About frogs and guns
Door: Sanne Holtslag
03 Augustus 2013 | Nigeria, Abuja
You probably heard of the story about the frog and the bucket with water: whenever you put a put a frog in a bucket with hot water, it immediately jumps out, feeling the danger of the boiling water. But if you put a frog in the same bucket with cold water and put it on a fire, the frog will stay in there until it is cooked alive. I often thought about the frog in the last weeks, wondering how much my co-VSO-volunteers and me resemble that frog when it comes to our sense of security.
The last weeks have been filled with amazing Nigerian experiences. I have been lucky to be based in Abuja (the capital) but working with partner organizations in three different States, allowing me to travel and stay in different communities about half of my time here. Seeing all of Nigeria’s different faces; from the rich expat-society in Abuja, to the subsistence farmers’ communities dealing with the aftermath of internal displacement because of ethnic violence. Now, two of the three States I work in have been labeled ‘orange’ in a traffic light system that VSO uses to indicate security throughout the country. This means that whenever travelling to any communities in these orange states, you need official approval from VSO’s country director and you should try to restrict your movements as much as possible, strictly no moving after sunset and always stay in contact with the local VSO volunteer..…. All in all, quite frightening places to be, based on these security procedures.
So, I can’t help but feel a little nervous as I sit in the shared taxi with my VSO colleague, which is taking us to Kafanchan, a small city in Kaduna State, to stay with another VSO volunteer and carry out interviews and meetings with different farmers and local organizations. Kaduna was the stage of some serious ethnic unrest up to one year ago. The VSO volunteer who is placed here was specifically selected because of his extensive experience in unstable African countries. One of his tasks is to start building relations with local organizations, informal networks and vigilante groups. We are still about 50 km away from Kafanchan when the amount of roadblocks by the Nigerian army increases considerably. At some stretches, every 2 km the road is blocked off with walls of sand-bags that only allow one car at a time to pass at walking-speed.
To get the full picture, let me give a quick description of the vehicle we are sitting in. Being in a shared taxi sounds quite fancy, but unfortunately shared taxis are the only means of public transport in many parts of Nigeria. In practice this means that everyone with a car (but not necessarily a driver’s license ;) ) can start his own one-man taxi service. The rule of thumb is: 4 passengers in the backseat, 2 in the front seat next to the driver, any luggage in the trunk that is tied up with ropes (either because the lock-mechanism broke a long time ago, or there is simply too much luggage to close it), and you will leave whenever the taxi is full. This can take from 5 minutes up to 2 hours. If you want to get somewhere fast and are not too worried about taking some risks, choose the battered taxi. Good chance that the driver is not too concerned about the looks of his car and has less objections against overtaking trucks right before a corner. If not in a hurry, be more picky and prepared to wait a little longer :). If you can afford it, and are travelling with luggage, buy two seats instead of one. This will also reduce your waiting time before departure and it considerably enhances your travel-comfort, since you’re not sniffing up someone’s armpit every time you take a breath. So, this is how my Indian colleague and I end up alone in the backseat of a taxi, with two big African mama’s sharing the front passenger seat. One of them sitting on the gearbox, which makes it impossible for the driver to switch gears without feeling her up.
Just before Kafanchan we approach another road-block. The driver slows down, winds down his window and turns off the Nigerian music. As with the other road-blocks, this one is manned by four soldiers; two on each side of the sand-bag maze, two sitting in at the side of the road looking bored and warm in their bullet-proof vests. They play with their AK-47’s. The soldier in front of the sand-bags looks impressive, almost 2m tall, army clothes and a gun dangling from his shoulder. He stops the car with a small gesture of his hand. He doesn’t move from his place, but only bends down to look at the driver. His face is serious and his gun taps the window as he bends over. There is some mumbling as the driver answers some questions in the local language while looking straight ahead. The soldier sticks his head through the window a little further so he can see who’s in the back seat. My Indian colleague and I have put on our biggest smile ‘Good afternoon!’. The face of the soldier changes instantly, showing an even bigger smile than ours, trying to climb through the window to shake our hands. ‘OYIBOS!!’ (white people) ‘You’re welcome! Your wife?’ He asks my colleague as he points to me. ‘No, no, colleagues, we are working in the area.’ ‘ Ah, aunty, give me your phone number!’ (turns to my colleague) ‘Give me her phone number!’ I look at the gun, still tapping the window and decide that to keep on laughing is the best strategy. Everyone in the car is laughing now, and after some more handshakes and thank you’s we pull up again. On to the next road block.
The days after, I am staying in a community just outside Kafanchan, where the VSO volunteer lives. In four days I feel so much at home; chatting with the women selling yam on the street, smiles all around, the children from the local shop owner come running towards me to be picked up, everyone knows my name. And on the back of the VSO volunteer’s bike I pass the road blocks around the community several times a day. Recognizing the soldiers after two days, just giving them a wave from day three on, not even stopping anymore. There is no place in Nigeria where I haven’t felt safer. Simply because I feel part of the community and being their guest, they will protect me in case of unrest. Everyone knows where I am and who I am. Nothing can happen to me without everyone knowing and that is the best security cover you can have. However, one evening we get some report that there has been ethnic/religious unrest in Kafanchan. Rumors tell about shooting that has either taken place of will take place somewhere the same night. We try to check up on the rumors, the VSO volunteer calling some of his local contacts amongst chiefs and vigilante leaders. Nothing is confirmed. We decide to stay in that night, but the VSO volunteer says that if he was alone, he would have gone out. Rumors like this come often, sometimes real, sometimes not. It has just become part of life in Nigeria.
And that’s when I think of the frog again; are we just being scared by all these security measures? When in reality exactly these places are safer for us because we stand out so much as outsiders who try to initiate and further positive developments in these communities, and people are grateful for that? Or are we sitting in a bucket of water that is heating up, not realizing danger when it is increasing around us because we have grown so accustomed to our surroundings? I don’t know. I do believe in general that all the security measures look great on paper and are made to prevent to worst-case scenario. But… reality feels different, experiences are different. And I do believe it is much more dangerous to lock yourself up when living in a community instead of becoming part of it. Even if that means ignoring some security codes.
The last weeks have been filled with amazing Nigerian experiences. I have been lucky to be based in Abuja (the capital) but working with partner organizations in three different States, allowing me to travel and stay in different communities about half of my time here. Seeing all of Nigeria’s different faces; from the rich expat-society in Abuja, to the subsistence farmers’ communities dealing with the aftermath of internal displacement because of ethnic violence. Now, two of the three States I work in have been labeled ‘orange’ in a traffic light system that VSO uses to indicate security throughout the country. This means that whenever travelling to any communities in these orange states, you need official approval from VSO’s country director and you should try to restrict your movements as much as possible, strictly no moving after sunset and always stay in contact with the local VSO volunteer..…. All in all, quite frightening places to be, based on these security procedures.
So, I can’t help but feel a little nervous as I sit in the shared taxi with my VSO colleague, which is taking us to Kafanchan, a small city in Kaduna State, to stay with another VSO volunteer and carry out interviews and meetings with different farmers and local organizations. Kaduna was the stage of some serious ethnic unrest up to one year ago. The VSO volunteer who is placed here was specifically selected because of his extensive experience in unstable African countries. One of his tasks is to start building relations with local organizations, informal networks and vigilante groups. We are still about 50 km away from Kafanchan when the amount of roadblocks by the Nigerian army increases considerably. At some stretches, every 2 km the road is blocked off with walls of sand-bags that only allow one car at a time to pass at walking-speed.
To get the full picture, let me give a quick description of the vehicle we are sitting in. Being in a shared taxi sounds quite fancy, but unfortunately shared taxis are the only means of public transport in many parts of Nigeria. In practice this means that everyone with a car (but not necessarily a driver’s license ;) ) can start his own one-man taxi service. The rule of thumb is: 4 passengers in the backseat, 2 in the front seat next to the driver, any luggage in the trunk that is tied up with ropes (either because the lock-mechanism broke a long time ago, or there is simply too much luggage to close it), and you will leave whenever the taxi is full. This can take from 5 minutes up to 2 hours. If you want to get somewhere fast and are not too worried about taking some risks, choose the battered taxi. Good chance that the driver is not too concerned about the looks of his car and has less objections against overtaking trucks right before a corner. If not in a hurry, be more picky and prepared to wait a little longer :). If you can afford it, and are travelling with luggage, buy two seats instead of one. This will also reduce your waiting time before departure and it considerably enhances your travel-comfort, since you’re not sniffing up someone’s armpit every time you take a breath. So, this is how my Indian colleague and I end up alone in the backseat of a taxi, with two big African mama’s sharing the front passenger seat. One of them sitting on the gearbox, which makes it impossible for the driver to switch gears without feeling her up.
Just before Kafanchan we approach another road-block. The driver slows down, winds down his window and turns off the Nigerian music. As with the other road-blocks, this one is manned by four soldiers; two on each side of the sand-bag maze, two sitting in at the side of the road looking bored and warm in their bullet-proof vests. They play with their AK-47’s. The soldier in front of the sand-bags looks impressive, almost 2m tall, army clothes and a gun dangling from his shoulder. He stops the car with a small gesture of his hand. He doesn’t move from his place, but only bends down to look at the driver. His face is serious and his gun taps the window as he bends over. There is some mumbling as the driver answers some questions in the local language while looking straight ahead. The soldier sticks his head through the window a little further so he can see who’s in the back seat. My Indian colleague and I have put on our biggest smile ‘Good afternoon!’. The face of the soldier changes instantly, showing an even bigger smile than ours, trying to climb through the window to shake our hands. ‘OYIBOS!!’ (white people) ‘You’re welcome! Your wife?’ He asks my colleague as he points to me. ‘No, no, colleagues, we are working in the area.’ ‘ Ah, aunty, give me your phone number!’ (turns to my colleague) ‘Give me her phone number!’ I look at the gun, still tapping the window and decide that to keep on laughing is the best strategy. Everyone in the car is laughing now, and after some more handshakes and thank you’s we pull up again. On to the next road block.
The days after, I am staying in a community just outside Kafanchan, where the VSO volunteer lives. In four days I feel so much at home; chatting with the women selling yam on the street, smiles all around, the children from the local shop owner come running towards me to be picked up, everyone knows my name. And on the back of the VSO volunteer’s bike I pass the road blocks around the community several times a day. Recognizing the soldiers after two days, just giving them a wave from day three on, not even stopping anymore. There is no place in Nigeria where I haven’t felt safer. Simply because I feel part of the community and being their guest, they will protect me in case of unrest. Everyone knows where I am and who I am. Nothing can happen to me without everyone knowing and that is the best security cover you can have. However, one evening we get some report that there has been ethnic/religious unrest in Kafanchan. Rumors tell about shooting that has either taken place of will take place somewhere the same night. We try to check up on the rumors, the VSO volunteer calling some of his local contacts amongst chiefs and vigilante leaders. Nothing is confirmed. We decide to stay in that night, but the VSO volunteer says that if he was alone, he would have gone out. Rumors like this come often, sometimes real, sometimes not. It has just become part of life in Nigeria.
And that’s when I think of the frog again; are we just being scared by all these security measures? When in reality exactly these places are safer for us because we stand out so much as outsiders who try to initiate and further positive developments in these communities, and people are grateful for that? Or are we sitting in a bucket of water that is heating up, not realizing danger when it is increasing around us because we have grown so accustomed to our surroundings? I don’t know. I do believe in general that all the security measures look great on paper and are made to prevent to worst-case scenario. But… reality feels different, experiences are different. And I do believe it is much more dangerous to lock yourself up when living in a community instead of becoming part of it. Even if that means ignoring some security codes.
-
03 Augustus 2013 - 22:44
Ankie:
Hiiii Sanne,
kom net uit de tuin, we hebben een stukje zalige zomer! Open mijn mail en daar ben jij :-)
Wat een fantastisch verhaal, wat fijn dat je je zo goed en veilig voelt! Het taxi-verhaal; ge-wel-dig. Zie het voor me, herkenbaar voor mij (Egypte). Ik heb hardop gelachen om de big mamma's voorin en jullie smallerds achterin.
Enne: a frog is a frog :-) Je zintuigen doen het goed volgens mij!
Morgen gaan we naar de tuin van Truus en met elkaar ergens lunchen. Ton en Ria rijden met ons mee, dus we zullen je eens uitgebreid bespreken ;-) Ik ben een trotse tante.
Take care, lieve Sanne, dank je wel dat je tijd neemt af en toe om te schrijven, ik smul ervan.
DoeiDoei XXX
Ankie -
03 Augustus 2013 - 23:21
Ankie:
PS
Wat een leuke foto's! -
04 Augustus 2013 - 09:47
Ton:
Lieve Sanne,
wat een prachtige beeldende beschrijving van jou manier van reizen. en hoe je op gaat in het gewone leven met de Nigeriaanse bevolking. En dan gezond weer een keer terug komen naar Nederland. Veel succes met je werk . Je vader. -
04 Augustus 2013 - 17:38
Hank :
Lieve Sanne
Wat leuk om ook foto's van jou op je werk te zien. Wat ben je toch een pracht mens ..Je doet het allemaal maar! Je intuïtie zal je leiden Sanne! Ik kijk uit naar je volgende verhaal. Wie reist kan veel verhalen. Tip: Waargebeurde verhalen vliegen de deur uit in de bieb.....
Liefs Hank -
05 Augustus 2013 - 04:28
Beatriz:
Hermosa:
I think security is always sense different according to your background. I feel so safe in Indonesia while many others live here in panic.
As always, you write like a pro!! Send you a big hug.
Keep safe little girl. -
05 Augustus 2013 - 10:54
Marlise:
Food for thought Sanne, hele interessante blogpost!
Pas goed op jezelf en veel liefs uit Nederland,
Marlise -
05 Augustus 2013 - 13:19
Melissa Navarra:
Great to know that you've been going places and experiencing new adventures. This entry is nicely written! Great job! Nonetheless, always trust your instinct my dear sister when it comes to danger.
Good luck on this new journey and take care always.
Loads of love,
Melissa -
05 Augustus 2013 - 15:37
Ranjana Van Dijk:
Hoi Sanne,
Spannend! Maar hopelijk blijft het wel rustig bij jou.
Knuffels,
Ranjana -
05 Augustus 2013 - 16:53
Hanneke:
Hi lieferd kijk jij uit daaro weet je nog " kom je halen" -
19 Augustus 2013 - 12:30
Lies:
We komen net terug uit een zonnig en festival-vierend België. Was gezellig at all places! En dan dit kikker epos uit donker Afrika. Ik heb genoten, Sanne, geweldig beschreven. Alle bewondering voor je houding en inschatting van de situatie. Keep safe and in touch en... voorzichtig met je tel nummer. We denken aan je.
Dikke zoen van je aunty Lies -
20 Oktober 2013 - 17:46
Hanneke:
hi gaat alles goed daaro heb al zon tijd niks van je gehoord
mail me als er wat is he kussie -
07 November 2013 - 00:49
Hillie:
Hey die Sanne!!
Het is 00:48 uur 's nachts, het waait enorm, heb zojuist weer een verslag voor school verstuurd en dach:Hoe zou het toch met mijn stoere nicht in verweggiestan zijn!? Dussss ging ik je googelen en kwam al snel bij dit verslag uit. Precies wat ik nodig had!! Heerlijke verhalen over afrika. Ik kan de lucht al ruiken. Nog even en ik pak mijn kind in een koffer en kom je opzoeken!! Helemaal als het toch zo veilig is.
Ik heb erg genoten van je verhaal. Bedankt!
Heel veel groetjes en veel plezier!
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