state you highest price ("1,000 Naira, finish!"), then agree to disagree and simply walk away. In Egypt, the bargaining could go on and on. This quickly became clear with one particular Egyptian vendor selling a Louis Vuitton wallet (a very obvious knockoff I might add). He started a $50 American dollars, and I knew full well I wasn't going to pay more than $10. We got down to $20, and I began questioning my own decision to buy. After all, I didn't really need the wallet, and the poor quality stitching (un)sealed the deal. As I began to walk away, the price quickly fell to $15, then $10, the $7...and I was out of earshot. I guess in Egypt you really can get more than you bargain for.

African Diversity - Egypt

Lagos living with Cape Town convenience...that's what I thought when we first arrived in Cairo. The city itself had more than hints of Lagos. Dirty, crowded, and bustling to name just a few. Though a mere 8 millions residents compared with Lagos' 13 million, the streets were packed with pedestrians, street vendors, and traffic that puts New York City to shame.

One of our first stops while in Cairo was Egypt's national museum. From the outside, the regal building seems to announce the true value of what it holds inside. But once you enter, thousands of 4,000-year-old artifacts sit in aisles, un-encased and unprotected. Similar to many of Nigeria's museums, there seems to be a severe lack of priority (or perhaps a lack of funds) when it comes to artifact preservation and presentation. Glass panes held together by cracked wood formed the display boxes we peered into. Half the time the artifacts were unlabeled, and those that were displayed type-writer descriptions on yellowing paper. Up until recently, the mummies of Egypt's most famous pharaohs were not protected adequately from temperature, air, or other elements giving new meaning to the phrase "oldie moldie." But regardless of a general paucity and priority for preservation, the sites of the city, their historical significance, and the sheer number of ancient artifacts you can see is a tourists dream.

As an added bonus, the city's infrastructure makes it all easy to see. Cairo boasts the only subway on the African continent. A safe, new, and clean transportation option, the subway is easy to navigate and cheap (about 20 cents per ride). Currently it doesn't go as far as the airport in the northeast or the Pyramids out west, but taxis are numerous and the highway system decent. Just make sure your hotel writes your destination (and your hotel address!) in Arabic for the non-English speaking cabbies.

Despite just a few language barriers, overall we were surprised by how much English we saw and heard in this primarily Arabic speaking city. And once we traveled to Luxor, us mono-glots were in heaven! As a general rule, you can assume anyone in Luxor speaks your language...Spanish, German, even Japanese. At one point during our trip, a vendor approached us trying to sell some papyrus. Not receiving an immediate response from us in English, he subsequently switched to Spanish, then Italian, then German. No joke!

Despite traces of third-worldness (a gentle reminder that we had not left Africa), Cairo and Luxor were easy to navigate, tourist friendly, and cosmopolitan to say the least.

African Diversity - Cape Town Class

In addition to top-notch infrastructure, Bay-Area-esque feel, and severe lack of wild animals running around, Cape Town eluded its "African" stereotypes in another way -- my skin fit in. How could this be? After all, South Africa is only 18% white!

Staying in the tourist area close to the VA Waterfront, and presumably one of the most affluent parts of town, racial demographics seem askew. Our Nigerian friend EG observed this as well...a severe lack of bi-racial couples, especially noticeable to her and her Anglo-American boyfriend, Wes. Though not completely absent of racial diversity, this well-to-do area is hardly representative of the city as a whole. Speaking to this point, a former DePaul University classmate of mine made a poignant observation: "You can't talk about race without talking about class." And in Cape Town you see the striking truth to this statement. Cape Town is where race and class collide and divide.

This reality became conspicuously apparent toward the end of our trip. As inevitably happens in unfamiliar cities, Brian and I took a wrong turn on our way back to the city. As we drove past the casinos trying to find an alternate route, our environment became strikingly familiar -- vendors walking between cars selling anything from fruit to car mats; make-shift shanties flanking the roadway; and, of course, our skin color placed us in the minority. No...we were not in Lagos. We had stumbled upon one of Cape Town's many "townships" where the less than affluent reside and apparently black skin was a condition of lease.

In my previous blog Class-ic Racism I wrote, "In Nigeria it is not my race that I notice most...it is my class." But pondering once again my former classmates statement, I know she is right. You cannot talk about race without talking about class...even in Africa.

African Diversity - Cape Town

The minute you step off the plane in Cape Town, this is what inevitably runs through your mind: "Are we in Africa?" Easily mistakable for an American or European seaside community, Cape Town's infrastructure boasts ease of travel, drinkable water, clean streets and sidewalks, and tourist areas galore. In stark contrast to Lagos' tropical terrain and climate (i.e. my quintessential "Africa"), Cape Town is dry, cool, and features a grandiose and picturesque coastline. In many (in fact most) ways it reminds me of the Bay Area in California. Wineries are plentiful, the summers can still be cool, and there is a general easygoing-ness that accompanies most tasks.

Though most speak English, Afrikaans is king. Streets and businesses claim names from this Dutch-based language whose vowel sounds have no relevance to their English counterparts. Springbok, wildebeest, ostrich, cheetah, and other game certainly reside nearby; but the only signs we saw of them were on menus, near farms from which they had escaped, or caged for tourists to pet. Still no signs of my quintessential "Africa." Ivory and zebra skin were aplenty in the local souvenir shops, though most were raised in mass for "legal" poaching. And our authentic South African cuisine at Moyo's was served to us by waiters from Zimbabwe.

In Cape Town we found the US of the Southern Hemisphere; modern comforts, big-city feel, and surface-level prosperity in the tourist parts of town...a definite contrast (and break) from the laborious Lagosian living.

Where Are We From?

The first photo is our two friends Bruce and Neulah who are South African. This photo was taken just before Christmas at Cape Town's annual Christmas carol singalong at its botanical garden. Being almost 80% Christian, we felt at home during the Christmas season there.

Obviously there is an oyibo in this second picture. The person to the right of me is EG, one of our very good friends here in Lagos. She is Nigerian, born in Warri. Her full name is Eguonor Abinogun, which can be a bit confusing to the typical Nigerian. Technically she's considered Urhobo, but her last name is Yoruba.

Look carefully at the third photo, and don't be fooled...there is an oyibo in disguise. The other gentleman was our Egyptian tour guide while at the pyramids in Giza.

The fourth photo is also a bit tricky...the gentleman on the right is our roommate, Ben. He attended primary and secondary school near Kampala, Uganda (where his parents and family still live), but he's American. On the left is a Nigerian gentleman we met during a late night at our hotel pool bar in Benin City, Nigeria.

The final photo is a bit atypical! It was taken during my trip to Kano (the northern part of Nigeria that is primarily Muslim and so close to the Sahara they are planting trees to keep the desert from expanding to Kano). Rarely did we see 18-30 year-old women walking the streets. Most are obligated to stay at home or only exit their homes with their husbands.

African Diversity

Every week I attend a book club that reads publications about Africa, written by African authors, or both. Yesterday, as we were choosing our books for the next few months, I made a startling comment that surprised even myself: "Before reading this book [King Leopald's Ghost] I had no idea where the Congo was or even that it used to be called Zaire." Embarrassing but true.

Before moving to Lagos, Africa was this conglomerate of the unknown. Botswana, Sudan, and Togo could easily have passed for the same country in my mind. After all, they're all Africa, right? Lots of black people, lions and leopards, and probably civil unrest. In a nut shell, that was my Africa. I exaggerate a bit, knowing full well the world's largest desert rests in the north (I don't think leopards hang out there), and the residents of northeast Africa most certainly do not look black. Then of course there is South Africa...lots of white people and the most "civilized" of all African countries.

But let's be serious...if I took a poll of all my blog followers and asked them to point out Gabon, Namibia, and Burkina Faso on a map, how many of us would get all three right? Somehow, over the years, this vastly diverse continent that boasts over 1,000 indigenous languages and probably just as many cultures, has melded into "Africa." So, in celebration of the most misunderstood continent on the planet, my next couple of blogs will focus on African diversity. To give you a taste of what's to come, here are a couple of photos of people from different African countries. Can you guess where they are from?