The best day yet.

Midnight. Just back to the hotel after watching Femi Kuti, local afrobeat celebrity. Like Widespread Panic meets reggae in west Africa. He plays a double keyboard and three saxes (not simultaneously, but nearly), sings with passionate protest and directs his percussion and horn section, a couple guitars and a variety of rotating dancers (on stage and in cages, rather disturbing metaphorically but mesmerizing to watch). The energy, of performers and dancers and groupielike following alike, a Pentecostal service -- dervishes flying everywhere. This was just the *rehearsal* for his weekly Sunday show. Plenty of secondhand weed lingering in the air, too. I live in the wrong country ... junk that moves independently of what's below is celebrated here.

A neck-snapping study in contrasts from the rest of the day.



In the morning we drove to the lagoon, took speedboats out and visited three of the riverine villages. I just can't do justice tonight. Extreme poverty; multitudes of children and virtually no means of self-sufficiency. Fishing all but destroyed by the lagoon's water quality. One village did have some agriculture -- cassava, coconuts. One marriage proposal from an elder in one village, who laughed when I said, "Oh no, you don't want to marry me -- I'm too much trouble, and I can give you plenty of testimonials to that effect."

With deep white sand beaches and palm trees, it would take only a very little bit of work to improve these villages into primitive resorts, a means of bringing in money -- if only the water weren't so deeply and permanently polluted.



This is pretty much what the ground looks like everywhere, but most especially in the slums/villages:



Miz K, your pink skirt came along for the visit and I believe was not destroyed in the process. My favorite Diesel sneakers may not be so lucky.

That was eye-opening enough. Quick lunch at a fast-food place (another jarring juxtaposition), then off to visit Ajegunle -- possibly the largest "slum" (I hate using that word, but there's no getting around it) on the continent. At least 3 million residents in this neighborhood alone. The streets are dirt packed with garbage; in the rainy season they flood, sending sewage and filth into the homes. We passed through a couple of long, low, bunkerlike buildings filled with rooms about 10 by 10 feet; entire families (mother, father, several children, probably extended relatives) live in a single room.

Our leader, John, had just commented on the bus that we'd become so gradually acclimated to the filth and poverty that we hadn't really had an "Oh my god" moment yet. Then we turned the corner, literally, in Ajegunle; behind the falling-down buildings is a pile of garbage and sewage, playground to countless children and the occasional dog, backyard to millions. It's hard to know what to say about it. I can't fathom how people with so little justification for hope manage to continue waking up each day.

My biggest regret is failing to buy an extra battery and card for the camera; it gave out on me just after the lagoon visit, so I have no personal proof of the slum visit. I'm hoping the others will be generous with sharing; Stephanie in particular ought to be a professional photographer. What I do have, I'll post when I have a chance.

Pulling an allnighter, I think, because I don't want the night to end, but Ron, Bill and I apparently agreed to go on a morning TV talk show; leave at 6:15. I can sleep on the plane. It's coming for us all too soon.

Traffic in Lagos:



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Vicki: Happy Birthday and thanks for the news update!
Robin: Por supuesto I remember you! Glad you got my email and would love to catch up when I return.

William: The camera I just despise, frankly, for several reasons, but will try Miz K's ISO suggestion. I need to hire the both of you and *really* learn photography.

Logey in Lagos.

These are from an Islamic school in Kaduna. We had some interesting conversations with the leaders, expelling some stereotypes on both sides. The girls were absolutely lovely.

In Lagos now. Ah, luxury! No bidet, but free water and wireless. So much to tell, far too little time to post. About 4 hours' sleep on a good night, but I figure I can sleep on the plane ride home.

Kano has been my favorite spot so far. A brief visit to the emir, with his vibrant and vocal entourage. A visit to the dye pits, where I helped do some ironing, paid some "dash" so I could take workers' photos, and came home with an authentic indigo tie-dye in the "Emir's Palace" pattern, my beloved spiral/circle of life.

We also took a quick trek through the Kano market, my favorite so far. An intricate labyrinth of alleyways and nooks; the adobe reminds me of New Mexico's pueblos, the layout of Old Delhi. Found some Muslim fezes for the guys and fantastic necklaces for the ladies ... unless I decide to keep them all for myself.

Six-hour bus ride back to Abuja; an hour to change; a formal dinner; a 9:30 p.m. meeting with the vice president, Atiku Abubakar, who has switched parties and is challinging the president's hand-picked candidate; he's also the one who gave Rep. Jefferson the cash for his freezer.

We've become political tools! Our press conference with President Obasanjo became covered in the media as his "message" to Atiku about "amputating entire limbs" when it comes to corruption. In response, Atiku has referred to this American press entourage here at the president's invitation and hearing only his side of the situation. We've spent a lot of time explaining how we're on an independent mission, unconnected either to their government our ours.

The Independent

Online Nigeria: We're being "shepherded around" by the government!

After meeting the veep, home by midnight to pack; 4:30 a.m. wakeup call for the flight to Lagos.

We've spent the day with media people, visiting a newspaper and a Newsweek-style magazine. Independent journalism, like democracy itself, is a fledgling here; it's interesting to see the differences. Most people I spoke with had never heard of a "copy desk." On the other hand, little Punch newspaper goes straight to neg.

Tonight a joint discussion with us and journalists from several publications. So tired going in I could barely keep my eyes open, but it woke me back up. The universality of our problems ... we spent a long time discussing (rather, listening to them discuss amongst themselves) how difficult it is to convince readers to buy a paper in the first place -- how to become relevant.

I love how much more eloquent Nigerians are than we Americans. Young and old, positions of authority or pedantry, they all have something to say, and they say it with such passion and flavor. These are an emphatic people. (When not pontificating, however, they don't tend so much to listen to each other; it's not at all considered rude to chat, text or even take phone calls in a meeting.

Tomorrow we visit the lagoon communities. It should be messy but real and rewarding; I've been looking forward to this more than anything else -- talking with real people. Just a couple of brief drives through this city, not even in the "slums" we'll be seeing tomorrow, it's hard to imagine living in such undeniably ugly surroundings. Concrete and dust, and as much refuse as dust; people everywhere, everywhere.

Contrast that with a visit to embassy row in the evening, then to a nightspot where we'll get to see Femi Kuti, son of Fela Kuti, both well known Afro-beat musicians. Look for them on iTunes.

(Small world note: One of my colleagues went to school for a year with our own Sylvia H.!)

PS: Anonymous posters, I love y'all but make yourselves known!

More Kano photos.

From top to bottom:

A worker creating indigo cloth at the ancient dye pits in Kano, northern Nigeria.

Helping the guys iron some tie-dye with heavy wooden clubs.

Girls by the roadside between Kaduna and Kano; we'd stopped to get petrol.

Planes, buses and automobiles.

'Home' from Kaduna/Kano around 7 last night; formal dinner at 8; meeting with vice president at 9:30; back to hotel by 11:30; leaving in about 15 minutes (6 a.m.) for flight to Lagos and last leg of trip. You can see why I don't have time to post all the fabulous things we've seen in past couple of days. Will soon.

Decided to post after all.

“All Nigerians love pontificating.”

– Jibrin Ibrahim, political analyst … and one of the greatest pontificators around

Today we met with a political scientist in the morning, analyzing the upcoming elections and full of witty quotes, and in the afternoon with Shell oil executives. That session was very different from all the others, extremely tense and terse, and once again off the record – “background only.” None of the elegant Nigerian “pontification” until Shell Nigeria’s lone female board member and daughter of a former king in the delta region, spoke out angrily and eloquently at the very end.

In between, a visit to the local market. Overwhelming, in midday sun, stared at alternately with hostility and a kind of adulation. Gail and I walked to the edge, to the food market. Bought two CDs – Rex Lawson and some Nigerian hiphop. I didn’t take photos; it causes violent offense. Gail knows Nelson (Lampe) from their days together at the San Francisco Examiner, and says hi. She reminds me a lot of Joellen; I really like her.

There’s a gas station across the road from the hotel entrance. The lines always, always stretch into the street.

And there are no traffic lights, in a city of 2 million, and everyone just pulls out into the intersection and assumes they’ll make it across four speeding lanes of traffic, and they usually do.

Abuja is a city created out of nothing. When “democracy” came to Nigeria in 1999, they decided to move the capital from Lagos, on the coast, to the middle of the country, equidistant to all the various religious/ethnic factions. None of it was here 10 years ago; now, absolutely massive corporate and government buildings rise from the middle of nowhere. Everything’s in a state of construction or demolition (already?), and it’s hard to tell which is which. Everyone we’ve met is here because they have to be and can’t wait to leave. I still like it.

Tonight, dinner at an authentic Nigerian restaurant – we made it out of our insulated Hilton bubble. A table full of Americans, in a Nigerian restaurant, with a Spanish telenovela on the big-screen TV. I have a 5 a.m. wakeup call to leave by 7 for Kaduna/Kano – five hours each way. I should be asleep an hour ago …

Things you can buy at the Abuja market:
Assorted used American shoes and plastic crap
Stereo speakers
Bootleg CDs
Red, robust, ripe tomatoes, piled in perfect pyramids
Pineapples; plaintains
Chickens, live or dead
Cow and goat heads, or the whole body if you like
Tiny blue snails
Dried crawfish
Okra, pumpkin leaves, spinach
Batik fabric (I want to bring some home for pillow covers; Mom/Krista: How much do I need for that?)

Things you can buy from a bus window in Abuja traffic:
Phone cards
Garlic
Newspapers, magazines
Soft drinks
Loaves of bread
Innertubes
Bananas; limes
Roasted corn
Balloons

A study in contrasts, with photos.

OK, so I am more than a bit tipsy from the two (big, like Rogue big) bottles of Star beer – yes, there is Nigerian beer, and I have peeled off the label to prove it!

Tonight has been a real treat. We split into small groups and had dinner with families in a village outside Abuja. A compound overtaken by the government when they moved the capital from Lagos to Abuja; now they want to sell, but of course they don’t pay their civil servants (current or retired) enough to buy. No electricity except at odd hours. We had the loveliest family; I want to bring daughter Lilian, 26, home with me. We had foo-foo for the first time; unluckily for them, the group’s two vegetarians were in their home, and of course they used meat just for us. All the young people —a family of seven children – are looking for jobs, but there are none to be had. Intensely rewarding, but intensely sad.





Then we came back to our fancy hotel and drank until they closed down the bar.

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Last night and this morning I was feeling so run down and out of my element. Today has been invigorating by comparison. The answer is part climbing back on the Diet Coke wagon, part having a more interactive day.

Early in the morning we drove out to a Catholic clinic near Abuja that provides prenatal care, delivery and general medical care after birth. They also offer HIV testing and treatment (except for condoms) and general medical care. While everyone else was following the tour around, I was able to sit and talk with a mom and her tiny 8-month-old, who had a fever.





Then a quick stop at a rural market, where we happened on a voter registration drive for the April presidential election; getting the registration materials out to voters has been a major issue, so it was good to see it actually in action.





A group of police officers wouldn’t let me take their picture unless I posed with them.



Then our formal press conference with President Obasanjo. It was disconcerting to be on the other side of the media lens; our being there was covered by several television stations and newspapers. And we got our first “swag” – a bag with a polo shirt, coffee mug, ball cap all featuring Nigeria’s outline. What are our ethics rules, again?

Followed by a session with the evangelistic head of the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission, a newly formed agency charged with curtailing the ubiquitous Nigerian corruption. (The stereotype exists for good reason.) If I understand it right, the FBI first alerted them to Vice President Atiku Abubakar, the one who allegedly gave the $90,000 to Jefferson to stash in his freezer. He faces a variety of criminal charges but hasn’t yet been charged; if he happens to win in the April presidential elections, he may be immune from prosecution.

The most difficult thing about covering speakers is the difficulty in translating Nigerian English to American English. They speak quite quickly, in accents influenced by their own history as well as British colonialism … thick and lispy at times, gutteral from the back of the throat at others.

Tomorrow a meeting with Shell Oil representatives – believe me, the questions are already prepared; a visit to the big market; and coveted free time. After that, an overnight trip north to Kaduna and Kano. May not post for a few days. We’ve heard there’s a general travel advisory for Nigeria, but Dad, please don’t worry – we are completely safe and learning so much.

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On my colleagues: Reading everyone’s full bios shortly before we met, I was even more intimidated than when I saw the initial list and their associated news outlets. They all (well, most all) speak several languages, have lived in several countries, have worked with the big boys. I have much to learn from them, and I’m trying not to let intimidation get in the way.

On the other hand I’m not as odd a duck in this group (professionally speaking) as I’d feared. Sadly, that’s because so many “big” papers are cutting back or closing down their foreign news bureaus. Tuesday evening, just after we’d arrived, Roy Greene learned the Boston Globe had decided to cut all of its foreign bureaus. What does that mean for his job as deputy foreign editor?

Most everyone’s completely human, friendly and funny and laid-back. The same gossip and tales and connections we all have, just on such a global scale.

Ron Dzwonokowski, editorial page editor for the Detroit Free Press, was on the same trip to China that Gordon Winters was part of a few years ago. He also shared a fairly unbelievable story about an area county treasurer losing the county’s entire finances in a Nigerian scam.

Roy, from the Globe, used to date London Bridge from our own illustrious J school; he had fond memories of meeting Bud Pagel and visiting Duffy’s Tavern. He also, a decade or so back, worked for the Cambodia Daily, the same English-language paper in Phnom Penh where I was offered a job two years ago and decided to go to New Hampshire instead. (What would my life be now if I’d taken that direction instead?)

June Thomas, foreign editor for Slate, started out as the managing editor (and lone employee) for off our backs, a lesbian/feminist/guerilla newsmonthly collective that certainly helped inform/inspire the Woman’s Journal Advocate I helped edit and paste up way, way back in the day. Very cool.

Didrik Schanche, a foreign desk editor at NPR, is full of such good gossip about names we all recognize. "Didi" started her career as an assistant to Georgie Anne Geyer, whose memoirs I just read. Interesting to hear her gossip about “GeeGee,” and even more so to hear tales of all the big NPR personalities. Who’s not too bright, who’s on the way out, who’s sleeping with whom etc. etc. No, I'm sure they’re all too old at this point; nobody’s sleeping with anybody.

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Newspaper news:
Did we already know this? I read in Monday’s New York Times (“Using the newsroom to represent honesty,” Business, 5C, Jan. 22, 2006) that the World Herald newsroom is the stage for a Plavix ad featuring a fictional newspaper editor.

Actual local newspaper motto:
“The truth is a burden.” – the Daily Truth

Fictional newspaper mottos:

“We don’t make money, but we save it.” – Detroit Free Press

“The joyless pursuit of excellence.” – Boston Glob

Quote of the day (from Monday’s New York Times:)
“The biggest problem is razor burn.” – Stormy Daniels, porn actress/writer/director, on how HDTV’s crystal clear picture is affecting her industry.

Program note:
Check out www.theworld.org for new world tunes; at the end of each news or feature story from around the globe, they promote music from the related country. Carol Hills, one of my favorite travelmates, is a produce for The World.

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PS: Miz K, I am LOVING the Marie Antoinette soundtrack! It wakes me up in the mornings …

PPS: No, I haven’t fallen – yet. Apparently it was Kari’s turn today, in front of all the Nigerian media, ironically over their own power cords. I have, however, tripped, and hope that’s close enough.

Speaking of falls, in the market this morning one entrepreneur was desperate to sell me his lone, long blonde fall (hairpiece). He’s probably been waiting for me his whole life. Should’ve just bought it …

The first two days.

“Ready to dive into the deep end?”

– spoken by one of our seasoned journalists, well-traveled in Africa but a bit wary of corruption-ridden Nigeria, as we began boarding the plane to Abuja.

We arrived early Tuesday evening. It truly is strange how foreign places always smell so much the same, at least to me: The fumes, the haze/smog, the spiciness that hangs in the air. And how differently the traffic moves, without regard to lanes or horns or oncoming vehicles.

What little I’ve seen so far has come only from the window of a hotel bus, but the roadsides are their own hotbed of activity. From that window I have seen men selling a string of fish by the side of the road; another group of men frying some type of meat on an open fire; vividly dressed women in long tight skirts and matching headwraps walking alongside zooming traffic, somehow floating elegantly above the red dust. Wouldn’t want to be a newspaper hawker here, where young men carry stacks of the Daily Truth and This Day through the winding lanes of cars backed up at each intersection.

Beer and a buffet al fresco in one of the hotels several restaurants Tuesday night. Not many choices for non-meat-eaters (presumably because it’s such an upscale place), but a good sampling of stews and soups and starches – choice of pounded rice, pounded semolina or pounded yam. Other than that, my meals so far have been Luna bars, trail mix and a quick Greek salad at the poolside café.

Internet access is available. $8 an hour or $24 for 24 hours (consecutive, not simply hours used) to access it in the room. Or about $4 for every 10 minutes on a slooowwww connection in the “business center.” (And water is $2 for a small bottle; don’t worry, Mom – I’m not so cheap that I’ll drink out of the tap.)

Other than Internet and water woes, this is one of the fancier hotels I’ve ever stayed in. (Among other things, my first room with a bidet!) Several restaurants, shops, nightclubs, a karaoke bar where June threatens to take us this evening.

But don’t expect a travelblogue; so far we have seen that main road between our hotel and various meeting venues. Things may change tomorrow morning, when we visit a girls’ school outside the city limits.

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“Learn to embrace paradox. In Nigeria, everything is possible and impossible.”

– Atim George, public affairs officer, U.S. Embassy in Abuja

Our itinerary is packed full of hard-to-get, high-level meetings. They are opportunities a journalist from a small Midwestern daily could never snag on her own; most of the seasoned journalists I’m with would face difficulty arranging such coups on their own. Of course, that packed schedule means less time for blogging. Or transcribing notes. Or reading up for the next day. Or sleeping.

Today started with a formal visit to the U.S. embassy here in Abuja. John Campbell, the ambassador, was unusually open for a diplomat – which, of course, is why the discussion was off the record. It’s instructive to watch the seasoned journalists scamper to discuss the terms of what “off the record” means; his representative will get back to us on whether we can attribute specific quotes to “a senior Western diplomat.”

In the afternoon we had a mesmerizing, if meandering, session with Judy Asuni, an aid worker who’s tight with militants and villagers in the oil delta, where the kidnappings and violence are taking place. She was accompanied by Manager Seigha, a representative of the Ijaw (the delta’s predominant tribe) militants. It’s nearly impossible for journalists to travel into the delta region right now, so to have them travel to meet with us was quite special. Mr. Seigha held court on the region’s complaints – namely, that the oil companies and the government (federal and states) make so much money (virtually Nigeria’s only economic focus now) on pumping crude out of their land, and somehow none of that money trickles back down for development or schools or even basic sanitation/health issues. It’s such a vast and complicated problem that I can’t do it justice here; yet it also can be simply boiled down to what is taken out vs. what is not being put back in.

(You all may know more about the most recent kidnappings, by the way. The local newspapers do not give them much coverage. Some, but not much. I know one today (or yesterday) was an American. The entire boat of Filipinos is quite unusual. And that they've held the Italian/Lebanese group for six weeks is even more unusual; I met a local representative of the Vatican tonight, and they are quite worried.)

By the end of the afternoon I was ready for bed. Instead, we were guests of honor at the ambassador’s (unbelievably lush – gold-plated bathroom fixtures!) residence, with local politicians, journalists and other leaders. I had fascinating conversations with two foreign service officers working in the embassy. One encouraged me to take the exam, saying many FSOs are “accidental,” having taken the test on a lark and realizing just how well qualified they were. I’d never thought of it before. The average age of a new FSO these days is 32, so I would be far from an old fogey.

Tomorrow is another busy day. Most important, we meet with the current president, Olusegun Obasanjo, who has blocked from running for a third term but allegedly is plotting to continue running things from behind the curtain if “his” candidate wins in April. He has not been willing to speak with many Western journalists; rampant accusations of corruption in his government is the reason behind him being blocked from running again.

In the evening, we have dinner at the homes of “ordinary” Nigerians. I think we’re all eager for opportunities to see the country as its citizens experience it. Stephanie has spotted a traditional market nearby; hope we have a chance to visit.

I just haven’t the brain power or time to do justice to everything I’m learning. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll have photos worthy of sharing. I’m disappointed that the descriptions so far are inadequate to convey what I’m seeing and learning.

we have arrived.

I'm here, I'm safe, I love the group and have so much to tell even though we only just arrived this evening, but internet access (as with everything at a major international hotel) is EXPENSIVE! This may be the most costly 'free' trip I'll ever take. Will write when I have time and money!

much love to all ...

becki

The journey begins, slowly.

The drama of getting to DC is not a harbinger of how the rest of the trip will go.

Apparently I booked my flight to D.C. via Reagan instead of Dulles, from whence the rest of the trip commences. Yay, me! :-(

Also apparently, we took a two-hour flight from Omaha to Washington just so we could hang out for three hours on the tarmac at Reagan. (At least I got to D.C. We were the last flight accepted before they closed the airport. The wrong airport.)

Then about an hour’s wait, in freezing drizzle, for one of a handful of cabs working in the storm. I was lucky, actually, to latch on to a local going to Virginia; she talked her driver into getting me to my hotel near Dulles. The drive took nearly another hour because of the storm.

But you know, standing on line for the taxis, and then on the (expensive!) drive between airports, the smells in the air (noxious fumes, stale food, cold and dirty rain) reminded me so much of landing in Delhi four years ago. It was oddly comforting, and made me wonder what Nigeria will smell like. And a lovely cab driver, from Ethiopia, eager to talk about their military troops' recent foray into Somalia.

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For you newspaper people: On the plane, I read a good piece from last week's The Nation, on whether there's a future for newspapers ...

Triperation.

Greetings, all!

I’ve set up this blog in anticipation of sharing my trip to Nigeria, Jan. 23-Feb. 1.

Ten days isn’t nearly enough time to experience an entire country, even less so when much of our time will be taken up by meetings with various government officials. Anything I get to see, however, will be a new experience for me.

The express purpose of this trip, via the International Reporting Project, is for American journalists – specifically those who oversee international coverage – to learn more about Nigeria’s presidential election process. The election, slated for April 22, would be the country’s first transfer of a democratic government.

We should have wifi access at our hotels, so ability to post shouldn’t be a problem. Time to post – that’s another issue. The preliminary itinerary shows a pretty regimented schedule. But I hope to share updates and photos as often as I can.

See the links to the left if you’re interested in reading more about Nigeria.

I leave Sunday for D.C. After a day of debriefing (prebriefing?), we depart Monday evening for Abuja via Frankfurt – nearly a full day of travel time. I’m armed with Xanax, eyeshades and, as always, plenty of reading material.

Check back here regularly for updates.

And I look forward to your comments -- just follow the directions to quickly get your own screen name. Alternatively, you can comment anonymously, but add some kind of identifier so I know who you are.

Or I'm beckijroberts in AIM/iChat; or beckiinnigeria in Gtalk and Adium. (I think. I'm really not understanding the whole IM thing.) FYI, Nigeria is seven hours ahead of Nebraska time.

Or just send me an email -- rebeccajeanroberts@hotmail.com.

Hope to have something to share soon!

becki