Ebola update...and illegal chickens

This is one crazy country. I checked the online news before going out this evening and was delighted to read that 'Nigeria announces containment of Ebola, 2 more discharged, last patient stable'. Then when I was out at supper, my friend received a phone call to say that the government had just announced on TV that all primary and secondary schools in Nigeria are to remain closed until October 13th. October 13th! That's almost 7 weeks away! Alex is already climbing the walls after being back in Abuja for a week and I am desperate for school to start - the new academic year is due to commence next Monday. (And before I say any more, I recognise the contradictory nature of my position as before the summer break I was literally counting the hours until the end of term when I could take Alex out of school and stop worrying about the possibility of getting caught up in a Boko Haram attack. And now I am aghast that schools are not being allowed to open. Just shows what this place does to you).

What has incensed me is the utterly irrational behaviour of the government. On the same day that the Minister of Health annnounces that Ebola is basically under control, the Minister of Education declares that all schools will remain closed until 13th October. And this is all schools. Not just schools in Lagos, the only city in which there have been cases of the virus, but all schools in Nigeria. It is totally bonkers. The official statement said that the reason for the closure was 'to ensure the safety and well-being of all students in our schools throughout the Federation' and to allow time for two teachers in every public and private school in the country to be 'trained by appropriate health workers on how to handle any suspected case of Ebola and embark on immediate sensitization of all Teaching and non-Teaching Staff in all schools on preventive measures'.

So, having decided that the Nigerian government was actually handling this whole Ebola outbreak quite sensitively and sensibly, I have now revised my opinion somewhat. One sure way to create panic within a population is to close all the schools. And the edict makes no sense. Ebola is very hard to catch - you have to have contact with bodily fluids of an infected person and an Ebola sufferer is actually only contagious when they develop the symptoms (which are hardly difficult to spot, even by untrained staff; I imagine a child suffering from severe fever, intense weakness, vomiting, diarrhoea and bleeding from the eyes might catch the attention of even the most unobservant teacher). The incubation period is from 2 to 21 days, but people are not contagious during this time. There is absolutely no reason why schools need to close. Imagine the inconvenience for millions of parents. And if schools, then why not universities, or cinemas or hospitals? I honestly don't know why I'm surprised; given that the federal government's security strategy for the World Economic Forum in May involved ordering a complete shutdown of Abuja for three days, this news should hardly come as a shock. And taken in the context of a dysfunctional education system where universities, polytechnics and Colleges of Educations regularly shut down for months on end due to strike action, a mere delay of 7 weeks to the start of term is small beer. (The Colleges of Education returned to class in late July after a 7 month strike; the polytechnics returned on 14 July having been on strike - for 10 months - since October 3rd. And this was hot on the heels of a dispute at the public universities, where staff were on strike for 6 months during the second half of 2013). So despite the frustrations of the school closure, we should spare a thought for a Nigerian student trying to pursue a tertiary education course here (not to mention a harassed mother of two small children trying to work on a research project within the Nigerian higher education sector).

But this is Nigeria and I have realised that the way to cope with life here is not to take anything too seriously. This is actually relatively easy to do when the headline of the second most important item of news on the Nigerian agenda tonight reads: Deputy Governor Of Enugu State Impeached For Running A Poultry At The Government House.

Salt Water and Sheep Dip

I was supposed to be giving a presentation at a conference in Lagos today but instead spent the morning at a 'Coffee morning & Ebola Briefing' (now there's a sentence I didn't imagine I'd ever be writing) here in Abuja. Such are the vagaries of diplomatic life. Or at least diplomatic life here in Nigeria - I don't remember attending too many briefings about fatal diseases during our posting in Washington DC. It probably says something about my relaxed, post-holiday state of mind that the words 'coffee morning' grabbed my attention more than 'Ebola briefing' but I was really excited to have the chance to catch up with friends after a summer away - there's a great community at the High Commission here and it was fun to see everyone again.

Despite the continuing terrorist attacks in the north of Nigeria whilst we were away (including a suicide bombing at Kano state polytechnic, one of the institutions at which our research assistants are collecting data for the British Council research project I’m working on), Abuja itself feels relatively relaxed at present - I think partly because the media is currently more focused on the threat from Ebola than terrorism. (When we were transiting through Addis last week and were asked where we were travelling to, we received several ‘Good Luck with Ebola’ wishes, which made a pleasant change from the previous default response of ‘Take care with Boko Haram’). There have been five deaths so far from Ebola in Nigeria, all in Lagos and involving people who had direct contact with Patrick Sawyer, the Liberian-American who brought the disease to Nigeria. Contrary to expectation, the Nigeria government has been pretty responsive to the threat and appears to be taking significant measures to ensure that the virus is contained. When we arrived at Abuja airport yesterday we were asked to stand in a line whilst a security guard wearing a face mask and gloves pointed a gun at our temples and fired a red laser at us. I think he was trying to take our temperatures. 

The biggest problem the authorities face is lack of education. When the first cases of Ebola were reported in Lagos, millions of text messages were sent out instructing Nigerians to bathe in and drink large quantities of salt water, preferably before a 4am deadline, in line with nonsensical advice issued by the Attah of Igala. Several people died as a result of consuming too much saline liquid. 

We are lucky in that we have access to a good health clinic and an inbox full of advice about avoiding the disease. The risk of catching Ebola is miniscule, but it doesn't stop friends worrying about us. We have just been back to the UK for my god-daughter's wedding in Suffolk. Having clearly received a text directly from the Attah of Igala, the friends we were staying with offered to install a sheep dip at the end of their drive for us to pass through before entering their house...

Tanzanian Tales

We’re back home tonight after a wonderful three weeks away in Tanzania. This was the first time we had taken the children to East Africa and it was absolutely fantastic to introduce them to our favourite country. We spent most of our time visiting friends down in Mufindi and Iringa, before finishing up with a few days relaxing on the beach near Bagamoyo. 

We stayed with our friend Sion in Dar for a couple of days at the start of the trip and had great fun catching up on several years' worth of news whilst the children made themselves at home in the playroom. Some aspects of the city have changed significantly since I was last in Dar 5 years ago. The traffic was much worse (it took us a full two hours to crawl from the airport to the Peninsular), the supermarkets are swankier and the High Commissioner's Residence (my future home - I am seriously thinking of applying for the job of High Commissioner's wife regardless of whether Simon ever bids for the role of High Commissioner) has been painted a very odd shade of mustard yellow.

We travelled down to Mufindi via Mikumi national park, where we stayed overnight at Stanley’s Kopje, with its stunning views and canvas cabins. After the drive down from Dar, the children were a little tired as we entered the park. Freya slept throughout the 2 hours that it took us to reach our camp, missing a close encounter with 4 staring buffalo (I was too scared to take a photo) and a glimpse of a family of elephants which even prompted Alex to look up from his colouring for a second and breathe a quiet ‘wow’. I’m not sure that Freya completely understood the concept of a visiting national park in Tanzania. When we asked her on the guided game drive which animal she’d most like to spot, her reply was instantaneous: ‘a sheep’. 

Fortunately for Freya, we headed off to Mufindi the next day to visit friends at the wonderful Highland Lodge, where there were plenty of farmyard animals of all descriptions to engage with. Her wish was granted and she fed a lamb – and a rather greedy calf - from a bottle. Mufindi is rapidly becoming our second home – it is stunningly beautiful and very close to our hearts. This is where we have planted a small plantation of pine trees - the objective being to harvest them in 10 years' time and start building the dream home (well, Simon's dream home - my heart is still set on the High Commissioner's Residence in Dar). Mufindi is also the location of the Igoda Children's Village project with which Simon has been closely involved with for almost a decade, and it was great to have the chance to catch up with developments in person. The community has been ravaged by AIDS but the charity is making a huge difference - from being on its knees ten years ago the community is now much more robust and able to support itself. We took the children to visit the nursery school affiliated to the project, I toured the sewing school and Simon visited the hospital at Mdabulo, which has been transformed since our last visit. Our friends Geoff and Jenny have been running the project for the past six years and now have two children of their own (the fabulously named Twilu and Tuke, two auburn-haired dynamos whom Alex kept referring to as 'the orphans' until I explained to him that Geoff and Jenny were actually their Mum and Dad).

We were incredibly well looked after by the entire Fox family and the children managed to fit in several firsts during their stay in Mufindi: first time sleeping in bunk beds; first time on a horse – Freya looking particularly impressive on her mighty steed, she has fabulous posture and no fear at all; first time on a quad bike; first attempt at fly-fishing and first time making a bow & arrow. I took the children to the trout hatchery to watch a rather messy process that I'd rather not describe (suffice to say that I now feel slightly queasy whenever Freya, who still has difficulty pronouncing her ‘k’s, asks for ‘milt’ to drink).

Upon leaving Mufindi, we made the journey – three hours by road – to Banawanu, a tiny village near Iringa, where our dear friend Christina was awaiting us. This was a poignant visit. We named our son Alex after our Tanzanian friend Alex Kibiki, one of the kindest, gentlest and special people one could ever hope to meet. Incredibly sadly, Alex was killed in a road accident three years ago - knocked off his piki-piki (little motorbike) by a lorry as he rode into work in Iringa - and he and our little Alex were never able to meet. Alex’s death still feels very raw and I had been trying hard not to think too much about the moment when we would arrive in Banawanu and he wouldn't be there to welcome us. He is buried, alongside other members of the community, in a little shamba just behind the house, surrounded by maize and shaded by avocado and papaya trees. We visited the grave, and Christina spoke to him and told him we had come to visit, and I just about held it together until we were walking back to the house. Simon came for the wake but this was the first time that I had visited since Alex died. I still feel profoundly affected by Alex’s death, I think partly because he represented to me all that is good about Tanzania - he was honest, hard-working, caring, inquisitive, enormous fun and had the potential to make a real difference to his community - and his death feels like such a waste. He had put himself through four years of agricultural and veterinary training in Arusha, spending months apart from Christina and their three daughters in order to complete his education. On my last visit, he had just established a local veterinary practice in Iringa and we accompanied him on his rounds as he inspected a cow in difficulties and castrated a dog (without anaesthetic – Simon’s eyes still water every time he thinks about it). Alex's death also represents the fragility of life here, and this was brought home to me yet again on this visit with the news that Alex and Christina's daughter, Rose, who is currently at secondary school up in Mwanza, had just been diagnosed with typhoid. She was receiving treatment and was doing ok, but is still very weak. 

Despite the sad circumstances, we had a wonderful time during the three days we spent with Christina. The children were able to sample ugali, mandazi, rice and beans, and fish cooked on a charcoal fire. They absolutely loved bathing from a bucket of hot water - I've never heard Freya giggle so much - and had great fun pretending to serve customers in Christina's little duka, whilst Simon sat outside on the little verandah drinking Safari beer and practising his Kihehe with the locals. We visited one of Christina's neighbours who had offered to give us some milk for Freya's breakfast - and Alex helped to milk the rather surprised cow! We called in at the house in Tosamaganga in which Simon and his friend Jonathan (now Freya's godfather) lived when they were both VSO volunteers. Iringa was much the same, with the exception of a swish new café and bookshop aimed at ex-pats. There were even a couple of mamas in the market who still remembered Simon and Jonathan, which I think was just about the high point of Simon's trip. 

We spent another night in Mikumi on the way back to Dar – this time in Vuma Hills, another of the Fox’s stunning camps. We had a fabulous game drive in the evening, where we spotted lions, crocs and hippos as well as the 'usual' animals. The game drives were notable for the questions they prompted from the children, who were a lot more engaged with the whole experience on the second Mikumi visit. 'Can a hyena run as fast as a lion?', asked Alex. 'Do giraffes sleep standing up? Can warthogs swim?' Not to be outdone, Freya joined in with her own questions: ‘Can a hyena eat a house?’ ‘Can a hyena fly a plane’? ‘Have you ever seen a hyena eat a malaria tablet?’ ‘Do sharks eat carrots?’ ‘Can a lion eat you if you’re sitting on its back?’

We spent our last three nights on the beach at Lazy Lagoon – a wonderful place to finish off the trip, where we did nothing much but play with the children, swim, tuck into delicious meals and read a couple of novels. All was well in paradise until the last evening when Freya jumped on the bed and split her head open on the bed post. Some homemade butterfly stitches seem to have done the trick – let's just hope the wound has healed well enough to take them off by the time she is a bridesmaid next Saturday...

This really was the most fantastic family holiday - it truly felt as if we were making memories. I'm not sure how much the children will remember of their first trip to Tanzania, so asked each of them (and Simon) to tell me what they enjoyed most about the entire experience. And here's what they said:

Highlight of Simon’s holiday: Alex marching up to the Masai guard at Vuma Hills and asking to see his knife; Alex finding a homemade football (made of plastic bags and elastic bands) and wanting to bring it home.

Highlights of Alex’s holiday: Meeting Christina and seeing Alex’s grave. (I totally welled up when he gave that answer).

Highlights of Freya’s holiday: Playing with in the playroom at Sion’s house; sleeping in the little bed at Sion’s house; playing with the pussy cat at Sion’s house (I honestly don’t know why we bothered to take her along).

As for me:

Highlights of my holiday: Playing ‘Happy Families’ in a hammock on Lazy Lagoon; seeing lions on the game drive, drinking tea on the verandah at the Southern Highlands Lodge.

A New Kind of Normal

I'm sitting in a very cool little hotel in Lagos, feeling more relaxed than I have done for some time. Bogobiri House is remarkable not only for the fact that it has functioning wi-fi (rather a novelty in Nigerian hotels), but also for its unusual decor and chilled-out customer service. It feels more like a back-packers in that regard, with guests hanging out in the little bar/restaurant area with live jazz in the background. So here I am, enjoying a plate of fish, rice and piri-piri sauce, watching the US-Argentina match and enjoying the hotel in all its 'Afroliciousness'.

It feels a million miles from Abuja, where things are very tense at present. The Banex bombing has shaken people more than I had anticipated. The bombing itself was awful, but I thought that people seemed quite resilient in the immediate aftermath. What has been more worrying has been the dozens of rumours - on list-serves, at the schools gates, in the office - about where the next target will be; speculation is rife about which market, schools or shopping centres will be hit next by the terrorists. There is a much more visible police, and army, presence on the streets. The High Commission driver I was talking to yesterday said that he feels nervous when he is caught in stationary traffic; no-one wants to be sitting in one place for too long. I saw this for myself a couple of days ago - I was caught in a small traffic jam in the centre of town and after a minute or two people started reversing, backing away down the pavements, not wanting to be trapped for too long in one location.

Our local market, which houses about twenty stalls selling fresh fruit and vegetables, has been closed down since Thursday. This is a very unusual move; no-one I have spoken to can ever remember it having been closed before, even on public holidays, excepting the three days in May when the World Economic Forum came to town and the government declared a city-wide shutdown. But a market like this is a security nightmare - one pulls up and parks right outside the stalls and there are always dozens of people milling around: a great target for a car bomber. So, for now, the market has been shut up - tarpaulins cover all the stalls and a lone armed policeman sits guarding the site from his battered blue plastic chair.

However, as I drove to the airport this morning, I noticed that some of the more enterprising stallholders have set up little makeshift stands along the side of the road, a few hundred metres from the official market, selling their fruit and vegetables from wheelbarrows and wooden crates. These stallholders rely on their sales for their livelihoods and so have adapted to the changed circumstances. It made me think about how my own routines have changed since last Wednesday. I now consciously drop the children at home before going to the supermarket and choose driving routes where I know I don't pass by crowded areas. We had vegetables delivered to the house from Jos this week - and have started baking our own bread, which we usually buy from the local market. Rather than meeting a couple of friends for dinner at a restaurant last night, we chose to rendez-vous at home - in the current environment, going out to bars or restaurants feels like a risk. A very small risk, but one we don't need to take and so therefore, at least for the time being, won't. I guess this is the new kind of normal.

Fortunately, the children don't seem to have picked up on any of the security worries - and we've been very careful not to talk about any of the bombings in their presence. Apart from all school outings (including a much-anticipated trip to the zoo) being cancelled this term, there hasn't been any direct impact on their routines. Alex is very settled at school now and told me this morning he wants to stay in Nigeria for '8 years' (8 being his favourite number at present). We had one of his schoolfriends over for a playdate on Saturday and her mother said that she had decided not to send her daughter to school for the last week of term (which finishes this Friday). I seriously thought about keeping Alex home too, but decided that the impact of him missing school - not from an academic perspective, but because he has been looking forward to the end of term parties and films - far outweighed the tiny chance of anything happening. It feels like a big call, but we also reasoned that, if the school had decided it was safe to open, it was important for us to support them in that decision. Nevertheless, I must admit every time I think about the fact that he is away from us during the day it makes me feel incredibly nervous and I am literally counting the hours until the end of term.

Anyway, we just need to get to the end of this week and then the children and I will be away for most of the summer - I'm going back in the UK for a conference and a wedding, and then we're taking the children to Tanzania for three weeks. So by the time we return in late August, I'm sure the city will have settled down again, I'll be feeling much more relaxed and the new normal will have become the default setting. And I've got a trip up to the far more laid-back environs of Ibadan and Ife to look forward to over the next couple of days, which I'm sure will help me regain some perspective. And in the meantime, I'm just going to enjoy sitting here and chilling out to this mellow jazz.

Banex bombing

Just a quick post to say that we're all fine and thank you to everyone that has emailed. The bomb that went off this afternoon near the Banex shopping plaza was pretty worrying for us - it is fairly close to where we live, and not far from Alex's school. I actually heard the blast from the office, but was feeling so relaxed and pleased to be back in Abuja that I put it down to a larger-than-usual blast from the local quarry, which does sometimes overdo the dynamite.

Horrific as the incident was - and unspeakably awful for those caught up in it, and their families - people seem to be generally less shaken than the previous bombings. We had to stay put in the office until we got the all-clear, but there didn't seem to be the sense of fear that there had been with the Nyanya bombings. Perhaps this had something to do with preparedness - whilst it was shocking that this blast occurred in central Abuja, it doesn't feel like a massive surprise that the capital has been targeted again, knowing how the Boko Haram campaign has been intensifying over recent weeks (there was a bomb at the School of Hygiene in Kano on Monday, another 90-odd people abducted in Borno this week and a bomb in a market in Adamawa this afternoon). But the timing was also a factor - the bomb went off shortly after 4pm, and Nigeria were due to kick-off in their World Cup game against Argentina at 5pm. So actually whilst we were on lock-down in the office, staff were more concerned about ensuring they weren't missing the match than about the implications of the bombing. And the bomb scene apparently cleared very quickly - usually one might expect crowds to gather and hang around for some time, but this wasn't the case today as everyone disappeared to go and watch the football. 

I returned home by about 5.30pm to find Alex and Freya in rambunctious mood. Completely oblivious to the severity of the security situation, they took great delight in showing me their new trick of 'face-planting' (see Facebook for the video). I then took Alex out to the guard house to watch the second half of the football (we didn't renew our TV subscription so need to beg a favour if we want to follow the football), which was a great diversion. And then we welcomed a friend who has arrived to stay this evening - and suddenly life seems relatively normal again. We'll have to see what the fallout is tomorrow, but tonight I'm not feeling particularly shaken myself. Instead, I just keep thinking about all the poor people who were so indiscriminately and unfairly killed or injured, and all those in the emergency services who risk their lives to help them. 

Back to Abuja

I returned to Abuja on Thursday after almost a month in the UK. It has been three weeks since I saw Simon and the children, who travelled home to Abuja at the beginning of June, leaving me in London to concentrate on a couple of introductory PhD courses.

It’s great to be back – the security situation in Abuja seems quite a lot calmer than when I left (or perhaps I am calmer than when I left) and the weather is lovely – the rains have begun in earnest now so the temperature is hovering nicely in the high 20s. And although I’m still not used to the UHT milk, the total lack of recycling facilities or the unspeakable rudeness of the lady who rents out the baggage trolleys at Abuja airport, there is a lot about our life here that is very comfortable and I do feel very at home here now. And it’s good to be back in my own bed after a month away.

Simon seems to have coped admirably without me – although admittedly these things are made slightly easier when one has a full-time nanny and housekeeper to help out at home – and apparently the children have been on their best behaviour. They have been having a great time in my absence – although I culdn’t help but notice that a swing, slide, see-saw, little house and large paddling pool have appeared in the garden since I was last here, which may explain the good behaviour. Alex seems to have grown about a foot and Freya is talking even more assertively (read bossily) than ever. I’m trying to spend as much quality time with the children as I can this weekend – and consequently we’re already halfway through reading ‘The Enchanted Wood’ (Alex now goes by the appellation ‘Mr. Watzisname’ and Freya answers only to ‘Silky’) and have already opened the new painting kit and sticker books I was saving for the summer holidays. And – thank you to all of you that have been asking - Alex has completely settled down at school now and has been telling me the names of the friends he’s grown since I’ve been away. The only downside of my return home is that I discovered en route to the airport that enormous quantity of cheese I'd amassed after a raid on the dairy aisle at Tesco's is still in my mother's fridge in Surrey...

Roots

I told Alex and Freya on Monday evening that we were heading to the UK – the first time we’ve been back since arriving here at the end of January and both were incredibly excited. On Tuesday morning, I found their little suitcases had been packed and were waiting outside their bedroom door. I haven’t yet inspected the contents, but Alex informs me that his contains ‘cars, ribbons, a purse with some money in it and some clothes’. Freya is making do with ‘dresses and some big girls pants’. I may do a little surreptitious re-packing before we depart.
I'm actually feeling quite reluctant to leave Abuja, even temporarily.

This past 3 weeks has been fantastic for me. In some ways this is rather odd - when we returned from Ghana I was feeling incredibly apprehensive about being back in Abuja in the wake of the Nyanya bombings. There has been more awful violence – with recent bombings in Kano and Jos being a very worrying development. Incidents like this are obviously unsettling, and there have been several moments over the past month, since the first Nyanya bombing, when I have seriously thought that I'd like to pack my bags and return home for good. But, bizarrely, over this past week I have felt more and more certain that being here is the right thing to do. It has probably helped that I've been frantically busy organising a training workshop for the research project I'm working on at the British Council, but the more time I spend here the more I feel grounded I feel. I absolutely love my colleagues - it feels similar in that respect to working in the British Council office in Tehran, where I made some wonderful Iranian friends - and I feel I am learning as much about Nigeria by simply sitting at a desk listening to office banter (which is on another scale here; a full-on shouting match over the correct way to file an invoice is instantly forgotten when someone cracks a joke two minutes later) as I do by reading the newspapers or listening to the radio. I was also recently reminded by a friend that we are all here in Abuja for a reason and that it is important to try to put down roots and embrace the opportunities that are offered here, however long or short our stay in Nigeria might be. This really resonated with me: the opportunity to undertake research here in Nigeria is rare and I’m also incredibly lucky to be working with some remarkable people at a publishing company here as part of my PhD research, which is an opportunity I couldn’t possibly hope for if we were based in the UK. So I'm now very conscious of not wanting to wish my time here away.


In the past couple of weeks I’ve come to accept that Nigeria is a strange and fascinating place and, although life here can be frustrating and depressing at times, it is also quirky and funny and energizing. I can’t think of many other countries in which a trip to the Federal Inland Revenue Service office could be so entertaining and exasperating in equal measure. I made the trip downtown to the FIRS office today and did eventually obtain the Tax Identification Number I required, but only after a thirty minute wait (because the member of staff I needed to talk to couldn’t be located) and a prolonged, but good-humoured, discussion with several members of staff about why I wasn’t prepared to persuade any of my British friends to come over to Nigeria to become second wives. As I left, brandishing my TIN, I was – somewhat predictably - asked by the security guard at reception if I had anything for her. I offered her a smile and my best wishes for a happy afternoon, which she seemed to find hilarious. And as we drove back, we passed the ‘Bring Back Our Girls’ demonstration at the Unity Foundation, where activists continue to protest every day at 3pm, a sombre reminder of the hopelessness of the situation in Borno state. And then I asked my driver, who I knew came from Jos, if any of his relatives had been affected by the bomb yesterday. Very sadly, he related that his aunt, a widow, who works in the laundry at the Jos University teaching hospital, has been caught up in the blast. She has had one leg amputated, her left hand is badly damaged and her other leg requires serious attention. What a crazy, mixed-up, fascinating and unfathomable place this is. 
But it's 10.30pm and we're being picked up at 5am tomorrow to catch our flight.

So I’d better stop musing on the paradoxical and enigmatic nature of life in Nigeria and go and check what Alex and Freya have actually put in those suitcases of theirs…


More in a month.

Nigeria hysteria

So Nigeria is top of the news agenda. In addition to the unprecedented level of interest in the Chibok schoolgirls, another 8 girls were reported abducted in Warabe yesterday and 300 killed in an attack in the town on Gamboru Ngala, on Nigeria's border with Cameroon. This level of violence is not unusual in Nigeria. What is unusual is the international media attention it is starting to attract. Perhaps the fact that the World Economic Forum is taking place this week means that more journalists than usual are in town and Abuja has certainly been in the spotlight since the recent bombings in Nyanya, but there still seems to be little recognition that these attacks and kidnappings have become regular occurrences in the northeast, even if not on this scale.

Our weekend papers reflect violence and brutality on almost every page. Recent articles in The Weekly Trust and The Sunday Trust include '120 killed in Kaura (Kaduna state)'; '100 gunned down by bandits in a Katsina village'; 'Gunmen kill 15 in renewed Taraba attacks'; 'Girls' school attacked in Bauchi'; Is Nasarawa the North's new war zone?'; 'Teacher rapes, impregnates 12 year old girl'. In a country this populous, and with such security issues, the level of brutality required for a crime - be it as a result of terrorism, tribal and ethnic conflict, or domestic violence - to even be reported in the paper is such that there are times when I literally cannot bring myself to read the papers. And of course the victims of the violence are not faceless; each of them leaves behind a grieving family and community. This was brought home to me when we returned from our recent trip to Ghana and I asked our steward how her Easter had been. 'Fine, ma, thank you, except I had a little problem'. It turns out that the 'little problem' she had encountered was the fact that her husband's elder brother had been stabbed to death whilst driving home in Nasarawa. He leaves behind a wife who is 5 months pregnant and a 2 year old girl. Such, it seems, is life in Nigeria. 

In contrast to the media furore, Abuja itself was eerily quiet today. I dropped Simon off at the office this morning and encountered almost no traffic at all. The road down to the Hilton near the British Council roundabout was blocked by a massive police lorry. All schools and public offices were closed at the behest of the government, which has decided that the best way to control the terrorist threat Boko Haram pose here is to totally shutdown the city. Tensions levels are very high, particularly since the second Nyanya bombing on May 1st. Everyone knows someone who has been affected: the uncle of one of our guards was killed; a member of our church lost a colleague; the brother of a co-worker narrowly escaped death, fleeing with 'his clothes shredded like the Incredible Hulk'. I must admit I have felt nervous dropping Alex at school for the past couple of weeks and the hysterical reaction of parents to a kidnapping scare at a private school in Nyanya (which turned out to be just a plain old armed robbery) seemed to me completely understandable.

Foreign governments have reacted to the furore over the Chibok schoolgirls by sending in teams of 'international experts' to discuss how to retrieve the students. This may reassure their domestic constituents but dispatching a team of experts from the UK or the States is unlikely to make a difference, particularly at this late stage.  International governments already have large presences on the ground in Abuja and the offer to assist the Nigerian government is an open one. If the Nigerian government wishes to receive support, they only need accept some of the many offers of help that have already been extended. It is easy enough for the first lady to tweet a photo of herself with a long face holding a 'Bring Back Our Girls' banner, and there is no doubt that the global media attention has increased pressure on the Nigerian government to do something about the issue, but this does nothing to address the root of the problem. This doesn't mean we should stop pressuring the Nigerian government to do everything they can to search for the kidnapped girls, but mounting a belated attempt to rescue them will not prevent the next round of abductions or the next school massacre.

What will make the difference is the ongoing programme work in capacity building (governance, transparency and accountability, health services, teacher training) in many parts of Nigeria, but particularly the north, designed to tackle some of the fundamental causes of instability - poverty, lack of education, lack of employment opportunities - which lead to violence and unrest. Many of these programmes are funded by international governments and agencies, including DFID, whose project budget for Nigeria for 2014-15 is £210m, its third biggest country spend (after Ethiopia and Pakistan). The DFID-funded Nigeria Stability and Reconciliation Programme has a particular and long-term focus on reducing violence against women and girls. There are also a large number of very active civil society organisations, established and staffed by Nigerians, which are doing inspiring work. I met last week with the director of an NGO based in Jos called the Reconciliation and Trainers Africa, which has established a network of 240 (Nigerian) 'peace advocates' who volunteer their time to mediate on community and religious disputes. It is worth noting that the director was a recipient of an Foreign Office-funded Chevening Scholarship, which he used to study for a MA at the Institute of Education in London, focusing his studies on acquiring tools in training and conflict resolution which he has put to use upon his return to Nigeria.

Admittedly, engagement with the Nigerian government is not easy on a number of levels. Work is challenging here. Trying to implement a programme in a country where accountability is almost non-existent in certain sectors is problematic to say the least (DFID don't put any money through the government channels due to the levels of corruption here). However, the solution is not solely a question of aid funding. If the Nigerian government actually spent the amount of money on education that is budgeted for the sector, the situation would be considerably ameliorated. Instead, money is siphoned off at all levels: scholarships meant for impoverished schoolgirls are instead given out to friends and relatives of officials; teachers' salaries are not paid, leading them to vacate classrooms in order to seek employment elsewhere; exams are meaningless when results can be bought. At the recent NESG convention on education, which I attended in March, there was an open recognition amongst delegates (high-ranking government officials at state and federal level, ministers, education advisors, teachers) that endemic corruption has led to a collapse of the education system, yet the conference closed with very little prospect of change. There was even recognition that 'change begins with me' and that officials and educationalists should take personal responsibility for change in their communities, yet once a culture of corruption has become so entrenched, it becomes almost impossible to imagine how one can begin to right it. The most telling moment of the conference was when the delegates were asked how many of them had attended government schools. Almost everyone indicated they had done so. When asked how many of the attendees had sent their own children to a government school, only two people in a room of 500 raised their hand. When a system is broken, the easiest thing is to opt out. There is no accountability, no sense of personal responsibility, no personal investment in the nation (hence the inability of Nigerians to find anything to celebrate at the nation's Centenary celebrations).

Gordon Brown, attending the WEF by virtue of his role as the UN Special Envoy on Global Education, announced today the launch of the 'Safe Schools initiative', funded in large part by Nigerian business magnate, Aliko Dangote, Africa's richest man. (I particularly enjoyed the This Day news article about the launch, which referred to US Secretary of State John Terry - I knew there was speculation about his retirement from Chelsea FC but hadn't realised he had taken up a new role in the US administration so quickly). This strikes me as exactly the sort of long-term commitment that will make an impact and will provide practical support to protect both girls and boys who wish to receive an education. The pilot project will be launched in 500 schools in northern Nigeria and will help to build community security groups - involving students, teachers, parents, police and community leaders - to promote 'safe zones' for education. There is a recognition of the severity of the insecurity and a pragmatic response designed to bolster the physical safety of the institutions of learning:

"In the longer-term, the initiative will focus on bolstering the physical protection of schools, providing school guards and police in partnership with Nigerian authorities, training staff as school safety officers, providing communications tools and school counselors. The initiative will also work to help schools create school security plans and work with the government to develop a rapid response system so that even when faced with attacks, response units are set up to quickly repaired or rebuilt, and destroyed education material is replaced."

This time next week, another story will be top of the news agenda, the journalists will have returned home and, unfortunately, it is likely that the schoolgirls will still be missing. But ongoing work in stability-building and reconciliation, such as the programmes run by RETA and NRSP, will continue their excellent work, away from the spotlight and with no fuss.

But the real breakthrough will be if this increased international focus and domestic pressure on Nigeria forces the government to change its behaviour, to act as a serious country and take responsibility for its own failings. Nigerians need their own government to become accountable. Until that happens, very little will change.

Growing friends

As I drove Alex home from school yesterday he asked me if I thought Freya was 'growing friends' in Abuja. I said I thought she was, and that one of the wonderful things about moving to different places is the chance to meet new people and to make new friendships. He told me that he wanted to 'grow some new friends' too, but wasn't sure how to do it as the other children in his class didn't really talk to him. He said he had had an idea about making friends; his plan had been that at playtime he would jump on one of the toy bikes that needed two people to ride it. This sounded like a great strategy to me, but Alex said that although he'd tried, he was never quick enough to get to the bikes (I suspect partly because I have insisted that he puts his sun-cap on at playtime, which must waste valuable seconds) so he admitted his plan wasn't working and that he felt a bit lonely at his new school.

Taking one's children out of their stable home environments and away from established friendships is one of the most difficult decisions that ex-pat and diplomatic families face. Even at the tender age of four, Alex had a group of little pals from nursery that he was sad to leave. I suppose I'd assumed that, being so young, he would hardly notice the change and would find some new playmates fairly quickly in his new school. But, somewhat predictably, his Abuja classmates are louder and more physical than those at nursery in rural Suffolk - they love to sing and dance around in class, whilst Alex is more reserved about shaking his stuff and tends to sit and watch the others rather than join in himself. Rather sadly, the one little boy that Alex had become friendly with last term - they had bonded at tennis lessons - left at Easter to move to a new posting, a common occurrence in the transitory world we inhabit, which has left Alex a little adrift.

However, as luck would have it, we had a parents' meeting at Alex's school yesterday afternoon, which gave us a chance to talk to his class teacher about our concerns. She had also noticed that he hadn't yet made any good buddies and suggested that she pair Alex with a new child every day so that there was always someone for him to sit next to and talk to. That way he could get to know each of the children in the class in turn, before deciding who he wanted to be friends with.

When I picked Alex up from school this afternoon he proudly informed me that David had been his friend today and that tomorrow it would be Naisha. He had even played on a bike with David at breaktime. As we left the classroom, he asked me the same question he asks every afternoon: 'Why do I have to go to school every day Mummy?' When I gave my stock response ('That's just the way it works here'), he replied that he was glad he went every day as he liked school and he was looking forward to sitting next to a new friend each morning.

With all the background tension in Abuja right now, worries about an individual child's friendship groups can feel rather insignificant. But Alex was noticeably happier when I picked him up today and this felt like a bit step forward. I couldn't help but reflect for a moment on how wonderful it must be to be four, and for one's life to revolve around toy bikes and tennis lessons, and I held his hand very tightly as he skipped all the way back to the car.

Million Women March

There have been a variety of responses to the kidnapping of more than 200 schoolgirls from the dormitory of their secondary school in Chibok. There have been calls from various quarters for Nigerians to pray, to fast, to petition the government, to protest in the streets. The desperate relatives of the girls have attempted to follow their abductors deep into Sambisa forest. The first lady of Borno state, Hajiya Nana Kashim Shettima, appealed for fasting and prayer in mosques and churches, urging women to 'put our differences aside irrespective of our faith and ethnicity' and 'all join hands together to rescue these girls.' A Twitter campaign with the hashtag 'Bring Back our Girls' has been launched, and is apparently starting to trend worldwide.

But there still hasn't been any official comment or statement from the Nigerian government about what they are actually doing to hunt for the abducted girls. The situation has caused such despair that a 'Million Women March' is due to take place in Abuja tomorrow, with organisers calling for women from all over Nigeria to convene on the capital, wear red, and goad the government into action. At this point, when reports are starting to surface that the girls may already have been split up and sold off as 'brides', I can't help but think it is unlikely to make much of a difference. But the fact that the pressure on the Nigerian government is continuing - and that tomorrow's planned march made BBC headline news this evening - is a new phenomenon. It no longer feels as if these abductions and school attacks are Borno's problem alone. There is definitely a sense that Nigerians (in Abuja, at least) feel that this could have happened to any of their daughters, which is a new and potentially game-changing development. I wonder if the increased sense of vulnerability felt by residents of Abuja as a result of the Nyanya bombing has something to do with it, the growing awareness that Boko Haram is no longer confined to the states of emergency in the northeast. So it will be telling to see how many of the million women actually make it to Abuja tomorrow.

Back to Abuja

Easter Saturday.

We returned to Abuja this morning after a wonderful week away in Ghana (about which I will post  an entry when I find a moment to download the photos). The flight home was slightly less than wonderful - the only direct fight from Accra to Abuja is at 6am, which meant a 4am wake-up. As it turned out, there was no need for an alarm clock. Alex had woken several times in the night with a high temperature, so I had already been semi-conscious for a couple of hours worrying about whether he’d got malaria. However, a dose of Calpol seemed to bring his temperature down and, once he’d been sick upon arrival at the airport in Accra (right in the middle of the departures hall), he seemed to perk up considerably. 

It was with some trepidation that I boarded the flight home this morning – the bombing on the outskirts of Abuja earlier this week has made me nervous about returning to Nigeria, particularly in the run-up to Easter. There are times when I seriously wonder what we are doing here, when the news of the Nyanya bombing has already been wiped off the front pages by the kidnapping of scores of schoolgirls in Borno state – and the violence perpetrated by Boko Haram, but also the continuing skirmishes between Fulani herdsmen and farmers, continues to cripple the economy and free movement of millions of people in north-eastern Nigeria.

However, once we landed at the airport and had been received a wonderfully warm welcome home from our driver, everything felt a whole lot better. The early morning weather was far cooler than in Accra, the sunlight was beautiful and the traffic unproblematic. The whole city seemed to have become greener in the eight days we’ve been away. It was great to be back in our house, particularly as the carpenters have been at work during our week away, removing the mildewed and termite-infested woodwork from the kitchen and replacing it with something that approximates a cupboard, even if the doors don’t close. We had a very relaxing day at home, catching up on sleep and taking the children to the pool for a swim. Of course, all will depend on what happens over the next few weeks and months, but for now it feels good to be home.

Time for a breather

When we arrived in Abuja, we were advised by a number of people that we might wish to consider taking a break every three months. I thought this seemed a bit over-the-top but, eleven weeks in, I’m really looking forward to getting away and recharging the batteries.

This past couple of weeks have been particularly difficult due to a combination of work commitments and social engagements, combined with trying to get the house straight now that our heavy baggage has arrived. But most of all, the fact that the internet has been so temperamental has had me on the verge of tears several times. There have been days when I've been unable to connect at all, and others when one bar of hope appears on my wifi screen, but the connection then proves so slow that it keeps timing out. Communication is tricky here at the best of times - we have no landline, the Nigerian postal service is non-existent and phoning from our mobile phones is incredibly expensive - so when the internet goes down too, and we can't Skype/email either, I end up feeling incredibly isolated.

So we’re off to Ghana, with a few African novels and a big bottle of suncream, for a week’s R&R on the beach. I can't wait to return with the batteries topped up.

The Diplomatic Finnish Sauna Society of Abuja

We attended a reunion today for all those who took part in our recent expedition to Lokoja. The afternoon was kindly hosted by the Finnish Ambassador and her husband, who had sent out an email inviting us to bring along not only our photos of the trip, but 'your swimming pools and towels if you wish to enter the Sauna room and dip yourself in the swimming pool'.

This seemed too good an opportunity to miss. When we lived in Washington DC, the hottest ticket in town was not lunch at the White House or dinner with the Clintons, but a night at the Finnish Embassy's 'Diplomatic Finnish Sauna Society of D.C', held in the basement of the Finnish Embassy. Entry to the secret sauna club was highly prestigious, and Washington power players, staffers, think-tankers and journalists reputedly mingled and debated naked in a steamy sauna session, before treating themselves to Finlandia vodka and gravlax.

For some unknown reason Simon and I never received our invitiations to join the Friday night Finnish fests in Washington, so we were delighted to finally make it to a Finnish Ambassador's sauna party, albeit in the height of the African summer heatwave. When the temperature outside is 35'C, the last place you really want to be is a Finnish sauna (where temperatures range from between 80'C and 110'C), but it was a fantastic afternoon - and we did indeed 'dip ourselves' in the pool afterwards.  The Ambassador gave us a little overview of the importance of the sauna (which I now know is pronounced 'sow-na') to Finnish culture - every family has one and it is regarded almost as a sacred place. She told us that her grandfather was born in a sauna, which was common in the days before public healthcare, when a journey to a hospital could take many hours and the sauna was the cleanest and most sterile place in the house. Saunas were also sometimes used to prepare a body for a funeral - so their importance to the entire life cycle is deeply ingrained.

Every Finnish embassy worldwide has a sauna and it seems the Finns really do use saunas as a form of diplomacy. (This makes sense - a sauna is an egalitarian places where controversial topics are avoided, and no form of hierarchy or title is used. Plus it is pretty hard to to argue with someone when you are both naked and can hardly talk for the stifling heat). Except, it seems, in the UK where the Finnish Embassy's press officer confessed that 'Britons' prudishness and penchant for coffee dates makes London ill-suited for socializing in the nude'.

A Little Taste of Lagos

We have been in Nigeria for six weeks now and the fact that I had not yet visited Lagos was starting to niggle. So I was excited to have the opportunity this week to head to the commercial capital for some meetings - and to see the sprawling mega-city, known for its violent crime, stupendous traffic jams and vibrant arts and music scene, for myself. Africa's largest city (current estimates put the population of the Lagos metropolitan area at around 21 million) is only just over an hour's flight from Abuja, so quite manageable in theory, but the flights can be unreliable and are often extremely delayed. I decided to see whether I could manage the trip in a day, not least because Simon was returning from a 2-day visit to Lagos himself last night and I was slightly nervous that if I headed off before he landed back in Abuja, we could potentially face the scenario of leaving the children to fend for themselves for the night. (And, besides, there was no way I was going to miss that Czech play just to get to Lagos early).

This was the first time I'd taken a domestic flight within Nigeria - and as most passengers travel on e-tickets, often only with hand-luggage, I had been told that check-in was relatively straightforward. I was therefore rather non-plussed to arrive at the airport at 6am for my 7am flight to find a large queue snaking through the ticket hall. We had to wait 30 minutes until the desks opened and we were able to get our boarding passes issued. I joked to the smartly-dressed Nigerian lady waiting beside me that the airline desks had probably run out of ink in their printers. I finally reached the front of the line and was greeted by a very friendly member of Arik Air staff, who apologised for the delay and explained that there had been an 'equipment failure at the check-in desk this morning'. It was only as I went through security that my fellow passenger informed me that the 'equipment failure' was indeed due to the printers at the check-in desk having run out of ink. I almost jumped for joy when she added, 'It seems you know Nigeria well'. Never have I been so elated at a random guess hitting the mark.

Having consumed two bottles of water whilst waiting in line, I nipped into the ladies before boarding the flight. I was greeted by two uniformed attendants, one of whom was holding a pile of paper napkins and the other a can of air freshener:

"Good morning. Do you wish to ease yourself?"

"Yes."

"Just a wee?"

"Yes."

"Ok, go ahead," said the first attendant, handing me a paper napkin and ushering me into a cubicle. Goodness knows what would have happened had I wished for more than a wee. Although I  suppose that the alternative scenario is where attendant no. 2 comes into her own.

The flight itself was very comfortable and we made up time en route, arriving in Lagos more or less on schedule. I amused myself on the journey by tucking into a fabulous little guidebook that Simon had found on a shelf in his office, entitled 'Lagos: A Tourist Dream', published in 1999 by the Lagos state government and the African Newspapers of Nigeria with (I can only assume) the express purpose of providing material for my blog. I am having considerable difficulty restraining myself from reproducing the entire publication word-for-word - the sections on 'Peopling' and 'Drainage' were particularly edifying. However, it was the section on 'Fashion/dressing' which caught my attention, not least because I had spent some time trying to decide what to wear this morning. In Abuja, Nigerian women tend to cover their shoulders and I wasn't sure if this would be the same in Lagos (it wasn't). 

My guidebook advised me that "Fashions and dressing modes among the citizenry of Lagos state reinforce the fact that the state is a cultural crucible. The trends, by virtue of the cosmopolitan nature of the state, are eclectic, appropriating Yoruba, European, Brazilian and Sierra Leonean elements. [...] The womenfolk have their own buba which usually tucked into abroad wrappers (Iro) with a fitting headgear (gele) and shawl (iborun) to match. For the most part, fashion-conscious ladies in Lagos state tend to such exotic styles as up-and-down a two-piece attire (consisting chiefly of a close-fitting blouse and knee-reaching skirt) mini-skirt or 'see-through' (a provocative dress which emphasises the vital statistics) the usual loose flowing skirt of Sierra-Leonean origin (Kaba Saro) and the rather casual outlandish (as some see it) tee-shirt or sports wear atop jeans trousers often preferred by the younger breed".

As we came into land, I found myself wondering whether I should have perhaps opted for a 'see-through' rather than a sleeveless linen dress.

The first impression of Lagos is one of traffic, fumes and hustle and bustle - a complete contrast to Abuja. Passengers are crammed into the ubiquitous yellow minivans (danfos) and the larger/sweatier/fumier/noisier buses (molues). It took us a little over an hour to get from the airport to Ikoyi and, contrary to my expectations, the traffic did keep moving for most of the time. As we neared Lagos island, the number of street vendors increased, as did the range of products they were hawking. In Abuja, the standard offering at any junction comprises nuts, water, phonecards and a selection of pirated books (limited to business/management guides, religious tomes or 'Americanah'). In Lagos, the informal economy operates on another level: the selection of goods on offer included string vests, envelopes, cooking oil, a folding wooden coat rack, wire wastepaper bins, CDs, sunglasses, handbags, a florescent pink broom and dustpan set and (my personal favourite) a tuxedo for a small child.

The route from the airport took us over the impressive third mainland bridge, which connects Lagos Island to the mainland; at 11.8km long, it is the longest bridge in Africa. The bridge took us past the suburb of Makoko, which is a vast slum extending almost the entire length of the waterfront, consisting of decrepit wooden shacks built on stilts. 

Makoko is apparently home to around 250,000 residents (so says The Economist although figures are  extremely hard to substantiate) who eke out a living collecting wood, working on sawmills and fishing. Sanitation and clean water are major issues, diseases such as cholera and typhoid are common and life expectancy is under 40. 

There are a number of projects working with the community to improve the living conditions of the Makoko dwellers, particularly children. Perhaps the most innovative is the floating school project, a primary school designed by Nigerian architect Kunle Adeyemi and constructed in 2013, that has caught the attention of the international architectural community (see here for some amazing photos of the project). As yet, it appears that only one school has been built, but the vision is bold and potentially transformative, should the funding and community support be sufficient to sustain it.

Musing on the project in the car back home to the airport (after a succession of meetings focusing on the parlous state of education and teacher training in Nigeria), I couldn't help think that however ingenious the design of the school, the key will be to staff it with inspirational, capable teachers. This project literally feels like a drop in the ocean - one school to support a community of tens of thousands of children - but it will be interesting to see how it develops over the next couple of years. I'll report back in due course...