I'm writing, slowly.

I think my Nigeria piece will run April 8. I wanted to time it closer to the elections later that month. Also, I'm procrastinating.

But if you want to read what others have published so far as a result of trip:

In Lagos, amid hope they cope

Election in Nigeria has U.S. ramifications

Strong convictions: Nigeria's first anti-corruption czar

Faraway mission: Two Detroit nuns find their calling in spreading faith in Nigeria

Travel the globe: You just can't miss the Motown connection

More photos on Flickr.

I've put some of my Nigeria photos on my Flickr site.

And June, one of my IRP teammates, has some of hers on Flickr as well.

There's a joint Shutterfly site with a good deal more photos (including some professional-quality taken by Stephanie, and some -- including the above -- by our intrepid leader, John), but I'm not sure I should share the group's login info publicly. So you'll just have to come over for a viewing!

The Oyibo* returns.

*Everywhere we went, kids shouted "Oyibo! Oyibo!" Ore (our fixer/guide/babysitter/all-around cool dude) told me it means "white pepper face." Apparently not (necessarily) a derogatory word.

Here's one fellow oyibo, Stephanie, at the emir's palace in Kano. I really like the expressions on the faces of the emir's peeps. (They follow him everywhere, making this wonderfully trilling, singsongy, noise, which I since have learned is essentially them saying: "Emir! You are so great! You are looking good!" Also, directing him, left, right, forward, turn ... from his vehicle to his throne, a trip he's surely made a few zillion times. He doesn't have to think about such minor things as walking or turning. Emir, you da man.)


Wide awake at 3 a.m. It'll take me a few days to get back on Nebraska time. I'm both happy and sad to be home. The whole thing is still so overwhelming. Weird to be in my own bed and having to pick up my own towels. Weird to be drinking tap water and breathing clean air; weird not to be surrounded by people and cars and noise and filth and exuberance. Weird not to be squired about in a tour bus.

Here are some Femi Kuti clips on YouTube -- a glimpse of the dynamic show he puts on. "Truth is Dead" is a particularly good one. Really, though, you have to get to the African Shrine in Lagos on a Sunday night and experience the whole scene for yourself.

And here's another good article on Nigeria and the oil situation, from this month's National Geographic.

For those of you who've asked, I'm gratefully unaware of any video proof of my appearance (with two others) on "Ka Kaa Ki/The African Voice," the morning talk show in Nigeria. Apparently we created no international incidents. I came off like a deer in the headlights -- my general performance anxiety increased by the fear of saying something wrong. Apparently, I did take the host aback; he asked what I thought of President Obasanjo's press conference with us, and I basically said he talked a lot but didn't really say anything.

But we continued, in the last days of our trip, to have to fend off suggestions that we'd come at the invitation of the sitting president. Newspapers in Nigeria even now are continuing to write, quite inaccurately, about our visit. This is one of the worst I've seen. Instructive to be on the other side of the journalistic lens and see how easy it is to get things wrong. Also to remember that, like the democracy itself, an independent and free Nigerian media is still a fledgling that must be encouraged.

On our last day, Kari, Meghan, Bill and I commandeered a taxi and went to Lekki market for some gifts and souvenirs. Thanks to Kari, I found a beautiful piece of Kuba cloth, which isn't really Nigerian, but beautiful and definitely says "this came from Africa." This was a working craft market, with soapstone and wood carvers who didn't mind having their photos taken -- and didn't ask us to pay for the privilege.


This guy, an elder at the Islamic school we visited really liked my black/white outfit ($3 Old Navy "pashmina" self-styled as a hijab). He was urging me to wear it when I returned home. Would I? "Um, it's kind of hot," I said. He thought that was hilarious. I was serious.


Worst thing I packed: So many long skirts/long-sleeved tops. Only needed them for our day and a half in the Muslim north -- and likely not even then. Took up way too much suitcase space.

Best thing I packed: A dozen Luna bars. They saved me -- I knew I had at least one MRE for every day we were there. It being such a poor country, I'd expected most dishes to be meatless. I was wrong.

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I vacillate between being eager to start writing my pieces ... and dreading it. The more I learned while we were there, the less qualified I feel to explain it all. But just keep it simple and bring it back to why Nebraskans should care. I think I can do that.

There's so much more I wanted to blog about, as well. Maybe I'll continue to add the occasional post, as memories resurface.

For those of you priviliged to know the url, you also may return to our regularly scheduled blog.

On my way back home.

Weird to return to the "regular" world ... even if everyone's speaking German. The luxury of smooth air flight after all this time of overwhelming smog and chunky, bone-jarring potholes. But a letdown, too.

A six-hour layover in Frankfurt. We ate breakfast together, then wandered off our separate ways ... yet within a couple of hours most of us have gathered together again, just chatting, surfing, looking at each others' photos. Not quite ready to leave each other yet, apparently. These are some amazing people, each in a very different way. I'll miss them.

Also weird to be back in the media loop, just in time to learn Molly Ivins died. She is an idol of mine, and it's a loss to the world -- someone who can tell people they don't want to hear but need to know, with such great good humor.

Tip for future European travelers: Frankfurt airport has no "real" movie theater, but they do have a porn cinema. (Also, in Kano, head of Nigeria's Muslim north, what by day was an evangelical station by night offered softcore movies. No extra charge.)

Hoping later to post some wikipedia links (for you, Pohl!) and find some YouTube video and more photos. Nearly out of power for now. Back to phone service Thursday afternoon; home for good Friday. Look me up, yo.

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.