tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41720305892223426952024-02-20T12:23:33.773+01:00Celebrate AfricaChiomahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15482934990767802747noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-72346058201738144552009-09-25T12:08:00.000+01:002009-09-25T12:23:55.291+01:00No White Flag!Dear Blog,<br />It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I haven’t been writing because I haven’t been travelling and it would be futile to write a travel blog when there’s been no travelling wouldn’t it? So you must be wondering if I’m travelling again since I’m writing this blog. No, I’m writing because I need to talk about the challenges to Celebrate Africa.<br /><br /> We’re now 6 months behind schedule. Ordinarily, 6 months is not a long time, it’s just 180 days, half a year, no big deal right? Wrong! It’s a big deal, it’s 180 days we could have spent travelling through 12 countries. It’s 6 months of hawking proposals and waiting for responses from potential corporate sponsors. 4320 hours of anticipation and being in limbo. Half a year of dodging questions and emails about which country we’ll be visiting next and where we are ‘right now’ because it just felt silly to keep telling people we’re still in Nigeria.<br /><br />In those 6 months, we’ve been ‘advised’ by a certain pan-African bank to ‘seek funding elsewhere’; Been informed by one Nigerian telecommunications company that our budget was ‘a drop in the ocean’ only to have them turn around and say they couldn’t afford to sponsor us.<br /><br />We’ve been asked to change our proposal to fit yet another telecommunications company’s media strategy which we did since it was in line with our project. Then to have this proposal misplaced by this company, not once but twice! Eventually after weeks of phone calls, visits and general ass-kissing, we got a verbal promise that our project would be sponsored. Imagine my frustration then when we were turned down after submitting the proposal a third time with that old line ‘budget constraints’.<br /><br />We’ve even gotten the services of a PR company to help with presenting our work, just in case we were not making any headway because we didn’t know how to write proposals for corporate sponsorship. We’ve had to answer the question, over and over again, ‘what is in it for our company?’ We’ve sized and re-sized our budget to suit every possible sponsorship combination.<br /><br />Now, 6 months behind schedule, I’m asking myself, what next? Should we forget about this whole celebrating Africa thing and get a regular 9-5 job like everybody else? Is Africa really worth any of this? As I think of giving up on this, I remember the hundreds of emails we received from total strangers encouraging and supporting us by telling us how they have been inspired by our work. The radio station that has been inspired to start a ‘good news’ segment, the secondary school student who has taken up geography just so they could learn more about Africa.<br /><br />Thinking about this, I realise that we’re not only doing this for ourselves but for all these people. For this alone, it is worth it. Now, it’s back to Plan B which used to be Plan A until Plan B became Plan A. We’re asking everybody to donate and not just to donate but to ask somebody else to donate. As Dido says in her song, White Flag, “there’ll be no white flag above my door…” we can’t give up now!Chiomahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15482934990767802747noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-38567212297924988602009-05-20T22:51:00.001+01:002009-05-21T00:44:46.946+01:00The Whole Bloody StoryDISCLAIMER: This is a complete work of fiction, any incidents and/or characters resembling actual events and/or persons living and/or dead are purely coincidental…<br /><br />The whole ‘bloody’ story<br /><br />One of the few reasons why I love our Nollywood movies is the makers’ ability to make a ridiculously impossible thing seem possible and beautifully (???) turn it into a movie. Notice how I said movie twice in that one sentence, because it supposed to be make-believe. Imagine then my utter shock and disbelief when scenes from Nollywood play out ‘live’ before my very eyes.<br /><br />Act 1, Scene 1;<br />We (host inclusive) wake up in the morning to find drops of blood on the balcony floor. Sister and I try to rationalise that it’s probably the blood of a hurt winged creature or a rat that escaped a trap. Host says it’s impossible and begins to imagine the worst.<br /><br />Act 1, Scene 2;<br />Host begins making frantic calls, calling on family, friends and pastors alike to come over to witness this strange occurrence. “It has never happened before”, says host.<br /><br />Act 1, scene 3;<br />Pastor 1 arrives, wielding a 25kg Holy book and ‘cabashing’ and repeating incantations right from the entrance. He employs the blood of Jesus and holy fire to deal severely with this few droplets of blood and its source. (At this point, I begin to feel sorry for the poor animal whose blood it actually might be). He then goes ahead to conduct a prayer session inviting all occupants of the house (which I attended) and damning everyone who refuses to attend, my sister included. The spirit also leads same pastor to pray for my marriage and even though I had informed him I was single, he went ahead regardless. Pastor 1 leaves.<br /><br />Act 2, scene 1;<br />Host queries sister as to why she didn’t attend prayer session and is not convinced when sister responds that she doesn’t believe in all that hogwash. I mean, the blood could be from any source; from a tiny injured animal to the maid. (Who coincidentally started her period the night before?) But that’s just me and silly details.<br /><br />Act 2, Scene 2;<br />Around breakfast time…<br /><br />Host becomes hostile, refusing to help sister and me thereby implying that we were somehow involved in the goings on in her home. She doesn’t understand why we can not show some empathy. Are you effing kidding me? Sister and I decide to go for a stroll to clear heads and to stop ourselves from bitch-slapping someone for being…<br /><br />Act 3, Scene 1; <br />Host returns with pastor 2 who refuses to acknowledge our greeting as he senses some evil from within. Pastor 2 begins a round of prayers, casting out and binding every source from within and outside the home. He further explained to host that these sources are sometimes difficult to detect and therefore needed ‘constant prayers and ministering’. “It is a spiritual warfare”. Pastor 2 leaves after reading from another Holy book (5kg)<br /><br />Act 4, Scene 1;<br />Hostilities continue and host refuses to speak to us and continues to carry on with the day, sister and I do the same.<br /><br />Act 4, Scene 2;<br />Dinnertime<br />The maid begins to monitor and follow us around the house and into the kitchen, probably to make sure that we don’t sprinkle any evil dusts into the meals while they aren’t looking.<br />Sister and I are so angry at how ridiculous the whole thing is and while sister decides to go have a word with host about how the day went, I’m headed off to bed to forget this whole episode. However, I’m sleeping with one eye open in case either pastor 1 or 2 has informed host of someway to rid us of the evil within while we are asleep.<br /><br />Curtain Calls<br /><br /> The End<br /><br />Please don’t ask me the morale of the story, as with most make-believe Nollywood movies, it has none ;-)Oluchihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196566031138922462noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-2455521779566244792009-05-18T13:06:00.000+01:002009-05-18T13:08:35.731+01:00Robbed in Douala15/05/09<br /><br />Robbed in Douala<br />We were robbed today. I’m still trying to get over it.<br />We had concluded our business in Douala and were heading to Limbe, a coastal town in the west of Cameroon for a weekend on the beach. From our hosts place in Bonapriso, we took a taxi to Round Point( pronounced Ron pon in french) to board another taxi to Limbe.<br /><br />As we got to the taxi park, a group of about 10 young men swooped on us, pulling us in different angles, some selling bread, all pretending to be cab drivers trying to convince us to get into their own cab. In the confusion, I noticed that Oluchi’s bag had been opened and the compartment that held our passports was spilling its contents with some documents falling out. I quickly called her attention to it and I heard someone whispering to us to be careful that we could be robbed here.<br /><br />Belatedly, I remembered my phone which I had hurriedly thrown into my handbag as we were leaving my hosts’ place. Too late, it had already been stolen. I couldn’t believe it! I couldn’t fucking believe it! This happened in less than 2 minutes! What the hell?! Me? A lagos babe? Robbed in Douala? Impossible! Travelling through my 14th country and I get robbed after all this time?<br /><br />I confess, I totally lost my cool. My body was shaking as I broke into a cold sweat. As I looked around me, suddenly everyone looked like a thief. Naughty Cameroon, I don’t like you anymore!<br /><br />Needless to say, we didn’t go to Limbe anymore as I had the numbers of the guys who would be hosting us on the phone. Kai! I cried o! Mind you, this was not just a phone, it was a PDA/ Pocket-PC/Phone/GPS/Camera, this was a ‘correct machine’ as we say in Naija. I don’t even know if the thief would be able to use it. Heck , it took me two weeks to figure out the basics.<br /><br />I’m trying very hard to love thief and pray for him to have a better life and stop stealing. I realise I owe the motor-park touts in Lagos an apology for all the times I’d been mean to them because I’m proud to say this would never have happened at a taxi park in Lagos. You can take that to the bank!<br /><br />Anyway whatever happens, I’m still celebrating, still keeping it rocking. You can’t stop the shining, I still love Africa.Chiomahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15482934990767802747noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-3915273946026751642009-05-18T12:57:00.000+01:002009-05-18T12:59:05.361+01:00The Pope is the world president07/05/09<br />The Pope is the world president…<br />One of the thrills of public transportation is the opportunity to meet different people, jostle for seats with them, share a drink, tell your life story and borrow their phone charger… No? Well then I guess it’s just me or you’ve not been travelling on a ferry to Cameroon recently.<br /><br />Anyway among all these thrills, you also get the added bonus of overhearing or being forced to listen to snippets of different conversations which can be highly amusing. As usual, me being the nice person that I am, I’m bringing some of those snippets to you. You can thank me later, a donation to Celebrate Africa will do.<br /><br />‘The pope is the president of the world, he should get full security and his own private jet’ said the young man to his friends sitting outside on the upper deck of the ferry. ‘Yes’ his friend replied ‘but T.B Joshua is also very powerful and deserves a private jet too!’ ‘Who is T.B Joshua?’ interjected another one loudly, How can you compare him to the pope?’<br /><br />Meanwhile on the other side of the deck, there’s another heated conversation. ‘Look the Nigerian government has failed us, can you imagine? No road, no lights, that’s why I live in Cameroon’<br /><br />‘I have built 3 houses in Cameroon now’<br /><br />After a while I couldn’t keep up with the loud conversations as they all became too much and the amebo* in me wanted to hear everything. My head felt like what must have been the tower of Babel<br /><br />‘My brother offended me and I will never go to church again because of him’<br /><br />‘The bible says that we MUST to believe in God’. ‘What do you mean we MUST believe in God? Do you know the meaning of must?’<br /><br />‘Look, the pope is stronger than all the world leaders combined, the Catholics are very strong’<br /><br />‘Who be police? I have been in this country for six years, they can’t try me’<br /><br />‘I can afford to fly o, I just decided to take this ferry because I wanted to get there on time’ At this statement, I wondered how an 8-hour boat ride can be faster than a 2-hour flight.<br /><br />‘How can you say that? Who be pope?’ Finally as a parting shot, ‘ let me tell you, pope is in Africa, right now, infact e come Cameroon e no gree come Nigeria because of too much trouble’. Well you’ve been told.<br /><br />Thinking about all this later, I realised that I had learnt a valuable lesson. The pope is the president of the world and if only the rest of the world knew it, the world would be such a great place… or maybe not.Chiomahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15482934990767802747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-56651148374912176812009-05-18T12:47:00.000+01:002009-05-18T12:50:17.504+01:00Ferryland07/05/09<br />Ferryland<br /><br />It’s great to be back on the road again or should say I say on the sea? We almost missed the Ferry to Tiko, a small town on the coast of Cameroon. When we called ‘Achouka’ the ferry company, the day before, they had told us that the ferry usually leaves Wednesday mornings by 6am. Well we got there by 6 and the ship was almost leaving.<br /><br />As we drove into the port, the pandemonium hit us. The ship’s horn was tooting loudly, the crew were running around and screaming loudly while hurling giant bags of luggage on deck. Passengers rushing unto the boat, dragging their luggage. Just being there was tiring. A massive contrast to the peaceful, serene atmosphere of 6am, Calabar.<br /><br />Realising that we were late, we rushed to the ticket office where the sales guy tried to convince us to pay for a first class ticket for 9000 naira. I refused thinking that the guy just wanted to sell his VIP tickets and wondered how bad a 2nd class seat that cost 6000 naira must be.<br /><br />Well I needn’t have wondered too long because a few minutes after going through immigrations, paying 500 naira to have my passport stamped with the immigration officer loudly scolding us for coming late, a mad dash onto the ferry with our heavy bags in tow, we got on the second class deck.<br /><br />One word: utter chaos. Ok, that’s two words but who’s counting? Anyway, that’s the only word that comes to mind trying to describe what greeted us as we got on the deck. Bodies lying on the floor, corridor, seats, gangway; bodies everywhere. No standing space not to talk of sitting space. On top of all this was an oppressive heat and disgusting smell of unwashed bodies cooped up together for a while.<br /><br />Did you say ‘hell no’? Well, that’s exactly what we said as we did an about turn back down the stairs towards the ticket office to change to first class tickets. Alas we couldn’t be left off the boat as it was already leaving the shore. Not to be deterred, we marched to the VIP lounge and took our seats. As we sat down, I turned to Oluchi and said, ‘the only way anyone is getting me out of this deck is buy using a forklift and even with that I’d be kicking and screaming!’<br /><br />The VIP deck was as different from the second class as pounded yam is different boiled yam. They were worlds apart. For one, the air conditioning worked. Secondly, there were no bodies lying on the floor and lastly there were many unoccupied seats! SOLD!<br /><br />Afterwards, I asked myself what lessons I had learned. Lesson number 1: Never believe Achouka when they tell you the ferry leaves by 6am because you may miss it.<br /><br />Lesson number 2: Always believe the guy who is trying to sell you a first class ticket otherwise you may end up standing all the way on an 8-hour boat ride and paying more money than you would have paid on the shore because the ferry has already left.Chiomahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15482934990767802747noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-85923900923138991962009-03-20T00:05:00.003+01:002009-05-18T13:04:36.014+01:00The land of Rusty roofs<p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normalfont-family:arial;" ><span style="font-family:arial;">After Lagos, Ibadan is probably the most famous 'city' in Nigeria. Famed for its rich place of history, its one of the oldest citiAfter Lagos, Ibadan is probably the most famous ‘city’ in Nigeria. Famed for its rich place in history, it is one of the oldest cities in West Africa, with many legends surrounding it. <?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normalfont-family:arial;" ><span style="font-family:arial;">Ibadan is the capital of Oyo state, part of the old Oyo Empire. It is the third largest city in Nigeria by population (after Lagos and Kano), and the largest in geographical area. At independence, Ibadan was the largest and the most populous city in Nigeria and the third in Africa after Cairo and Johannesburg.You could almost imagine that these old buildings have been around since those days of old. Knowing its colourful history, I was very eager to see what the city had to offer.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normalfont-family:arial;" ><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normalfont-family:arial;" ><span style="font-family:arial;">First off, we went to the University,the first in Nigeria, established in 1948. We arrived just at the right time, as the University in its finery,still had all the tell tale signs of celebration, seeing as it had just passed its 60th year anniversary. It was during exams and you could see the students going off in groups to read. Walking through brought back memories of my own days at the Imo State University. It had a state of the art library and bookstore, like any modern university should. It was everything a university is supposed to be and more and for about 2seconds I wished that I had attended UI. Luckily, the IMSU Imo stars spirit returned to reclaim my allegiance.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normalfont-family:arial;" ><span style="font-family:arial;">You couldn’t visit UI without seeing the Botanical Zoo, which I also heard was the first of its kind in Nigeria. Even though the lions were sleeping when we got there, the other animals were active enough to keep us entertained.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normalfont-family:arial;" ><span style="font-family:arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normalfont-family:arial;" ><span style="font-family:arial;">Your visit is incomplete without tasting the famous meal of Amala and gbegiri ati ewedu, which is made from yam flour and soup made from beans. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normalfont-family:arial;" ><span style="font-family:arial;">I went to a restaurant called Straight Down in Yoruba, and apparently it got its name from the fact every time you asked for directions to the place, people would tell you to “Just go straight down.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normalfont-family:arial;" ><span style="font-family:arial;">With the delicious smells wafting from the restaurant as I arrived there, I have to say my hopes were raised for a good meal. I was not disappointed as the Amala pelu Gbegiri ati Ewedu was a delight to the senses. In my haste, I must confess I may have missed the mark with a few droplets of Ewedu soup. Blame it on Ibadan, I say.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normalfont-family:arial;" ><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normalfont-family:arial;" ><span style="font-family:arial;">Bower towers was my next stop. At the top of the tower, a magnificent view of the city greets your eyes. With a sea of rusty roofs as far as the eye could see, it was definitely unforgettable. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normalfont-family:arial;" ><span style="font-family:arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normalfont-family:arial;" ><span style="font-family:arial;">The OjaOje is also another place of interest and you will learn here how the people of Ibadan trade and interact. There's plenty to buy or just see. Right next to it is the splendid Olubadan’s palace, which is the seat of power to the monarch.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normalfont-family:arial;" ><span style="font-family:arial;">In all, the ancient city of Ibadan did not disappoint me because there was plenty to see and I had the pleasure of tasting Ibadan-style Amala with Gbegiri ati Ewedu.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normalfont-family:arial;" ><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normalfont-family:arial;" ><span style="font-family:arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normalfont-family:arial;" ><span style="font-family:arial;">So I’ll leave you with the famous Ibadan greeting: S’alafiani!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><o:p><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></o:p></p>Oluchihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196566031138922462noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-45003188469490183922009-01-11T14:40:00.003+01:002009-01-11T15:14:14.315+01:00Happy New YearHappy New Year!<br /><br />I know, I know, we've been away for too long. We apologize.<br /><br />We took a break from traveling and went back home to Nigeria for the holidays. We'll resume traveling next week by doing celebrating Nigeria and this part of the tour will see us travel through 10 states in the South-West and North Central regions of Nigeria.<br /><br />We will definitely be bringing you the usual gist on the road and pictures on the website.We have so many plans for the next year and we'd love you to be a part of it. I will be posting our newsletter with all the details shortly.<br /><br />While we've been in Nigeria, we've done a few interviews in both the print and tv media. Here a few links for your viewing pleasure.<br /><a href="http://www.punchng.com/Articl.aspx?theartic=Art200901111493478">Why we're touring Africa.</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.africanews.com/site/list_messages/22306">Nigerian sisters are celebrating Africa</a><br /><br />See you soon.Chiomahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15482934990767802747noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-79685639636119889002008-12-12T12:18:00.000+01:002008-12-12T12:22:06.402+01:00What have I learnt?26-11-2008<br /><br /><strong>This is probably ridden with clichés but I just couldn't help myself.</strong><br /><strong></strong><br />I’ve learnt to be thankful;<br />For big things,<br />For little things,<br />For everything.<br /><br />I’ve learnt to be patient;<br />Knowing that things will definitely and always work out.<br /><br />I’ve learnt to believe;<br />In myself, knowing that anything I set my heart & mind to, I can do.<br />In God, knowing that everything I ask in faith, He can do.<br /><br />I’ve learnt my strengths and my weaknesses;<br />Knowing to accept the things I can not change and striving to make better the things I can.<br /><br />I’ve learnt to persevere;<br />Knowing that I’ll come out stronger after every hurdle.<br /><br />I’ve learnt that though we are separated by boundaries, borders and language;<br />We are all the same.<br /><br />I’ve learnt to make meals from almost anything,<br />And ‘veggies’ aren’t so bad.<br /><br />I’ve learnt to listen more and talk less;<br />There’s a lot to be learnt from holding my tongue.<br /><br />I’ve learnt to forgive;<br />Life is too short to dwell on things that don’t matter.<br /><br />I’ve learnt that there are good people and better people;<br />Why worry about the not-so good people?<br /><br />I’ve learnt that;<br />To receive, I have to give and<br />To give, I have to receive.<br /><br />I’ve learnt to focus, aim and shoot;<br />With my mind and my camera.<br /><br />I’ve learnt to let go;<br />Knowing that the universe is watching over and will take care of me.<br /><br />I’ve learnt to Love;<br />Others, Life, Myself, My sister, My family and My God.<br />For without love, I am nothing and have gained nothing.Oluchihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196566031138922462noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-60750597252803195312008-12-12T12:10:00.001+01:002008-12-12T12:17:56.272+01:00I’m in love…24-11-2008<br /><br />I’m in love with a big city.<br />It’s such a big and enchanting city (our definition of enchanting might not necessarily be the same.)<br />It is a city that has a life of its own and feels likes it has many faces. It reminds me a lot of Lagos, Abuja, Dakar and some other cities I’ve been all rolled into one.<br /><br />Lagos, because of the bustle and the pulse of the city you can almost feel. Also the many ‘flyovers’ scattered across the city.(though it’s a lot neater than Lagos)<br /><br />Abuja, because of the high rise buildings dotting the skyline.<br /><br />Dakar, because of the wide streets and high ways, and of course the smartly dressed people, going along, chatting in French or simply minding their own business.<br /><br />Abidjan reminds me of home, yet it’s different in its own unique way. The city makes me feels as if there’s still a lot to see, still a lot to do.<br />We went to other places, not that we didn’t. San Pedro, border town in Ivory Coast from Liberia, quaint beautiful little town but it couldn’t quite compare to Abidjan. I’m tempted to stay on but I know I must leave; for now.<br /><br />I’ll definitely be coming back, how soon I don’t know but soon enough to come and continue my love affair with this beautiful and enchanting big cityOluchihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196566031138922462noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-56403238111891853162008-11-21T12:38:00.002+01:002008-11-21T12:48:02.063+01:00Liberian License PlatesIt’s always a delight to find in every city something that clearly distinguishes it from the next and if there’s one thing you should look out for in Monrovia, it’s the license plates. I don’t have the current figures but I think more than 60% of cars in Monrovia have customized license plates. They are as diverse as the many cars on the streets.<br />Each is unique in its own way clearly identifying a person better than any ID card or passport possibly could. Each telling us a different story, depicting status, gender, age, earning power, job function, marital status, position, even dates of birth.<br /><br />I’ve seen all manner of license plates like <em>‘4 my wife’, ‘husband no2’, ‘4 me’, ‘rush 2’, ‘manager 3’, ‘baby 1’, ‘big boy 5’, ‘Emily 1’ ‘Psalm 23’</em>, to mention but a few.<br />We couldn’t get to the bottom of the reason for these diverse plates so we decided to play a game to tell the stories behind each customized license plates.<br />So here are some of our ideas:<br /><br /><em><strong>4 Me:</strong></em> This plate was on a Volkswagen golf car and it was driven by a young woman. So we figured that she probably worked so hard and suffered a lot to buy the car that she had to stake her claim by making sure everybody knows the car is ‘4’her.<br /><br /><strong><em>Husband 2:</em></strong> This is self explanatory, he’s a second husband and wants to be identified by that.<br /><br /><strong><em>Big boy 1:</em></strong> He’s so obese that he couldn’t think of any other thing but his weight when he was getting the plates made. Guess his next car would be ‘gym boy’ for when he starts using the gym.<br /><br /><strong><em>4 My wife:</em></strong> The 'Oga' probably bought the same car for his girlfriend, so he just wanted to be able to differentiate one from the other.<br /><br /><strong><em>Psalm 23:</em></strong> I think that’s the only Bible verse this owner really knows or can remember from his childhood.<br /><br /><strong><em>Bro 419:</em></strong> His brother is probably a <em>‘419er’</em>, the car was bought from the proceeds and they wanted everybody to rejoice with them.<br /><br />The funny thing was that the ‘big’ cars didn’t have customised plates, they just had regular plates. I’m thinking of getting my own car soon and I would welcome ‘name’ suggestions for customized plates.<br />Whenever you are in Monrovia, you can check out the license plates and come up with your own stories.Oluchihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196566031138922462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-15727650104579155052008-11-21T12:07:00.002+01:002008-11-21T12:36:22.457+01:00Taxi Talks…The Taxi driver kept complaining, “I’ve been in this country for 6months and the people here are no good. They treat you like aliens and no body wants to be nice to you”.<br />And then he narrated his ordeal from the border. How after he had been harassed and exploited, they got stranded and he had to help his fellow passengers (from this same country) with transportation, feeding and clothes.<br />He went on to conclude that after his experience in the country, he’ll never be good to anyone from this country again. In fact, when he goes back to his own country (another West African country), he’ll make the people from this country pay dearly for everything that he has gone through.<br /><br />We asked him if he had met any good people in this country, if anyone had been nice to him and if anyone had gone out of their way to try to help him, and he answered yes to all of these. If yes, why would he then decide to punish a whole people for the errors of a few of their countrymen? We asked him what his own attitude towards these people was and he said he had to defend himself.<br /><br />I felt bad because I realised that this is the way a lot of us think and behave, gearing to mete out punishment on someone for the sins of his brothers or her people.<br />Why can’t we all just try and get along? Why can’t we all just hold hands and hum, hug trees and wear ‘Jesus’ sandals? Why can’t we look beyond the today and think of the bigger picture? Why can’t we all try to broker peace rather than tearing one another to pieces?<br /><br />We pleaded with our Taxi driver to change his attitude towards these people and expect them to treat him nicely. Like my sister always says, ‘If you expect something, you’ll get it’.Oluchihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196566031138922462noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-68515602000697843702008-11-21T11:52:00.000+01:002008-11-21T11:58:38.420+01:00Quick Relaxation MotelAfter spending more than 12 hours on the road from Bo town in Sierra Leone to Monrovia, Liberia, we arrived around 9:30pm and for some reason we couldn’t get in touch with our host. Apparently she had misplaced her phone and there was no way for us to reach her. So, we decide to check into a motel in the suburbs of Monrovia for the night. As I walked up to the receptionist for a room she looked at me weirdly and asked ‘is it for sleeping?’ The question seemed a little dumb and I laughed sarcastically, ‘of course it’s for sleeping’ I said. I later found out that the joke was on me.<br /><br />As we checked into the room, the first thing I noticed was the pile of condoms on the side table, the second thing was the porter switching off the TV set. Curious as to why he switched off the TV, immediately he left the room, Oluchi switched it on and switched it off the next second. Then we burst out in laughter.<br /><br />It dawned on us that we had just checked into what we call a ‘short-time’ motel or ‘slaughter-house’ in Nigeria. That is, a motel designed strictly for quick discreet sexual escapades. To set the mood, the motel had graciously provided some light entertainment on TV by way of a fully dedicated pornography channel and a dozen pack of condoms. Also the only identification needed to check-in is your money. Talk about being discreet.<br /><br />We had a good laugh and we had to acknowledge that someone has to provide these services and it looked like they were doing a good job. As we left the next morning, we noticed the motel sign – Y Motel, for quick relaxation- that had us laughing all over again. If you’re ever looking for ‘quick’ relaxation in Monrovia, check out Y motel.Chiomahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15482934990767802747noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-72009839749485820212008-11-04T16:46:00.002+01:002008-11-04T16:51:20.139+01:00National Dishes28/10/2008<br /><br />Cassava-leaf soup; potato-leaf soup, roasted cassava and raw cassava. People were asking if we had tried these dishes and I kept wondering if it was some kind of joke. What are these guys talking about??!<br />Back home in Nigeria, cassava leave is goat feed, roasted cassava is unheard of and you only eat raw cassava when you are suicidal. I don’t have the statistics but I know that the cyanide in raw cassava will kill you faster than a loaded gun (I don’t know where that came from). Here in Sierra Leone (Salone) these dishes are national delicacies.<br /><br />In naija, we eat roasted yam/ corn and we have to take the raw cassava through various processes (which I know nothing about) before it’s edible enough to make <em>garri</em>, <em>fufu </em>or African salad popularly called <em>abacha</em>. I didn’t even know that potato had leaves.<br />Our caretaker, S, convinced us that this specie of cassava was different from the one we eat where I come from but did we want to take any chances?<br /><br />Never let it be said that we African celebrators were too afraid to taste a national dish. So with trepidation we asked S to make the cassava leaves soup for us and I had my Andrews liver salt nearby, and my phone ready to dial 911 just in case.<br /><br />We were pleasantly surprised. It was tasty!! I really, really liked it! I think it was the best tasting ‘African’ soup I’d had in a while (apart from the egusi I ate the other day and the okro of 2weeks ago). Best of all we are still alive and very well, so I guess that means S was right and this specie is different.<br />Anyway, I’m recommending that whenever you decide to visit Free town, drink in the beautiful hills and mountains, swim in the Atlantic ocean and eat some cassava-leaf soup.Oluchihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196566031138922462noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-36599750567868444162008-11-04T16:30:00.003+01:002008-11-04T16:42:04.161+01:00Guinea gini*??14/10/08<br /><br />“The country side smells of fresh curry leaves, the air is crisp & inviting and birds are busy chirping away”. This isn’t some unknown foreign land; it’s the ‘path’ leading from Bissau to Conakry. I say path because we veered off the road shortly after the first border patrol and headed straight into the bushes. Why some countries will not merge and become one is beyond me. Apologies to all the Guineans reading this but I’m only trying to speak the truth here.<br /><br />Dear readers, another reason why we are doing this trip is so that we can have fun on your behalf and make your mistakes for you so that when you decide to take this trip you will not make the same mistakes we did. (And of course to celebrate)<br /><br />Now I would suggest to you against my better judgement and against everything celebratory about this trip, if choose to go to Guinea Bissau and Guinea Conakry, please do it by air!!!<br /><br />The countries in themselves were not bad but the journey to the country nko? Another matter. I saw the best looking statures in Conakry, right in the middle of the road and the sunset was lovely. Bissau reminded me a bit of Brazil with their Old Portuguese style buildings and the people looked like they were having fun just being there.<br /><br />I just didn’t like that it took us 2days from The Gambia to get to Guinea Bissau, a journey that should have been 8hours. Also the fact that we spent another 24hrs on the road for a 12-15hours journey from Bissau to Conakry. (Literally sleeping on cold hard tar, on the road)<br /><br />Now, my advice is pretty simple. If you must go on these 2 roads, prepare your self for the best or worst (depending on how you look at it) camping experience of your life, except of course without the fire. Arm yourself with a blanket, flash lights and a towel because you’ll paddle a ‘ferry’ and sleep on the road in the middle of nowhere with only the stars and your fellow passengers to watch over you.<br /><br />However, there is much to celebrate and that is the unbreakable spirit of our co-travellers on the journey from Bissau to Conakry. These people were in high spirits throughout the 24-hour journey, chattering loudly, sharing their food, even offering their shoulders as support for the next person who needed to rest. It was absolutely amazing and the most surprising part for me was that many of the passengers travel this route constantly for trade purposes. As one passenger told me, there is money to be made and even if the governments of these two countries don’t provide a road, the travellers will find a bush-path.<br /><br />*what?? in my local languageOluchihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196566031138922462noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-76390560845541069092008-10-20T20:13:00.001+01:002008-10-20T20:16:31.641+01:00Where are we?I just realised from the blog that no one knows exactly where we are at the moment.<br />We travelled through the peaceful country of Ghana to Serene Burkina. We’ve gone from the breath taking Dogon country in Mali to the beautiful beaches in Dakar, Senegal. We went round the streets of Banjul, The Gambia experiencing Nigerian Independence day in another land and then moved to Guinea Bissau and Guinea Conakry.<br />We are now in Free Town, Sierra Leone. This is our 8th, yes eight country and we are having a ball. Would we want to do anything differently? Certainly not!!!Oluchihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196566031138922462noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-5290346240438038572008-10-20T12:52:00.000+01:002008-10-20T12:54:26.478+01:00Up Naija!The Nigerian Independence Day was on the 1st of October, so I am dedicating this post to my naija people. I apologise to my friends from other countries, this will be my one indulgence.<br /><br />Do you have a Nigerian passport? Yes? Good for you! Congratulations you have become part of the privileged few who have the exclusive right to spread their wealth around the continent. Once you get to an immigration check point, especially in francophone West Africa, pull out your passport with confidence (they’ll smile at you with a knowing look and say, ‘ah Nigeria’) because you’re going to be asked to donate part of your ill-gotten wealth to the military men, police officers, and immigration officers on duty.<br /><br />Look, it doesn’t matter if you’ve never done anything dishonest in your life. After all, the less than 2 million fraudsters in Nigeria are related to you (the remaining 138 million) and you should pay for their sins. The sins of your country man shall be visited on you. Don’t complain or else you may be given a body search or manhandled or just generally threatened with arrest.<br /><br />It’s ok though because if you’re in public transport all the other passengers will be looking out for you, urging you to pay up so that the bus can leave on time and we can all get to our destination on time. Even if you don’t have the money, (why shouldn’t you anyway, Naija is richest country in Africa, No?) some kind-hearted fellow passenger will pay on your behalf or plead with the officer on your behalf. You see didn’t I say we were privileged?<br /><br />It has nothing to do with the colour of your passport, because nearly every country in West Africa now uses a green passport. Rather, it has more to do with the coat of arms on your Nigerian passport. It has ‘Unity and Faith, Peace and Progress’. Unity: we are united with all the fraudsters and drug dealers in Nigeria. Faith: we have faith in their abilities. Peace: When we spread the wealth we promote peace in Africa. Progress: Law enforcement agents in Africa need our wealth to progress.<br /><br />So the next time you’re in a francophone country like Guinea and you’re asked for your passport, bring it out with confidence because as we all know, ‘Naija no dey carry last!’ Unity and faith, peace and progress. Up Naija! Up Amala! Up Kilishi! Up Isi-ewu! Up pepper soup!Chiomahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15482934990767802747noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-33276108891583857572008-10-20T12:29:00.000+01:002008-10-20T12:32:12.716+01:00Three Glorious Months<p class="MsoNormal">15/10/08</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> Three Glorious Months</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> Wow! I almost can’t believe its 3 months already! Sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday that said goodbye to my family with tears in my eyes and a song in my heart. I have gone through 7 countries, experienced a wide range of emotions; sometimes very happy, very angry a few times. I have felt frustrated and been awed at other times. The one thing I have not felt is regret.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> I have met different people, some have become lifetime friends. I have had 3 marriage proposals (believe it), been invited to become a fraudster (I was so angry I almost had a coronary), partied all night and slept all day. I now know how to say ‘thank you’ and ‘hello’ in 5 more African languages. My French has moved from non-existent to ‘un pe, un pe’. I can now do local currency conversions in my head, from CFA to dalasi to naira.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> I have not kept some promises I made to my self, like blogging everyday, working with non-profit organisations and filming everything. That’s part of the journey; if it’s not practical then it probably won’t get done.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> In 3 months the website has nearly 3,000 hits from diverse countries, some with names I can’t even pronounce. We get emails everyday from people wishing us well and telling how they have been inspired. Some of these comments are unbelievable because we can’t seem to understand how some silly dream became such an inspiration but I am thankful that it is so.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> Things have become even more dramatic, since Oluchi joined. Now I have someone to annoy, gist with and be a general nuisance. A girl can’t ask for a better travelling partner especially if she comes with great packing skills, I think that came from her stint in shipping.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> In all it has been a fantastic (I like that word) three months and we look forward to another beautiful nine months. If only we had a major sponsor to take our money worries away.</o:p></p>Chiomahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15482934990767802747noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-90556289351039080072008-10-20T12:27:00.003+01:002008-10-20T13:06:54.864+01:00The Gambian ExperienceMy first impressions of The Gambia were, I have to admit, distinctly unfavourable. Oluchi and I endured a manic stampede to embark on the ferry that would take us across the river into Banjul; not only that, the weather had this oppressive feel about it - equal parts high temperatures coupled with the feeling that a mighty, invisible wet blanket of moisture had been added to our outer clothing without our consent; and in addition, some of this moisture, the quantities the blankets hadn’t been able to absorb, had leached into the streets, turning walking into an experience in mud-sliding that a frolicsome pig would have revelled in. Last but not least among the annoyances that made me question my sanity for adding this country to our itinerary, was the presence of a highly aggressive species of human mosquitoes known as immigrations officials darting this way and that on the streets, asking us to ‘identify’ ourselves.<br />As the old saying goes: “Beware of identification, it often leads to briberification!”<br />So, let’s just agree to say: Gambia, the first time wey I land for your top, no be your best side wey I see!<br /><br />But we were there, we were committed, we knew that sometimes the book’s cover didn’t tell the whole story, so we gave it the good college try: we did the usual ‘touristy’ stuff (yawn!) we visited the beach, went to the local franchise for Crocodile Villages, Inc. (mainly to see whether the locals could compare to the ones we had seen elsewhere, especially in their ability to inhale the sacrificial chickens, turns out they are fish-vegetarian.), we were so enthralled by the available options on our visit menu that we even went to the port just to see cargo being laden and unloaded. Boy, I tell you, this was big fun that we were having. It’s no wonder that after three days we thought we had written the book on The Gambia: too small, too expensive, too wet – that just seemed to sum it all up for us.<br /><br />The magnitude of our disappointment at that point seemed to be in direct proportion to the magnitude of our initial high expectations. The Gambia was destined to end up as a cautionary tale in our travel journals.<br /><br />“Not so fast, girls,” some guardian angel of Gambia up there must have said!, “Allow me,” the angel went on, “to put on a real Gambia show for you.” In rapid succession, the angel arranges for us to meet, the day before we were supposed to leave, some Gambians and ‘Naigambians’ (transplanted and the results of intermarriage) and our view of Gambia changed dramatically. While the previous week – after we had done crocodiles, the beach, the port - had been spent flipping channels, watching satellite TV stations from the Middle-East and going to bed – at the same time as, I mean, just to make sure our more lascivious readers don’t get the wrong ideas - with the birds, we became more optimistic that the second week would be different. Our brothers at immigration had given us only permits for a 7-day stay, but we were ready to risk their wrath (read extortion) for another 7 days just to rectify our dismal view of Gambia. So we did.<br /><br />Gambia’s image rectification – the process. First, now that we were hooked up with the right people, was the exploration of the nocturnal – the night spots featuring groovy music, groovy people shaking it. These people could have been on something, the energy with which they danced. Step Two: a tour of Senegambia with people who knew what they were about. Hey, it wasn’t just about the mud on the streets, you know! Once you lifted your eyes and concerns up from the pressing issue of which mud sinkhole would engulf you completely, you realized that this was a miniature jewel of sights.<br /><br />But best of all, by some happy coincidence, we had managed to time our sojourn to coincide with ‘Koriteh’(The Gambian word for Eid-el celebration after the holy month of Ramadan). As part of the observance, the government declared a 3 day holiday, for us, liberated as we were from the obligations of religious observance, it was enjoyment galore. We experienced first-hand how Gambians celebrate Koriteh , largely, by visiting family and eating Benachin with them. Let me tell you, you haven’t lived until you have eaten Benachin, nothing beats the feeling of oneness you get from eating from the same platter with your friends and family. Then there are the cheeky kids barging into the house demanding ‘salibo’, i.e, a monetary gift to, ostensibly, mark the festival.<br /><br />Talking about Koriteh, It seemed to me that the best time to see Gambians looking their best was during the Eid-el festivals. Beautifully-clad women in their lovely, heavily embroidered dresses, glamorous hairstyles complemented by the dashing dark-skinned men in colourful kaftans: you would be forgiven if you wished they dressed like this everyday.<br /><br />Famous for being a tourist destination, The Gambia is also the most stable economy in West Africa and the one the with most rapid economic growth, which I think is why all the Nigerian banks are opening up shop in every corner of the country. (Trust Naija now, we no dey carry last) Apologies o, if you’re not from Naija.<br /><br />Anyways, for me, the most interesting part of our stay was meeting the people of Gambia. Gambia was a very enjoyable contrast between a relatively unprepossessing environment, if you compare it to the beauty of Mali, and a wonderful populace, once you got to know them. I more than enjoyed the warmth, the generosity, the friendliness, and I love the sing-song Wolof or Madinka tinged accents.<br /><br />On a personal note (yeah, like all this hasn’t been personal?), Gambia holds some promise for me and I’ll definitely be going back. The morale of this chapter of the journey: don’t trust first impressions all the time.Chiomahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15482934990767802747noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-17160174226570081962008-10-15T19:48:00.002+01:002008-10-15T20:00:24.441+01:00Updates coming...Dear friend,<br />Yeah, i know, we've been really bad girls. We've been MIA. It's all the travelling, we've been on the road 3 straight days in a row, we even slept in the bush in the middle of nowhere. I know it's an excuse, but it's a good one, no?<br />I promise we'll post something interesting this weekend.<br /><br />Meanwhile, you can amuse yourself by looking at some of the pictures on <a href="http://www.celebrateafrica.net/">www.celebrateafrica.net</a>, if you haven't already.<br /><br />Take care<br />Blue.Chiomahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15482934990767802747noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-36474360233268524182008-10-02T17:01:00.002+01:002008-10-02T17:05:46.524+01:00No 'blem200908<br /><br />I smiled the first time I heard this and couldn’t help but wonder how it came about. I’m told it’s a mixture of Wolof (the local language) and French.It’s a slang used frequently in Dakar by any and everybody and it depicts the way they live in this my ‘1st’ city I’ve come to love. I call it my first city cos it’s really the first city on this tour for me (even though I’ve been to Accra already).<br /><br />They seem to love life a lot and sleep in late, taking life really easy like they don’t have a care in the world. Did I mention their beautiful women? Oh! I already did.<br />The people say we’ve come at a time when a lot of things are shut down because of the Ramadan. We really can’t see the night life or the dancing and jollying that best describes the Dakar people and I dare say the entire people of Senegal.But have I had a good time here? I would say yes, because even with the ‘restrictions’ we’ve seen the people at their best and I really wonder what it would be like here without the Ramadan.<br /><br />From what I see here, there isn’t that great gap between the rich and the poor and you can’t find any poverty stricken children roaming the streets and begging for food (well not as many). The streets are tarred and clean (?) and they have electricity. Food is beaucoup and transportation is cheap (that is when you take the NDND* and not taxi).<br /><br />If you crave the sun, beautiful beach and want a feel of the Caribbean still with the complete African flava, then I suggest you take the next plane, bus or ferry to Dakar. Would I recommend Dakar for a holiday place anytime of the year? Most definitely!<br /><br /><br />*Ndjiangi ndjiayi, it’s the local buses around the Dakar areaOluchihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196566031138922462noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-30913092319561199092008-09-29T15:25:00.000+01:002008-09-29T15:30:05.463+01:00In Dakar, Life’s a beach everyday.<p class="MsoNormal">19/09/08</p><p class="MsoNormal">In Dakar, Life’s a beach everyday.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Valle D’Or, Yoff, Terou Bi, do these names sound familiar? <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>They are the names of some of the beaches in Dakar and being the nice person that I am, I took it upon myself to visit these beaches so that I could tell you my readers about them. It had nothing to do with me wanting to escape the heat and having a good time.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There are 10 beaches in Dakar and all of them different from each other. Some like the Pointe de Almadies and Yoff, you can swim and surf, in Ngor & Terou Bi, you can go fishing, snorkelling and diving to your heart’s content. As for none swimmers like me who just want to paddle in the ocean and feel the water on our body, you can visit Ngor and Goree. If you like a little more privacy far from the crowds, then visit Valle D’Or, but be aware that the smell of smoked<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>from the fisheries close by can spoil the experience.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Our first beach was the Plage de Yoff, probably the largest beach in Dakar. For someone used to really huge waves at the beaches in Lagos, I was pleasantly surprised at how gentle the waves were and the soft sand made it a pleasure to walk on the beach. Since it was a Sunday, the walk on the beach was also for people-watching. This is strictly for the ladies, if you like well-built, tall dark-skinned men, my sister, Yoff is calling. Its eye-candy ville, my eyes had such a huge feast they thanked me for bringing them along.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">For the brothers, all is not lost as the Senegalese babes are right up there on the scale of beautiful women and if you stick around you may see the occasional topless babe on the beach. Hmmm the stuff dreams are made of, right?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Another memorable beach trip was the one to Ngor. The plage de Ngor was not really impressive because we could hardly get into the water for the sea-weed. So we got on the canoe to Ngor Island, which is about 5 mins from the mainland. It’s a small beautiful island with well preserved brick houses and the main attraction is the beach.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Here we spent about 3 hours in the water because it was sooooo good, that we one couple looked they were having sex right in the water, all I could think was ‘I hope they have a condom!’<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>When we were not ‘swimming’, we were being ogled by those buff bodies I talked about earlier. I can’t say I blamed them though, when you’re hot, you’re hot especially in a bikini. Sorry guys, no more bikini pictures.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Although, technically it’s not in Dakar, the beach on Goree Island is another lovely one. A 7-minute boat ride from Dakar, Goree attracts the eyes with all the brick buildings and clay? roofs. An island known for it’s history of the colonial times, it’s a place that is well worth visiting. If you like dreadlocked guys, then you’re in ‘Rasta Paradise’ because<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>almost every man here wears dreadlocks. I asked our guide who also happened to be a rastaman (surprise, surprise) about this, and he said ‘it’s the island spirit, it makes everybody want to have dreadlocks’. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After a heated conversation with the islanders over the future of Africa and how we can change the continent, we spent the night in Goree, at a small guest house called, Keur Sokhna for 13000 cfa (about 30 USD) and it was money well spent. We woke up to bird-songs and went for a morning swim and another walk around the island deliberately avoiding the slave-museum, we were on our way back to Dakar.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Ok, enough of the vicarious living for now, the beaches of Dakar beckon. More gist later. I’m outtie! </p>Chiomahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15482934990767802747noreply@blogger.com59tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-17167918030616726262008-09-12T19:19:00.000+01:002008-09-12T19:37:04.789+01:00Any beautiful day...10/09/08<br />As time goes by, i wonder where the day has gone.<br /><br />Its been 4days in Senegal and it feels like i've always lived here. Its a friendly and peaceful environment, with everybody trying to help especially when they understand that you dont speak French. The day flies by really quickly because there's so much to do.<br /><br /><br />I've always heard people say that Senegalese women are beautiful but i didnt quite understand what they meant until i experienced it first hand. They are easily the most beautiful women i have come across yet in Africa and i say yet because i havent travelled wide and there is still a lot to see.<br /><br /><br />From their slim tall figures, to their beautiful smiles to their lovely faces, i would say God took a little extra time creating these women.<br /><br />All around me here, i see a clear appreciation of the body, beauty and skin that is African. With a wrapper around their waist and a spring in their step, they swing along to some unheard tune playing in the distance.<br /><br />I'm thankful that im not a man and not in the least inclined towards women, i would have had my plate full contemplating what to say to these 'works of art'. Instead, ill say to a creator who did a great job and took a holiday afterwards...Good job Monsieur Dieu!Oluchihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196566031138922462noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-83073569677304042772008-09-12T19:11:00.002+01:002008-09-12T19:24:40.510+01:00Visa to where?09/09/08<br />This is an amusing something that happened to me at the airport as I set out on my own journey to Celebrate Africa.<br />At the Virgin Nigeria counter I handed my passport and ticket to the attendant. As he quickly flips through my travel documents he fixes me with an exasperated and impatient expression and demands “where is your visa?”<br />“Visa? I mouthed wondering why I needed a visa. He returns my passport to me and replies in Pidgin English, “Aunty, if you no get visa you no fit go!”<br />He immediately signals to the next person behind me to come forward. “Visa to where?” I asked in a very bemused tone and he goes “UK Visa”, “if you no get am, you no fit go”.<br /><br />I smiled and told him I was headed to Dakar and therefore didn’t need a UK visa. He literally took a step backwards, looked up sharply with a shocked expression on his face and answered me in thick Yoruba, “ehn, then why did you dress like people going to London? You should have said all along that you were going to Dakar”. His colleague at the other counter quickly adds, “We know people wey dey go Dakar when we see dem”<br /><br />What?! That had me almost doubling over in laughter; so the next time I’m travelling, I have to go to the airport to get the dress code for each country I visit.Oluchihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196566031138922462noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-53037325504620608072008-09-12T18:48:00.001+01:002008-09-12T18:48:48.335+01:00Celebrates Africa Makes Two09/09/08 .<br />Hooray! we are now officially a team – Team Celebrate Africa – with the addition of Oluchi to the hoofing it, sightseeing, bus-riding, strange food-eating, Celebrating Africa partnership.<br /><br />Not that this significant milestone was achieved without some struggle...<br /><br />Two months after the journey began, my sister Oluchi has joined the Celebrate Africa team. She arrived in Dakar on the 6th of September, with much anticipation and excitement on my part. I am very excited to have company on this journey but this also means that I have to adjust to not running the show alone now.<br />In December last year when I began making concrete plans for CA, Oluchi did a lot of the planning with me, with the intention to do the trip together. However, as time went by she lost her nerve, and said she couldn’t do it just yet as it would mean leaving her job, leaving the family etc etc. You know that long whine of the uncommitted! After just one week in Accra during the first week of CA, she became a thorough-going convert: she promptly went back home and resigned her job.<br /><br />Our travelling partnership is now three days old, time we have spent trying to gauge each other’s rhythm. I’ve bitten my tongue when the impulse to scream at her for mishandling the video camera – by my perfectionist standards -becomes almost uncontrollable! She’s been trying not to become exasperated – but I can feel the eyes rolling and the little intake of breath that goes along with that - with my wanting to attend to every detail.<br /><br />We are going to have fun together, as long as we don’t end up killing each other before the year ends. I have to try and not ‘big sister’ her – hey, after all we are partners – the sisterhood of the Africa Celebrators, right? That’s cool long as I’m the principal partner, ok, Oluchi?<br /><br />Oluchi will be focusing mainly on filming and interviews with the various charming Africans we come across. You can read more about her on the website. I am sure you will agree that it was a great idea for her to join me on the road. Big welcome, Sis and Junior Partner.Chiomahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15482934990767802747noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4172030589222342695.post-92097450871447162132008-09-12T18:41:00.001+01:002008-09-12T18:44:33.413+01:00Hell is a bus ride to Tambacounda.29/08/08<br /><br />Hell is a bus ride to Tambacounda.<br /><br />I am trying to Celebrate Africa, but I tell you these our bus driver, border officials and their mates, are not helping my mood at all!<br /><br />The bus ride was an adventure or misadventure – take your pick! - I didn’t bargain for. A journey that was supposed to take five hours became a bus-ride from hell!<br /><br />The bus left Kayes – a border town in the west of Mali- after a 2-hour wait and a mad rush to get onboard that completely disregarded the fact that you’d paid the full fare for, gasp, gasp, a seat. If you weren’t nimble, ruthless or cold-blooded you simply ended up standing all the way to Dakar. I gave up my seat for two elderly people and squeezed myself between two really large people, it was a little suffocating, but all for a good cause, and I didn’t really mind as it was going to be a mere 5-hour drive. 5 hours? Yeah, right!<br /><br />At the first immigration check-point, we all submitted our passports on command and had to pay a “special handling” fee of 1000cfa each to get them back. I’m thinking, “that’s okay, it’s normal even though it’s not written in any books anywhere but it has become institutionalised.” Again, I reminded myself that border control duty was dirty and dangerous, and that these poor, prosperous looking guards had to be helped in any way possible.<br /><br />Next, we get to the border [yes, there are two immigration posts at Kayes] and once again, we submit our passports. We wait for our names to be called out aloud, my name is called last and when I walked up to the customs official to collect my passport.<br /><br /> <em>Customs Official:</em> ‘Give me 10000cfa!’ <br /><br /><em>Sassy Nigerian Woman:</em> ‘ 1000? For what?’<br /><br />This support of Customs Officialdom is getting to be too much: I cock my fist and put in on my hip in an unmistakable gesture of defiance.<br /><br />In the meantime, the other Nigerian on the bus who has been asked for the same amount quickly pulls out a 5000cfa note, causing the immigration officer to look at him and say ‘if you don’t have the money, go to that side and wait for me’. So I follow the Nigerian man (who by the way has a Ghanaian passport, which may explain his quiet acquiescence) and we wait for a few minutes in the two-person No-Money line.<br /><br />Some Nigerians, who were travelling in the other direction toward Mail, overheard me as I complained to my fellow “sequesteree” about the injustice of the situation. These experienced border crossers, overhearing me, said to me, gently, as in the way you talk to a difficult child, ‘look, na so dem dey do for dis place o, if you come from English speaking country dem go dey treat you as dem like. Infact the Senegal side worse pass sef’<br /><br />In surprise –maybe, I was buying too much into the ECOWAS hype, I ask them ‘why 10 000, why not 1000 like all the others?’ They just laugh and tell me to bargain for 5000cfa.<br /><br />I walk up to the counter and hand out a 5000cfa bill to the official and after a long song and dance act about me being a student and not having more to give him, he accepts and signs my passport.<br /><br />Being a believer in‘The Secret’, I make promises to myself that I would cross the Senegalese border without paying a dime. Well, I guess I haven’t gotten a hang of The Secret yet, because not only did I pay 10000cfa, but the officials subjected me to a barrage of pushing, shoving and screaming, the like of which I hope never again to experience when I refused to pay. Another official seized my passport and kept yelling at me ‘ Just pay your money! Pay your money!’ This is not the Africa I was counting on Celebrating, I can tell you, gentle reader!<br /><br />Eventually, the pressure to become a good fellow traveller and to allow the bus and all of the people on board to continue on their merry way broke through my wall of resistance and I paid the bribe. It was ugly, but it had to be done, my fellow travellers were wondering whether I had taken leave of my senses, my Ghano- Nigerian brother was literally begging me to pay so that we could leave. I was boiling-point livid, but it was clear that my righteous anger was not going to resolve the problem there and then! I consoled myself by thinking that these guys obviously did not get the memo that ECOWAS citizens don’t need more than a passport to cross the border. Or maybe they did and could not be bothered.<br /><br />The thoughts kept on crossing my mind with some frequency: “surely, this is not the Africa that I left my home and family to celebrate? This one where I get beaten up when I refuse to pay a bribe? This one where they don’t even ask for a bribe nicely? Should I have stayed home?” These thoughts release me from my inhibitions and I curse these thieving Customs Officials and their brothers wherever they can be found throughout the world, but that doesn’t stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks.<br /><br />Advisory to the Senegalese government: “Stop your employees from sullying your country’s good name, or and put up signs at the border posts that say ‘Beware! Crazy officials at work’! You would be doing travellers a favour!<br /><br /><strong>Time check, 11pm.</strong><br />The bus drives for a few more minutes and drives into the customs garage at Diboli, a Senegalese border town. All the passengers begin to alight and spread cloths on the ground around the bus. Bewildered, I quickly look for the Nigerian guy, and ask, ‘what’s going on?’ ‘Oh the bus is not moving again till tomorrow morning. There are some women in this bus who have goods to declare at customs but the customs have closed so we have to wait here till morning!’ Ok, I take deep breaths, I can deal with this. I quickly take out my blanket, dab on some insect repellent and stake my claim on a spot on the ground. Bonne nuit.<br /><br /><strong>Time check, 2 am</strong>,<br />There’s a heavy wind blowing and the woman lying next to me says something loudly in Wolof. At once, all the sleeping people wake up and quickly rush back into the bus. I, as usual being clueless about what’s going-on, walk behind the bus for a quick pee. When I’m done, I turn around to see that the heavy wind has turned into a sandstorm, blowing so much sand my way. Sand in my eyes, my hair, my mouth, my clothes, everywhere!<br /><br />I run as quickly as I can back into the bus, back to my seat.<br />It begins to rain and I try to sleep in my seat, but I can’t sleep because there’s a really strong smell coming from right next to me. It smells like urine, sweat, bad breath all combined. I think the old lady and her blind husband have urinated on themselves. All the windows are closed, it’s suffocating. I can’t stay in the bus, but it’s raining outside. I chose the rain over dying by suffocation.<br /><br /><strong>Time check, 7 am.</strong><br />All the passengers are awake and in high spirits, making loud conversation and laughing loudly. I try to cheer myself up by washing my face and brushing my teeth. I discover a huge blister on my neck, I must have been bitten by an electric fly. So much for using insect repellent.<br /><br /><strong>Time check: 2pm</strong><br />We are finally back on the road and have been since 11am, which was when the almighty customs officers resumed work and cleared us. We’re eleven kilometres from Tambacounda, where I’ll be staying with my friend and her family.<br />We get pulled over, again! Customs officials on a stop and search, we all alight with our bags submitting our passports as usual. The customs official peers through all the bags and detains a passenger for daring to question his authority. We get delayed for one and a half hour. Tamba is so close yet so far away.<br /><br /><strong>Time check : 4:30 pm<br /></strong>The bus finally rolls into Tambacounda, 24 hours since I left Mamou’s family in Kayes. It looks like a dusty old town but after my ordeal on the bus, I’m ecstatic to be here. I feel sorry for the other passengers who still have to get to Dakar, another good 8 hours from Tamba. If anyone tells me they’re travelling to Senegal from Bamako by bus, I would say ‘Enter at your own peril.’Chiomahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15482934990767802747noreply@blogger.com3