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...

The Conquest of the North Pole

We received an invitation to an event this evening that could easily have made the cut for an episode of 'Ambassadors' (although, to be honest, this is not unusual; we do find ourselves reflecting most days on incidents that would be worthy of inclusion). The Czech Embassy were hosting a performance of a comedy by their most famous playwright, Jara Cimrman, pithily entitled 'The Conquest of the North Pole by the Czech Karel Němec on 5 April 1909'. (Being a fictional construct doesn't appear to be a huge impediment to progression in the Czech Republic: Cimrman was voted 'The Greatest Czech' in a national competition in 2005 - although admittedly he was later disqualified on the grounds that he did not exist - and a popular theatre in Prague is named in his honour).

The fact that the play was written by a non-existent author was by no means the oddest aspect of the evening. The play itself includes a lengthy preamble about Cimrman, the staging of the production and the hiring of a new stage manager, which is funny for about 5 minutes, but tedious after 25. However, the main play itself is actually very amusing and the actors, from the Jos Repertory Theatre, did incredibly well with a difficult play and kept (for the most part) the audience engaged and entertained. Although it was quite bizarre to watch a group of Nigerian actors on stage, sweltering in their woollen hats, gloves and North Face jackets as they pretended to ascend to the North Pole, I think they pulled it off - and in some ways, the total incongruousness of the staging only added to the impact of the play.

As well as expanding my non-existent knowledge of Czech playwrights, I was really pleased to have had a chance to learn about the Jos Repertory Theatre this evening. Founded in 1997, it is difficult to think of a theatre company almost anywhere in the world that faces more challenges that this group of committed and determined actors. A blog post by their artistic director, Patrick-Jude Oteh reveals the struggles that they have keeping the company together in the face of the ethnic violence that has plagued the capital of Plateau state over the past twenty years. The 8th Jos Festival of Theatre has just taken place, where the company performed six plays over the course of a week, and they have now brought two of those plays to Abuja. Having learned more about their work I am delighted to hear that they will be performing again in Abuja at the end of the month, when they will present Wole Soyinka's 'The Lion and the Jewel' at the Institut Francais. And at least I know for sure that Soyinka exists. 

Queen Amina, 'Greets' and Pancakes

Alex came home from nursery yesterday proudly brandishing the following picture that he had drawn in his after-school Nigerian Studies club:

I know, I must confess I'd never heard of Queen Amina of Zaria either, but turns out she is Nigeria's answer to Boadicea. The Warrior Queen apparently came to power in the late 1580s (or so - exact details are rather vague) and reigned over the Hausa city of Zaria, in the northern state of Kaduna. She is celebrated as one of Nigeria's greatest military strategists, undertaking a succession of fierce exploits in order to expand her area of influence. Her legacy lives on - many of the fortified city walls she ordered to be constructed around her military camps are still in existence today and she is remembered today in the phrase 'Amina, Yar Bakwa ta san rana', meaning, 'Amina, daughter of Bakwa, a woman as capable as a man'. She is apparently also famed for refusing to marry, instead taking a lover after each of her battle victories and killing him the morning after their night together (although I don't believe that the pre-school Nigerian Studies club entered into quite that level of historical detail).

As well as this in-depth study of Nigerian feminist icons, Alex has been learning Nigerian dancing ("look at me, Mummy - just hold one hand up in the air and turn around in circles until you feel sick") and Nigerian 'greets'. Last week, he arrived home, lay down on his tummy in the hallway, bowed his head and, after several long moments of silence, gave a big sigh and confessed "I have to say something now, but I can't remember what". It turns out that he was trying to show me a Yoruba greeting. I now know that he was affording me great respect by prostrating himself at my feet and the words he was searching for were 'Ẹ kú ọ̀sán' (Good afternoon).

At home, we have been learning about Nigerian food. Abigail, our nanny, is an excellent cook and has been making a number of Nigerian dishes for Alex and Freya to try, their favourites being fried plantain and jollof rice. This evening, in celebration of Shrove Tuesday, we decided the children should have pancakes for tea. Abigail was keen to cook so I suggested that they might have a couple of savoury pancakes followed by a sweeter one for pudding, and left things in her capable hands whilst I disappeared upstairs to send a couple of urgent emails. I returned to the kitchen ten minutes later to find Alex with the most enormous grin on his face, munching away on a sweetcorn-and-cheese pancake covered in golden syrup. Freya was similarly delighted by her pancake of sweetcorn and chocolate sauce, which she gobbled up before I had time to object. I must admit there are distinct advantages to combining both courses; it was the quickest pancake tea we've ever had, leaving the children plenty of time to practise their Nigerian dance routines before bedtime.