Overbearing in their uniforms and stance and as usual abusing their power were the managers of the pits. Always sullen with no expression and attempting to intimidate. Entering the quarry was always challenging. Often the car would be searched. Never did know what they were looking for. As they searched I waited to one side watching the expressionless faces of the small children as they sat in the dry dust and chipped away with a sharpened mallet at the stone. The sullen guards rarely spoke to me, just shouted orders to the men searching the car. Round and round they went determined to find something in order to obtain a "dash" (bribe) or stop me entering altogether and turn me around to try again another day.
Children as young as 4 years started early, before sunrise and school, to earn a few Naira to feed their families. Some never went to school preferring to earn the few pennies in order to have a daily meal. It was a long day for those that survived the day, sunrise to sunset. Filthy and working with no facial mask constantly engulfed in clouds of dust these children never waivered and never stopped. Boys and girls carried out this labour.
The dangers were immense. Many children died under a landslide or suffered at the very least horrible injuries, some of which disabled them for life. Flying fragments from the hammering flew into eyes and blinded them, others broke limbs from falling from great heights on unstable ground, not to mention the lung disorders they would suffer as adults from the working environment.
No health and safety practices. No environmental health. No protective clothing. No minimum wage. No working time agreements. No laws.
When my colleagues and I visited we just delivered water and food. The children knew why we came and flocked to the car, helped us unpack and tucked into the food and beverages. For many this was their first smile and break of the day and, for some the week. At the school we opened we lost several children to accidents in the quarry.
On my return, weak hot milky tea was waiting for me made by a student to revive and refresh me.
Friday 4 March 2016
Domestic Abuse in Nigeria
Recently I was contacted and made aware of this ladies abuse by a post she placed on Facebook. Her story is as follows:
On the 4th of November this got an offer letter to commence as the Secretary to the Vice Chairman of The Flour Mills Nigeria Plc obtained through a Recruitment Agent. Due to the fact that the Vice Chairman (who she was employed to work for) was out of town she was asked to commence at The Flour Mills Nigeria Plc for a supposed induction. It was during this period that she met Ikechukwu an IT help desk employee. In order that employees without vehicles can commence work many employees car share. This gentleman lived a few streets from the lady in question and offered her a ride to work with several other colleagues.
From this time communications began and it started to become a relationship. At the beginning of December she was advised that the Vice Chairman had now returned and she was to join him and work at the Flour Mill offices in Ikoyi. She stayed in touch with Ikechukwu and saw him in the area. Towards the end of December she mentioned she had accommodation issues to Ikechukwu and wanted to find a place of her own but explained she was not financially able. She mentioned to him she was going to take a loan from Ren Money Micro-finance Bank, which she went ahead and processed. He was of the opinion that once she got the loan she should hand over the money to him so they could rent a place together. Quietly, she rejected this offer because she didn't want to become a sex slave to him, which was something he had requested from the beginning of the relationship. He also demanded for awkward sex moves, which she refused and declined. He called her all sorts of names, which she ignored. Ikechukwu went ahead and paid the agent to get the house where he had people he could use, that's why they kept asking me who the landlord of the house was.
Eventually, she paid for the house with another agent at Ita Faaji, Ikotun and secured the house at Oja in Agodo, Ikotun. From the moment she secured the house she noticed he was not happy about it. She asked him once to come and see the house but he refused and commented that she should not have taken this particular house and that his father's had a house in Ikotun and she could have lived there. Again she refused this offer and he got a carpenter to fix the house while she was at work.
She moved into the house at Ikotun and it was peaceful the first week. He kept asking her about the house; she mentioned she was not used to living alone but she would get used to it. She noticed during conversations that he always knew when she got home, what she was wearing in the house and when she went out to buy something. She got so furious on one particular day that she had to peep outside to see if she could see him. She took all this as a joke initially, but after 2 weeks of staying in the house they started to have communication problems. Banging on her front door and ceiling started. She would wake up 2.00 and 3.00am shouting "who is there" and would hear footsteps run off. She complained to him and asked him what he felt she should do, he just laughed at her and made fun of her and when she said she was going to report the problems to the police, he sounded alarmed and quickly replied, "don't do anything to your neighbors, they are good people". She has to pause and pinched herself. How did he know they were good neighbors if he had not been to the house behind her back?
These incidences continued and each time she threatened him with the police nothing would happen for a week then when whoever would see no police activity the behaviour returned. This was happening all the time they were having communication difficulties and at this time she noticed he had a particular sex worker that he hired for sex and her naked pictures were on his phone. There were times the sex worker would even call him while they were at a restaurant and he would snap at her lying that the phone call was from his cousin.
She talked to the agent who got the house and he gave all sorts of excuses. The issue became serious when the said landlord came around one day and and asked to discuss everything and she discovered it had all been a set up with everyone covering for each other. At the end of the discussions one of them told her not to worry and that it was someone that she know that was causing the problems and the person wants to get in the house and so they suggested she put light outside so she could see him when he passed by. At this time Ikechukwu was pressurising her to leave Ikotun and go to live with her younger brother. She advised him she would be staying in Ikotun even if it was far away, but he kept pressurising and complaining that he hardly ever saw her. Unfortunately she obliged, to have peace from all the banging, but that was an error, because that gave him an avenue to have access to her and her home.
She moved to her brother's house and only went to Ikotun at the weekends; the moving didn't help the relationship as it became more difficult to communicate with him. She requested her documents be returned that were on his hard disk and asked for them to be copied to her PC. He refused insisting that he would copy them to her PC himself, but he never did. The arguments became heated and constant and since she couldn't put up with the stress any more, the relationship was falling apart. She arranged to collect her data and he began to comment suggesting what the evil he can do to her. She was a little taken back and remembered he confessed once to her that he had joined a cult and had connection to do with "jazz". She asked him about it but he advised he had left , which eventually she found out was a lie. He still had not returned her data and she couldn't access her CV, personal credentials, pictures and other personal items and he had begun using this personal information against her.
They kept trying to make the relationship work and then he came arrived at her house at and was to supposed to deliver some products she was taking to work. But before his visit the office dispatch rider had already asked her during a conversation if it was true that Ikechukwu was able to come to her house in her absence. She was shocked, but kept quiet and when he came to drop the product at her house he was behaving strangely and was scanning the ceiling and laughing. She asked him what he was looking for, he said nothing. When she saw him out she was surprised when one of her neighbours, a young guy, recognised him and was very shocked. She was very puzzled and gave him a curious look but he would not answer or speak to her.
During this period she got a call from Ren Money Micro-finance Bank telling her that they couldn't take a payment from her bank account. She was furious because they had deducted the first month with no problems. Later they sent a text asking her to pay into a GTB account and it was during this time Ikechukwu also opened a GTB account which she had queried and asked him why and for what? He just started stamping his feet on the floor and refused to give an answer. Then the worst occurred when she got a call from the "so called" Ren Money Micro-finance Bank from a man called Seun telling her that she should resign from work and they would waive her loan. She called the marketer that worked there and was told that the guys were wicked and she had better pay their money. She asked "which guys?" She was so sure Ikechukwu had a hand in it as he had previously been pressurising her to resign from work when she refused to request money from her boss.
She told Ikechukwu about the Ren Money Micro-finance Bank issue and he just laughed at her when she got angry and deleted his numbers from her phone. He still tried to insist they stay as friends but she said she was not willing to because he was passing her personal details around. In fact he had messed with her phone and before she knew it he was diverting her calls and even calling her contacts telling them all sorts of rubbish and sending them all the dirty photo shopped photographs he had with him just to hinder and stop anyone who might be interested in having any relationship with her. He was endeavouring to isolate her from male and female relationships and friendships and it didn't matter whether it was work, business or any positive yielding relationship.
She attempted to moved on with her life, but Ikechukwu never did; he continued to stalk her. He started hacking into her e-mails and social media accounts; even sending e-mails and starting conversations with her friends and contacts. She became scared to send e-mails for her boss since he kept hacking her e-mails accounts. He would even use the documents her boss asked her to send via my e-mail. She saw him twice at her house in Ikotun late at night, while she was taking a bath. He would walk past the window and on another day around 11.00pm she saw him walking around the compound. She yelled "what do you want", he simply walked fast and went into the neighbours apartment. Another day she came out early, around 4:30am, going to work and saw him in the next door neighbours living room. He actually stood up from the sofa he was sleeping and she was so shocked to see him, wondering what he was doing at Ikotun when he lives in Idi-Araba. Another day, a friend who she complained to about the incidence, came to visit and while she escorted her friend to her home, low and behold they met Ikechukwu coming into the premises, immediately when he saw us he almost turned to run but she thinks he felt she didn't recognise him because she didn't acknowledge him and he walked straight past them and entered the neighbours house right next door to her apartment. On another day she was returning from work and saw him running out of the premises, from the side of her apartment and she saw they had been inside her apartment, destroying her possessions and pouring sand and stone into her food.
Ikechukwu, while they were dating refused to let her see his friend, or have any closeness to anything about him but one day she forcibly confronted him in his area of town and she caught sight of two of his friends, who just looked at him, gave him a knowing look of which he just returned. He went as far as taken her shoes, clothes and personal belongings to perform "jazz". He joined forces with the neighbours so that when she was working on her PC at home, she would hear him asking, "what is she doing?" Another day she returned from work and he drove past her in a red VW golf, stopped, looked at her and started laughing.
The ceiling climbing became more severe when the relationship ended, so much so that her ceiling was punctured. She went to the Police Station, who took a statement . Then all of a sudden he stood up and told her she should go home and that they couldn't arrest the person unless she came out to grab him in the middle of the night but she should not allow him to rape her because that's what he wants to do. She was absolutely perplexed. She was more surprised when she had to go to her church and eventually when the problem became too much to bear she went to her Pastor for some counseling and support and was shocked when the Pastor advised that she should understand that when a man is chasing you that he wants to marry you by force. He told her to go away and when she knew he would let her know when she needed deliverance. I got up feeling stupid and was like, "what, this is even going on in the church?"
She eventually managed to pay the loan back and resigned from work after he placed her pictures in every bus stop. He told everyone that he wanted to marry her but that her boss at work wanted to steal her from him and that she was just after money. Everyday when she goes to work she gets regular abuse, especially senseless females who think his behaviour is love. As if that is not enough, he took the pictures to every single area around where her home is and where she might go for an interview and when that was not enough, he started taking photos of her socialising in local hotels and insinuating that she was harlot. Later he would tell people she was insane. He then started photo shopping her picture with that of the sex worker he carries on with and proceeds to show people pictures of her having sex with him or holding his penis or even doing absurd things which are false. This is the man she told bluntly she was never going to have sex with him and then he said he would sort himself out. She wondered what he meant by that comment until she saw the naked pictures of the sex worker he has sex with on his phone. She so shocked the day she saw pictures on Facebook photo shopped like that of a harlot. No one knew of that picture or had it not even her, it had to be him. He steals her ideas and sells them, says he writes her social media articles and regularly uses her tweets.
She reported this case to a Lagos State NGO and was away in one of their homes for seven months, She came back this July and this man is back at stalking her again; running to places showing them pictures that are not her and telling all sorts of lies about her. In fact he set up women who regularly abuse her, calling her names at the house and at work. He has photo shopped naked pictures his sex worker with her face on them instead of the sex work. It is amusing that his parents are the leaders at Deeper Life Bible Church, Idi-Araba. She wants to believe they know what their son is doing, and wants to believe that some people at The Flour Mills are aware of this, yet they are not saying anything. He as been lying to individuals that he is married, which is a lie; he is not married and keeps a sex worker permanently in his parents house Idi-Araba Lagos. Recently she started working and suddenly someone from the Ren Money Micro-finance Bank Lawyers started calling her again using a series of Etisalat numbers. She informed a friend who knew the proceedings of Ren Money Micro-finance Bank and who told her they were scammers. He personally called her himself one a day and was yelling go and pay your money; he dropped the call when he knew I had identified his voice. Just recently someone used one of an old account to send e-mails to her new account and she is sure it is him.
His motives for all the stalking:
1. To get her to have sex with him at all cost as he told her that's what he does to all females and is now it is her turn
2. To get and extort money from her by any and all means
3. To stop her from having another relationship
4. To stop her from achieving and fulfilling purpose
5. To live with her and use her financially
6. Keep her as a sex slave
This man is a criminal and should be exposed and stopped; this woman has been forced to go this far by contacting me, telling her story of domestic abuse and violence and asking for it to be placed on my blog. This vile man is doing this to many other women also and will continue to do so unless more women have the same courage to speak up and share their stories. Due to the vast corruption in Nigeria and the culture this woman has little chance of exposing him. The above story is classic abuse. An abuser walks into their victims life and turns it upside down by isolating and grooming family, friends and work colleagues. None of this is ok. He and others must be stopped. Please read and share this lady's story. This behaviour can happen to anyone of us. Abuse has no boundaries or social standing. Ikechukwu is a psychopath presenting with sociopathic and narcisstic behaviour. He has no conscience.
Published with permission from the lady in question.
02.12.15
On the 4th of November this got an offer letter to commence as the Secretary to the Vice Chairman of The Flour Mills Nigeria Plc obtained through a Recruitment Agent. Due to the fact that the Vice Chairman (who she was employed to work for) was out of town she was asked to commence at The Flour Mills Nigeria Plc for a supposed induction. It was during this period that she met Ikechukwu an IT help desk employee. In order that employees without vehicles can commence work many employees car share. This gentleman lived a few streets from the lady in question and offered her a ride to work with several other colleagues.
From this time communications began and it started to become a relationship. At the beginning of December she was advised that the Vice Chairman had now returned and she was to join him and work at the Flour Mill offices in Ikoyi. She stayed in touch with Ikechukwu and saw him in the area. Towards the end of December she mentioned she had accommodation issues to Ikechukwu and wanted to find a place of her own but explained she was not financially able. She mentioned to him she was going to take a loan from Ren Money Micro-finance Bank, which she went ahead and processed. He was of the opinion that once she got the loan she should hand over the money to him so they could rent a place together. Quietly, she rejected this offer because she didn't want to become a sex slave to him, which was something he had requested from the beginning of the relationship. He also demanded for awkward sex moves, which she refused and declined. He called her all sorts of names, which she ignored. Ikechukwu went ahead and paid the agent to get the house where he had people he could use, that's why they kept asking me who the landlord of the house was.
Eventually, she paid for the house with another agent at Ita Faaji, Ikotun and secured the house at Oja in Agodo, Ikotun. From the moment she secured the house she noticed he was not happy about it. She asked him once to come and see the house but he refused and commented that she should not have taken this particular house and that his father's had a house in Ikotun and she could have lived there. Again she refused this offer and he got a carpenter to fix the house while she was at work.
She moved into the house at Ikotun and it was peaceful the first week. He kept asking her about the house; she mentioned she was not used to living alone but she would get used to it. She noticed during conversations that he always knew when she got home, what she was wearing in the house and when she went out to buy something. She got so furious on one particular day that she had to peep outside to see if she could see him. She took all this as a joke initially, but after 2 weeks of staying in the house they started to have communication problems. Banging on her front door and ceiling started. She would wake up 2.00 and 3.00am shouting "who is there" and would hear footsteps run off. She complained to him and asked him what he felt she should do, he just laughed at her and made fun of her and when she said she was going to report the problems to the police, he sounded alarmed and quickly replied, "don't do anything to your neighbors, they are good people". She has to pause and pinched herself. How did he know they were good neighbors if he had not been to the house behind her back?
These incidences continued and each time she threatened him with the police nothing would happen for a week then when whoever would see no police activity the behaviour returned. This was happening all the time they were having communication difficulties and at this time she noticed he had a particular sex worker that he hired for sex and her naked pictures were on his phone. There were times the sex worker would even call him while they were at a restaurant and he would snap at her lying that the phone call was from his cousin.
She talked to the agent who got the house and he gave all sorts of excuses. The issue became serious when the said landlord came around one day and and asked to discuss everything and she discovered it had all been a set up with everyone covering for each other. At the end of the discussions one of them told her not to worry and that it was someone that she know that was causing the problems and the person wants to get in the house and so they suggested she put light outside so she could see him when he passed by. At this time Ikechukwu was pressurising her to leave Ikotun and go to live with her younger brother. She advised him she would be staying in Ikotun even if it was far away, but he kept pressurising and complaining that he hardly ever saw her. Unfortunately she obliged, to have peace from all the banging, but that was an error, because that gave him an avenue to have access to her and her home.
She moved to her brother's house and only went to Ikotun at the weekends; the moving didn't help the relationship as it became more difficult to communicate with him. She requested her documents be returned that were on his hard disk and asked for them to be copied to her PC. He refused insisting that he would copy them to her PC himself, but he never did. The arguments became heated and constant and since she couldn't put up with the stress any more, the relationship was falling apart. She arranged to collect her data and he began to comment suggesting what the evil he can do to her. She was a little taken back and remembered he confessed once to her that he had joined a cult and had connection to do with "jazz". She asked him about it but he advised he had left , which eventually she found out was a lie. He still had not returned her data and she couldn't access her CV, personal credentials, pictures and other personal items and he had begun using this personal information against her.
They kept trying to make the relationship work and then he came arrived at her house at and was to supposed to deliver some products she was taking to work. But before his visit the office dispatch rider had already asked her during a conversation if it was true that Ikechukwu was able to come to her house in her absence. She was shocked, but kept quiet and when he came to drop the product at her house he was behaving strangely and was scanning the ceiling and laughing. She asked him what he was looking for, he said nothing. When she saw him out she was surprised when one of her neighbours, a young guy, recognised him and was very shocked. She was very puzzled and gave him a curious look but he would not answer or speak to her.
During this period she got a call from Ren Money Micro-finance Bank telling her that they couldn't take a payment from her bank account. She was furious because they had deducted the first month with no problems. Later they sent a text asking her to pay into a GTB account and it was during this time Ikechukwu also opened a GTB account which she had queried and asked him why and for what? He just started stamping his feet on the floor and refused to give an answer. Then the worst occurred when she got a call from the "so called" Ren Money Micro-finance Bank from a man called Seun telling her that she should resign from work and they would waive her loan. She called the marketer that worked there and was told that the guys were wicked and she had better pay their money. She asked "which guys?" She was so sure Ikechukwu had a hand in it as he had previously been pressurising her to resign from work when she refused to request money from her boss.
She told Ikechukwu about the Ren Money Micro-finance Bank issue and he just laughed at her when she got angry and deleted his numbers from her phone. He still tried to insist they stay as friends but she said she was not willing to because he was passing her personal details around. In fact he had messed with her phone and before she knew it he was diverting her calls and even calling her contacts telling them all sorts of rubbish and sending them all the dirty photo shopped photographs he had with him just to hinder and stop anyone who might be interested in having any relationship with her. He was endeavouring to isolate her from male and female relationships and friendships and it didn't matter whether it was work, business or any positive yielding relationship.
She attempted to moved on with her life, but Ikechukwu never did; he continued to stalk her. He started hacking into her e-mails and social media accounts; even sending e-mails and starting conversations with her friends and contacts. She became scared to send e-mails for her boss since he kept hacking her e-mails accounts. He would even use the documents her boss asked her to send via my e-mail. She saw him twice at her house in Ikotun late at night, while she was taking a bath. He would walk past the window and on another day around 11.00pm she saw him walking around the compound. She yelled "what do you want", he simply walked fast and went into the neighbours apartment. Another day she came out early, around 4:30am, going to work and saw him in the next door neighbours living room. He actually stood up from the sofa he was sleeping and she was so shocked to see him, wondering what he was doing at Ikotun when he lives in Idi-Araba. Another day, a friend who she complained to about the incidence, came to visit and while she escorted her friend to her home, low and behold they met Ikechukwu coming into the premises, immediately when he saw us he almost turned to run but she thinks he felt she didn't recognise him because she didn't acknowledge him and he walked straight past them and entered the neighbours house right next door to her apartment. On another day she was returning from work and saw him running out of the premises, from the side of her apartment and she saw they had been inside her apartment, destroying her possessions and pouring sand and stone into her food.
Ikechukwu, while they were dating refused to let her see his friend, or have any closeness to anything about him but one day she forcibly confronted him in his area of town and she caught sight of two of his friends, who just looked at him, gave him a knowing look of which he just returned. He went as far as taken her shoes, clothes and personal belongings to perform "jazz". He joined forces with the neighbours so that when she was working on her PC at home, she would hear him asking, "what is she doing?" Another day she returned from work and he drove past her in a red VW golf, stopped, looked at her and started laughing.
The ceiling climbing became more severe when the relationship ended, so much so that her ceiling was punctured. She went to the Police Station, who took a statement . Then all of a sudden he stood up and told her she should go home and that they couldn't arrest the person unless she came out to grab him in the middle of the night but she should not allow him to rape her because that's what he wants to do. She was absolutely perplexed. She was more surprised when she had to go to her church and eventually when the problem became too much to bear she went to her Pastor for some counseling and support and was shocked when the Pastor advised that she should understand that when a man is chasing you that he wants to marry you by force. He told her to go away and when she knew he would let her know when she needed deliverance. I got up feeling stupid and was like, "what, this is even going on in the church?"
She eventually managed to pay the loan back and resigned from work after he placed her pictures in every bus stop. He told everyone that he wanted to marry her but that her boss at work wanted to steal her from him and that she was just after money. Everyday when she goes to work she gets regular abuse, especially senseless females who think his behaviour is love. As if that is not enough, he took the pictures to every single area around where her home is and where she might go for an interview and when that was not enough, he started taking photos of her socialising in local hotels and insinuating that she was harlot. Later he would tell people she was insane. He then started photo shopping her picture with that of the sex worker he carries on with and proceeds to show people pictures of her having sex with him or holding his penis or even doing absurd things which are false. This is the man she told bluntly she was never going to have sex with him and then he said he would sort himself out. She wondered what he meant by that comment until she saw the naked pictures of the sex worker he has sex with on his phone. She so shocked the day she saw pictures on Facebook photo shopped like that of a harlot. No one knew of that picture or had it not even her, it had to be him. He steals her ideas and sells them, says he writes her social media articles and regularly uses her tweets.
She reported this case to a Lagos State NGO and was away in one of their homes for seven months, She came back this July and this man is back at stalking her again; running to places showing them pictures that are not her and telling all sorts of lies about her. In fact he set up women who regularly abuse her, calling her names at the house and at work. He has photo shopped naked pictures his sex worker with her face on them instead of the sex work. It is amusing that his parents are the leaders at Deeper Life Bible Church, Idi-Araba. She wants to believe they know what their son is doing, and wants to believe that some people at The Flour Mills are aware of this, yet they are not saying anything. He as been lying to individuals that he is married, which is a lie; he is not married and keeps a sex worker permanently in his parents house Idi-Araba Lagos. Recently she started working and suddenly someone from the Ren Money Micro-finance Bank Lawyers started calling her again using a series of Etisalat numbers. She informed a friend who knew the proceedings of Ren Money Micro-finance Bank and who told her they were scammers. He personally called her himself one a day and was yelling go and pay your money; he dropped the call when he knew I had identified his voice. Just recently someone used one of an old account to send e-mails to her new account and she is sure it is him.
His motives for all the stalking:
1. To get her to have sex with him at all cost as he told her that's what he does to all females and is now it is her turn
2. To get and extort money from her by any and all means
3. To stop her from having another relationship
4. To stop her from achieving and fulfilling purpose
5. To live with her and use her financially
6. Keep her as a sex slave
This man is a criminal and should be exposed and stopped; this woman has been forced to go this far by contacting me, telling her story of domestic abuse and violence and asking for it to be placed on my blog. This vile man is doing this to many other women also and will continue to do so unless more women have the same courage to speak up and share their stories. Due to the vast corruption in Nigeria and the culture this woman has little chance of exposing him. The above story is classic abuse. An abuser walks into their victims life and turns it upside down by isolating and grooming family, friends and work colleagues. None of this is ok. He and others must be stopped. Please read and share this lady's story. This behaviour can happen to anyone of us. Abuse has no boundaries or social standing. Ikechukwu is a psychopath presenting with sociopathic and narcisstic behaviour. He has no conscience.
Published with permission from the lady in question.
02.12.15
Children in Lagos
With many of the older generations being illiterate, having never had the opportunity to go to school, it is hard for the younger generations to gain support in their homes with school work and is more obvious in rural African villages.
When I arrived in Africa it was interesting to witness children who had limited concentration skills, lacked listening skills and didn’t know what phonics was, couldn't read or write no IT skills, hadn't played a board game and had never had a story read to them. A beautiful ebony skinned talented seven year little girl presented me with her journal filled with wonderful drawings depicting her life with friends in Africa. Although this little one was a talented artist she was not proficient in literacy or math; we spent many hours together “reading” her drawings and her telling me in depth stories about her childhood through her pencil drawings. Asking open ended questions of her work, her imagination ran riot and I had a hard time ending these wonderful stories spewing from her mouth for hours on end.
When I sat down to spend time with each little doe eyed child, they were so active and willing to learn. They wanted and craved one to one attention and fought to be up close to me; it was often claustrophobic. Every piece of learning I offered was sucked up and their appetites could not be sated. Like the traditional American Indian Storyteller, I was clambered over constantly and suffocated with excited children craving to get more of me and my teachings...it was an exhaustive pleasure to work with these little people. My lap was full to overflowing. If they heard I was not appearing for a day or so sad whispers, cries and sighs echoed after my departure and if they heard I was returning tomorrow, hurrahs, laughter and whoops resounded as I entered the room and no minute of the day was my own.
One handsome little boy of five years took a shine to me and wanted my total attention. For the first time in his short life he found learning and began responding to his homework and suddenly began to enjoy engaging with books and conversations positively. He couldn't read or write when I arrived, nor could he count or sound letters, he knew no colours and his family spent little time giving him support. Living with his grandparents who were illiterate and spoke limited English, it was almost impossible to complete his school and homework. His family were aware and saddened they could not help and did their very best but with no schooling themselves it was nigh on impossible. By the time I left he could write his letters and numbers, had begun to sound his letters and had a hunger to learn and asked for a story every day. It had been a pleasure to get to know this boy and to be able to see him develop.
The classrooms were old fashioned, basic and tired in decor. Often run down and shabby but teachers did their best and at least there was school. Teacher training was an issue, very limited and backward....no Early Years Foundation Stage here, no safeguarding, no behaviour or social networking policies and discipline was antiquated and harsh....let's just say we would not be allowed to practice it and I was extremely uncomfortable with their methods and thinking, like poking children with a long cane. So embedded in their culture, way of life and upbringing, the teachers had no understanding of my concerns. Indoctrinated by spiritualism and often the witch doctors they had entrenched beliefs that to us Westerners are wild and weird. In class they sat in formal rows behind old fashioned wooden lift top desks with ink wells, facing a traditional large grey blackboard, that desperately needed blackening. No interactive white boards, PC's or laptops in these classrooms and limited paper and pencils, fascinating to say the least. My large array of paper, colouring pencils, story and exercise books, that I had carried in my suitcase, did not stretch very far but for those children it did reach, it was appreciated and thoroughly enjoyed.
In rural schools the same meal is delivered every day, beans and rice, rice and beans and sometimes egosi may be thrown in for good measure. Children eat because they have to eat, it maybe all they get that day. Phenomenally, they all had mobiles, but often nothing else and were out of proportionally addicted to all the latest technology. Materialism was part of the mind set and culture in many ways. Few clothes, no school books, no reading books, limited food and money but always the current technology.
School uniforms were curious too; often brightly coloured, the girls wore over sized calf length dresses, with white starched "peter pan" collars, thick ankle socks and chunky badly fitting second hand shoes and carried traditionally shaped brown leather satchels. The boys wore brightly coloured over sized knee length shorts, stiff starched white shirts, ankle socks, chunky trainers and carried the same satchels as the girls. In their masses these brightly clad children walked, sometimes for miles, to and from school each morning and evening in the blistering heat only to begin housework and washing when they arrived home. Uniforms were washed each day, by hand on a ridged wash board over a metal pail, and hung to dry on ropes on patios; shopping, cooking and cleaning had to be completed and the children were expected to assist. If there was a few minutes to play, they played in the dusty crater filled streets and gutters with handmade cars and trucks recycled from trash while rusty scooters, cars, trucks and buses wove their way around them.
At the end of my day I was driven back to my very basic hotel room; I doused myself down with cold water in my make shift shower, hand washed my clothes and hung them to dry and retired for some well-earned rest to recharge my body and brain for another day. I snuggled down with my book and a good strong cuppa before the electricity was pulled and darkness obliterated all sense of meaning and I retreated into the land of nod. What seemed like only a few hours later I was woken, at 5.00 am, to the sound of wails calling the locals to prayer, one hundred percent humidity and bitten to bits by mosquitoes and sand fly? And so starts another teaching day in Africa.
When I arrived in Africa it was interesting to witness children who had limited concentration skills, lacked listening skills and didn’t know what phonics was, couldn't read or write no IT skills, hadn't played a board game and had never had a story read to them. A beautiful ebony skinned talented seven year little girl presented me with her journal filled with wonderful drawings depicting her life with friends in Africa. Although this little one was a talented artist she was not proficient in literacy or math; we spent many hours together “reading” her drawings and her telling me in depth stories about her childhood through her pencil drawings. Asking open ended questions of her work, her imagination ran riot and I had a hard time ending these wonderful stories spewing from her mouth for hours on end.
When I sat down to spend time with each little doe eyed child, they were so active and willing to learn. They wanted and craved one to one attention and fought to be up close to me; it was often claustrophobic. Every piece of learning I offered was sucked up and their appetites could not be sated. Like the traditional American Indian Storyteller, I was clambered over constantly and suffocated with excited children craving to get more of me and my teachings...it was an exhaustive pleasure to work with these little people. My lap was full to overflowing. If they heard I was not appearing for a day or so sad whispers, cries and sighs echoed after my departure and if they heard I was returning tomorrow, hurrahs, laughter and whoops resounded as I entered the room and no minute of the day was my own.
One handsome little boy of five years took a shine to me and wanted my total attention. For the first time in his short life he found learning and began responding to his homework and suddenly began to enjoy engaging with books and conversations positively. He couldn't read or write when I arrived, nor could he count or sound letters, he knew no colours and his family spent little time giving him support. Living with his grandparents who were illiterate and spoke limited English, it was almost impossible to complete his school and homework. His family were aware and saddened they could not help and did their very best but with no schooling themselves it was nigh on impossible. By the time I left he could write his letters and numbers, had begun to sound his letters and had a hunger to learn and asked for a story every day. It had been a pleasure to get to know this boy and to be able to see him develop.
The classrooms were old fashioned, basic and tired in decor. Often run down and shabby but teachers did their best and at least there was school. Teacher training was an issue, very limited and backward....no Early Years Foundation Stage here, no safeguarding, no behaviour or social networking policies and discipline was antiquated and harsh....let's just say we would not be allowed to practice it and I was extremely uncomfortable with their methods and thinking, like poking children with a long cane. So embedded in their culture, way of life and upbringing, the teachers had no understanding of my concerns. Indoctrinated by spiritualism and often the witch doctors they had entrenched beliefs that to us Westerners are wild and weird. In class they sat in formal rows behind old fashioned wooden lift top desks with ink wells, facing a traditional large grey blackboard, that desperately needed blackening. No interactive white boards, PC's or laptops in these classrooms and limited paper and pencils, fascinating to say the least. My large array of paper, colouring pencils, story and exercise books, that I had carried in my suitcase, did not stretch very far but for those children it did reach, it was appreciated and thoroughly enjoyed.
In rural schools the same meal is delivered every day, beans and rice, rice and beans and sometimes egosi may be thrown in for good measure. Children eat because they have to eat, it maybe all they get that day. Phenomenally, they all had mobiles, but often nothing else and were out of proportionally addicted to all the latest technology. Materialism was part of the mind set and culture in many ways. Few clothes, no school books, no reading books, limited food and money but always the current technology.
School uniforms were curious too; often brightly coloured, the girls wore over sized calf length dresses, with white starched "peter pan" collars, thick ankle socks and chunky badly fitting second hand shoes and carried traditionally shaped brown leather satchels. The boys wore brightly coloured over sized knee length shorts, stiff starched white shirts, ankle socks, chunky trainers and carried the same satchels as the girls. In their masses these brightly clad children walked, sometimes for miles, to and from school each morning and evening in the blistering heat only to begin housework and washing when they arrived home. Uniforms were washed each day, by hand on a ridged wash board over a metal pail, and hung to dry on ropes on patios; shopping, cooking and cleaning had to be completed and the children were expected to assist. If there was a few minutes to play, they played in the dusty crater filled streets and gutters with handmade cars and trucks recycled from trash while rusty scooters, cars, trucks and buses wove their way around them.
Every evening I had a hard time dragging myself away from these gorgeous little ones; their little faces with wide eyes said it all, “please stay, don’t go; don’t leave us.” They never wanted me to leave and I often did not want to go but I was usually exhausted by the end of the day from the intense pressure to continually sate the learning appetite of these under nourished brains, the constant mauling of my body and calling of "miss" all day. If the only thing I had done was to stimulate the passion for books and learning then my mission was accomplished.
I lived many miles from where I was teaching and the traffic was heavy and slow, the electricity was non-existent, water was in short supply, no washer or dryer, antiquated air conditioning units, corruption all around me and the pressure of constantly being asked for money or a “dash” was draining. Everything about living in this part of Africa was hard work and exhausting. No one could be trusted and so called friends hung around me because I was white and rich…or so they believed. Everywhere I went I had to be accompanied by a body guard to ensure my safety, that was exhausting in itself; I could never go out alone or with a girlfriend. Even the police could not be trusted. There was a constant fear of kidnapping.At the end of my day I was driven back to my very basic hotel room; I doused myself down with cold water in my make shift shower, hand washed my clothes and hung them to dry and retired for some well-earned rest to recharge my body and brain for another day. I snuggled down with my book and a good strong cuppa before the electricity was pulled and darkness obliterated all sense of meaning and I retreated into the land of nod. What seemed like only a few hours later I was woken, at 5.00 am, to the sound of wails calling the locals to prayer, one hundred percent humidity and bitten to bits by mosquitoes and sand fly? And so starts another teaching day in Africa.
An Market in Lagos
Health and safety would have a field day...no licenses, no cling wrap, no vacuum packing, no sell by dates...visiting an African open air market place.
Full of pulsating colour, fabrics, kerosene, curry and hair products; large personalities, buxom females and colloquial dialogues, I was thrust, as a very English Mrs Teacup into a world that was fascinatingly unintelligible. Tin shacks lined muddy alleyways that wove their way amongst boldly and elaborately dressed Nigerian women manning stalls and shacks selling everything you could possibly need, from cosmetics to fresh tomatoes and hair extensions to the tail of a cow.
No concrete, tarmac or linoleum covered the earths floor, so dodging puddles, ditches and craters, my African companion steered, guided and protected me along the narrow alleys, weaving in and out of black African's who tried their best to touch and stroke me.....me, the only white face in a sea of ebony.....and again the whisper of "white woman, white woman" cascaded through the alleyways, shacks and shoppers. These whispers went before me, like a river, I never overtook these words; they went before me. As they flowed and wound their way, inquisitive black faces peeked out, around corrugated tin walls, to view this unusual mirage that had descended upon this mind-blowing place.
Vibrant and vibrating with chatter, music and richly coloured traditional dress, the market was alive with Africa. This was Nigeria at its best. Fascinating, awesome and truly an experience made in heaven, I loved it. Jaw open, eyes wide, head lurching from side to side, I enjoyed the African-ness of it all as my companion held on to me tightly and guided me to the relevant lean-toos to realise our purchases. We bought fresh fruits and homemade hot freshly made chilli tomato sauce. We watched the animated African mama squish the tomatoes, chop the onions, slice the chillies and add all to a massive antiquated aluminium blender and pour the pureed sauce into a lidded pot we supplied ourselves. No health and safety regulations here.
On we continued to purchase meat.....Oh my.....was this an eye opener and an over powering stench as we entered the meat market. On ancient rickety wooden benches, upon a mud laden floor, were slabs of goat, cow, pig and chickens laying and hanging for as far as the eye could see. There were pig totters, strung up chickens, cow legs and cow tails decorating every part of the corrugated tin roof along with masses of flies and mosquitoes that buzzed irritatingly and persistently around us and the carcasses. I don't know how I didn't vomit; the stench was horrific, the atmosphere like a free for all abattoirs. Machetes lay nonchalantly everywhere and excesses of blood ran under our feet into ditches, gullies and puddles, where large fat mossies feasted hungrily on any available blood.
My jaw dropped further open and I knew I had to get out of there. My companion purchased his large slabs of goat, beef and a chicken and feeling sick to my stomach and faint, I was whisked through the mud and puddle ridden alleys back to the flooded, car infested main road where our car awaited and where the "white woman, white woman" whispers now lagged and faded behind me.
I could not stomach cow tail, goat, beans and hot red sauce for dinner; Nigerian porridge and a cuppa tea was my preferred supper.
Full of pulsating colour, fabrics, kerosene, curry and hair products; large personalities, buxom females and colloquial dialogues, I was thrust, as a very English Mrs Teacup into a world that was fascinatingly unintelligible. Tin shacks lined muddy alleyways that wove their way amongst boldly and elaborately dressed Nigerian women manning stalls and shacks selling everything you could possibly need, from cosmetics to fresh tomatoes and hair extensions to the tail of a cow.
No concrete, tarmac or linoleum covered the earths floor, so dodging puddles, ditches and craters, my African companion steered, guided and protected me along the narrow alleys, weaving in and out of black African's who tried their best to touch and stroke me.....me, the only white face in a sea of ebony.....and again the whisper of "white woman, white woman" cascaded through the alleyways, shacks and shoppers. These whispers went before me, like a river, I never overtook these words; they went before me. As they flowed and wound their way, inquisitive black faces peeked out, around corrugated tin walls, to view this unusual mirage that had descended upon this mind-blowing place.
Vibrant and vibrating with chatter, music and richly coloured traditional dress, the market was alive with Africa. This was Nigeria at its best. Fascinating, awesome and truly an experience made in heaven, I loved it. Jaw open, eyes wide, head lurching from side to side, I enjoyed the African-ness of it all as my companion held on to me tightly and guided me to the relevant lean-toos to realise our purchases. We bought fresh fruits and homemade hot freshly made chilli tomato sauce. We watched the animated African mama squish the tomatoes, chop the onions, slice the chillies and add all to a massive antiquated aluminium blender and pour the pureed sauce into a lidded pot we supplied ourselves. No health and safety regulations here.
On we continued to purchase meat.....Oh my.....was this an eye opener and an over powering stench as we entered the meat market. On ancient rickety wooden benches, upon a mud laden floor, were slabs of goat, cow, pig and chickens laying and hanging for as far as the eye could see. There were pig totters, strung up chickens, cow legs and cow tails decorating every part of the corrugated tin roof along with masses of flies and mosquitoes that buzzed irritatingly and persistently around us and the carcasses. I don't know how I didn't vomit; the stench was horrific, the atmosphere like a free for all abattoirs. Machetes lay nonchalantly everywhere and excesses of blood ran under our feet into ditches, gullies and puddles, where large fat mossies feasted hungrily on any available blood.
My jaw dropped further open and I knew I had to get out of there. My companion purchased his large slabs of goat, beef and a chicken and feeling sick to my stomach and faint, I was whisked through the mud and puddle ridden alleys back to the flooded, car infested main road where our car awaited and where the "white woman, white woman" whispers now lagged and faded behind me.
I could not stomach cow tail, goat, beans and hot red sauce for dinner; Nigerian porridge and a cuppa tea was my preferred supper.
Visiting Nigeria
I will never forget the first time I travelled to Africa; it is as vivid today as it was then. The only white face on the plane was my first taste of Africa as a white woman. I was stared at, talked about and whispers rustled round the plane as diligent as an African mosquito, for the full five hours of the flight. "Why on earth are you travelling alone to Nigeria?" was the first question I was asked as I settled into my middle Afryka Airlines seat between two very dark full figured extrovertly attired African women? Eyes were on me the whole trip and I was observed from all angles; I felt like a Tracey Emin exhibit in the Tate in London.
I was travelling to work with African children and was proud of what I was doing. I was very excited but as the plane took off with 500 plus Africans staring at me with huge eyes peering out of black faces my excitement did dwindle slightly. My African companions (either side of me) were kind friendly and good company and they found great comfort in telling me the “whys and wherefores” of what I could expect when I landed at Mohammed Murtala Airport, Lagos. I was grateful to some of the information but I could have done without a lot of it.
I was travelling to work with African children and was proud of what I was doing. I was very excited but as the plane took off with 500 plus Africans staring at me with huge eyes peering out of black faces my excitement did dwindle slightly. My African companions (either side of me) were kind friendly and good company and they found great comfort in telling me the “whys and wherefores” of what I could expect when I landed at Mohammed Murtala Airport, Lagos. I was grateful to some of the information but I could have done without a lot of it.
Proceeding through the airport in Lagos there was not a white face in sight. I was the most popular passenger in the baggage hall and several young African women travelling with me were concerned for my safety. They surrounded me and ushered me through every turnstile and gave me their cell phone numbers “in case I got into any difficulties”. I was an easy target and harassed constantly by the porter who endeavoured to attempt to insist I pay for a baggage cart or pay him to carry my bags to my driver; this was called a “dash.” I had been warned about this before even leaving the UK and also on the plane by my two African mentors and as my suitcase was on wheels, I gave no one a “dash.” Waiting for the bags to arrive was like waiting for paint to dry! And as the only white face in the baggage hall I was the talk of the town and extremely easy to spot! Some small children wanted to touch and stoke me!
The baggage conveyor belt did not work, the air conditioning did not work and nor did the ceiling fans; so…hot and sticky in a 40 degree humid hall, finally our bags were brought out (some two hours later) from a deep dark hole somewhere in the airport, on very squeaky and rickety trolleys and one by one passengers claimed their luggage and began to file out of the airport building; most, kindly shouted “goodbye” to me, the exhibit and not surprisingly there was no ordered queue. Outside was an incredible sight…something I have never envisaged…an even deeper sea of dark faces just staring at me and as I exited, in slow motion the sea parted and my driver just magically appeared out of the crowd and rapidly took charge of my baggage and me and whisked me along to a car waiting for us in the car park. I suppose I was not hard for him to recognise?
We passed dealers of all descriptions who grabbed at me and murmured in hushed voices “white woman, white woman, white woman” and tried to touch and grab at me. They constantly asked “what have you bought for me.” Beggars sat in the gutters, hands held out for money or gifts, some with limbs missing, many of them children; those with limbs missing used skate boards to get around. My driver continued to hurry me on and quickly and forcefully thrust me into the back seat of the awaiting car; within minutes we were on our way out of the airport terminal; I was definitely venturing into the unknown. Already I was in awe of this fascinating culture that broke every rule and boundary.
The road was pitch black, no street lamps, no white lines and no cat’s eyes. There were holes in roads as big as craters; no tarmac… just a deep red coloured earth and dust kicked up all around us. No one had any lane discipline, everyone was weaving in and out each other at least 70 mph and buses careered past us laden with luggage on the roof and hanging over the side; these buses were oversubscribed with passengers and goats, many of them hanging out of the doors and. These sights were unbelievable to me; I had never seen anything like this before and my head jerked from side to side as I watched open mouthed the Nigerian culture unfold before me. Cars were smashed up; trucks falling apart and rusty old yellow buses that should not have been on the road were carrying civilians at high speeds. Who insures these vehicles I wondered?
Suddenly we hit a traffic jam and immediately the car came to a halt and was instantly surrounded by children begging. They tapped constantly on the car window and with their hands held out to me called “please, please lady, spare me some coins, anything you have.” They ran alongside the car as we slowly eased our way along begging me to pass money out of the window. “Please white lady, please, some coins, spare some coins.” I took out a few Naira from the ones I had brought from the Bureau de Change in the UK and carefully slipped this through a crack in the window and as the coins fell to ground the children began to fight over this tiny amount of money, it was pitiful. As one child finally took it for herself, she gave me a smile from deep within her soul and ran off. My driver began to laugh and said “you have started something now, best you give nothing as they will never be satisfied and will never leave you alone, especially as you are white.” I logged that sentence and didn’t answer; those words were to haunt me as my trip unfolded. We were also bothered by hawkers selling anything and everything to make a Naira or two. Seeing a white blonde western woman in the back seat of a taxi cab meant megabucks to these beggars and hawkers, I had already become a target.
The traffic began to move at a higher speed and we left the children and hawkers behind and continued along in the opaque blackness until we turned into a street alive with loud tribal music, exotic dancing, passionate singing and alight with candles and Kerosene fires on which brightly decorated women were cooking a variety of goat, chicken and beef curries and stews. The street was rocking and buzzing with Africans of all ages; you could feel the vibration in your soul. We slowly wove our way through the crowds, my driver cleverly missing any obstruction…the noise was incredible…it was so loud it hurt my ears and head. What with the women shouting for you to sample their wares, the sound of food frying, the music and singing, the incessant chattering of exuberant African families and the car and bike engines, I had never sampled noise on this level anywhere in the world. Although outrageously out of my comfort zone, I was addicted. The smell was phenomenal too; a bizarre mixture of curry, beer, Kerosene, sweat and engine emissions; I can still smell it vividly today.
As we edged out of the crowd at the end of this long festival, we emerged into the dark shadows again and the celebratory sounds began to fade behind us and we turned into a quiet crater filled road (which ingeniously my driver dodged) and into the hotel entrance closed off by locked six foot overly ornate and heavily decorated gates of copper and aluminium which were very quickly opened by the small childlike gate man, Abdullah, and my driver parked up in front of the so called hotel. Abdullah very quickly relieved us of my suitcase and rushed it into the hotel lobby (hoping for a dash from this white woman, I am sure) while I paid and thanked my driver. On entering I was met by the very young Nigerian male proprietor who kindly “dashed” Abdullah and showed me to my very basic hotel room which included a king size bed (raised about six inches off the floor), a small worn sofa and a rickety chest of drawers on which sat a small TV with a bent indoor aerial. There was one window with torn mosquito screens and no curtains and the ceiling fan was off. My “en-suite” bathroom contained a stained and worn out bath, sink and filthy toilet. No shower, just a bright orange rubber hose pipe fitted to the single tap in the bath. A red plastic “pound shop” bucket stood in the bath with a plastic scoop inside…I learnt very quickly how to bathe in Nigeria; fill the bucket with cold water from the hose pipe (the night before, so it warms up) and scoop the water from the bucket to wash each day. I never did have a hot bath. Clothes washing was carried out the same way, by hand in the bath and hung to dry in my hotel room.
There was an old ugly grey box like air conditioning unit cut into the outside wall next to the window (the plaster work had not been repaired or made good) but I was told by my young Nigerian proprietor that the electricity was only on for one hour in the morning and one in the evening and he could not guarantee that. NEPA, the Nigerian electricity company, “took” power just when they felt like it, so nothing could be guaranteed. And when there was electricity, it was too expensive to have on continuously, proprietor advised me. I thought to myself “I am paying for this?” I giggled inside at the thought of relaying to my family my experience…they were never going to believe my story.
Exhausted (and elated) I was blessed with a chunky china mug of weak black unsweetened tea, compliments of the proprietor as a nightcap (I requested milk to accompany it) and was left to settle down for the night in 40 degree plus humidity with no air conditioning, no fan and no light, alone in a wild part of the world. I safely locked and chained my hotel door and lay in the darkness until sleep took over.
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