Nigerian Ghosts

Nigerians do not celebrate Halloween. But living in an expat community far from home, people go to great lengths to celebrate familiar traditions. And Halloween is no different. This year enthusiastic friends in a neighboring community commemorated the American tradition with B00ze Fest. The party itself progressed as any other party would: plenty of food, music, camaraderie, and even a margarita machine. Toward the end of the evening, the oppressive humidity and one too many margaritas caught up with me and I ventured outside in my "beer wench" costume for fresh air.

At the end of the walkway my friend Echo sat in a plastic chair observing who came and went. He waited for us and our friends to finish our enjoyable evening so he could finish his work by driving us home. We exchanged pleasantries, and I stopped beside him to chat about nothing in particular.

As it happened, I took a seat on the asphalt beside Echo’s chair out of the streetlight’s reach and obscured by shadows. After a bit, I began to notice something peculiar. People trickled in and out, some offering a surreptitious hello but most passed avoiding eye contact all together. “They do not see us,” Echo observed. I thought nothing of this simple statement at the time, and we continued to chat unobserved by those who passed by.

Then yesterday, I saw Echo on my way to the gym. He once again waited by the car to fulfill his duties as a driver. As we spoke, I discovered he attended college and received degrees in city planning and geographical studies. He is a smart and well spoken individual so his education level did not surprise me. But his current vocation did! Why is a college graduate, who has a strong work ethic and ambitions for bigger and better things, working as a driver?

"I have struggled with that for years," Echo said, with obvious pain and anger in his voice. He spent six years in school training for a job he would never have...six years he now feels were a waste. "They don't think we a human beings! They don't think we have anything here [pointing to his head]," he says of those with more respectable jobs. And so he continues to struggle, knowing how much he is capable of but trapped in a land of inopportunity.

Then I think of the our steward John, who speaks English, Igbo, and German; or Johnson, another driver, who can clearly explain and differentiate Yoruba grammatical cases. Yet somehow, their vocations obscure their intelligence in the eyes of others. They are left in the shadows; they are present but unseen; they are passed by but unacknowledged. And, like so many others, they remain ghosts in their own home.

Today I Chose to Ride the Oko

There is a village not too far from Central Lekki Island; Iba-Oloja is its Yoruba name. As the story goes, a disoriented expat stumbled upon this village 15 years ago. The expat sought a nearby beach for his family to enjoy their day and instead found Mufa, the guide who today takes curious visitors to Iba-Oloja on day- long excursions by oko (canoe). The two maintained a relationship over the years, and with the help of donations, and of course proceeds from oko rides, the village now has a bathroom, uniforms for the school children, and a fully-functional school. This was the village I visited yesterday.

The canoe ride itself did not prove troublesome. Traversing serpentine inlets formed undoubtedly by oko traffic, we floated along in private oar-steered vessels toward the village. Tree leafs and brush tickled our faces, monkeys and cicadas released calls of unknown meaning, and the humid yet serene atmosphere revealed an Africa I had only read about in books.

But as we approached Iba-Oloja and disembarked with the help of Juma's and Mufa's steady and skillful hands, my trouble began. It is a philosophical trouble that still does not have an answer for me. A conflict that up to this point in time has only been hinted at, but today disclosed itself painfully. On the one hand, here we arrive in Iba-Oloja with genuine curiosity and wonder. We want to see, listen, and watch the happenings of a small isolated village and its residents. And the people welcome us without hesitation, showing us their school, performing juju and traditional dances, and allowing us to visit and drink with the chief in his humble quarters. And it is obvious the villagers know that with visitors come gifts and awareness of their needs. So our visit is welcomed and accepted by those who call Iba-Oloja their home.

On the other hand, we come to see, listen, and watch but not much more. We do not seek an understanding that only friendships can bring. We come and go as we please to enter voyeuristically into their world, and we bring lenses and flashes to document our "experience." As I watched the closing traditional dance, I sensed this relational disconnect in the actions and voices of the villagers. It was not overt rudeness or inacceptance but more like a constant low hum of banality only audible when it stops, when someone shows a true interest in who a person is as a friend, companion, human being.

And so I post this account with hesitation, knowing that I will not return, will not seek friendships, and cannot do justice to these photos that the people in them deserve. Today I chose to ride the oko.

The Cultural Disclaimer

You may remember Echo from one of my previous posts. He is a well spoken, intelligent, and insightful individual who works as a driver for my friend Annette. (Unfortunately, intelligence and education are not always rewarded with commensurate employment here in Nigeria.) Fulfilling one of the duties of his vocation, Echo came by my house today returning some items on behalf of his "madame." Before leaving, Echo candidly asked a question that had been bothering him for some time. A number of years ago, he worked for a British man here in Lagos. Because he respected the man and wanted to show his appreciation Echo presented to his boss a pair of trousers, wrapped neatly in paper and ribbon. Two weeks later he was fired.

The gift and his subsequent firing could have been unrelated, Echo admitted; but still in the back of his mind he felt he had offended the man in some unknown way. Echo continued, relaying a similar and more recent story. He wanted to present a gift of cloth to his former "madame." Trying his best to take proper precautions, he bought fabric for both his "madame" and her husband so the gift would not be taken as an inappropriate proposition. Again, he carefully wrapped both gifts and presented them to his employers. When the two saw the gifts, Echo expected to see joy in their eyes. After all, in Nigeria cloth is considered the finest of gifts one can receive. And it is gifts of cloth and fine drinks that the obas (kings) reciprocate with accolades of blessing and prosperity. Instead, Echo sensed an apprehension which he could not understand.

Needless to say, Echo was both distraught and confused by the situations he described. As we contemplated the cause of the misunderstandings, I began to realize just how complicated the rules of engagement can be even to those native to a particular culture. Most of these unspoken rules are considered and processed quickly and unconsciously by those who practice them, and quickly zip by those not privy to particular cultural conventions

In Echo's situations, we concluded that two things dictated the appropriateness of the gifts: relationship and timing. In both situations Echo was a subordinate giving a gift to his employer. Though many of us often develop close relationships with fellow coworkers, as a general rule gift giving in a professional setting must be performed with care. It may cause embarrassment if the employer cannot or has not reciprocated with a gift in kind...after all, if anyone should be gift giving, it should be the employer. Or, if done with enough frequency, it could be seen as an informal bribe or a method of gaining favor with the boss by inappropriate means.

The other factor out of sync with Echo's own perceptions seemed to be timing. Echo's gift was not given in response to a finished project or encouragement for a particular task. It did not involve the holiday gift giving tradition or the obligatory Boss' Day gesture of appreciation. It was a simple token of gratitude unrelated to any particular occurrence or holiday. And, at least in the culture I grew up in, this would seem a bit awkward. Now, some may argue "random acts of kindness" do occur, but that is just what they are...random. These acts not typical or repeated, and too many random acts of kindness hone suspicion.

With so many unspoken rules and cultural nuances, we resigned ourselves to the fact that we cannot always predict how a gift, comment, or action will be received in a culture that is not our own. We can insult or betray without knowing we have done so. But until we rectify the cross-cultural confusion, a simple preemptive disclaimer can do wonders:

"In my culture..."