TWENTY-ONE KUSALA DAM DAYS: 2nd Sun Down

I was stupid enough to have a fill of laughter in camp today. Adults were behaving like children during the inauguration parade, and at some point, I was wondering whether I was the stupid one to find their acts funny, or they were really the stupid ones. It's 10:42pm on the 7th of July, and as I reflect and write on the activities of the day, I can't but help a couple of laughs, abstract enough to make the people around me think something could be wrong with my mental state. But overall, I did have a fulfilling day, if my expectations were to be considered. The height of it all, was when I met a bunch of guys from the Federal University of Technology, Minna. A lively bunch of dudes they were, and each one had a dose of laughter to dole. Not sure if I'd ever had a fill of sit-coms all my life as I did today.

I woke at 6:40am, ignoring the early morning bugle, summoning us to the parade ground, as I wasn't confirmed registered yet. I brushed in the open with other people staring, quite how odd it felt. I had Masa for breakfast from the mammy market, and finally got some place to take my bath. Atleast, I was getting acquainted with the geography of the camp ground. Then the bugle sounded, for us to gather and file for the swearing of oaths ceremony. I had managed to collect my khaki the night before, and still wondered what was going through their minds, when they were piecing together the apparels. Nothing wasn't left oversized and out of shape. Even the tailors who tried to make them bespoke, couldn't get them around to fit me.

At the parade ground, I made my first friend - Hosea Gana, a graduate of Physics. His friend Jey was from Jos, and was excited when I told him I had schooled in his native Jos. There was alot of protocols with the oath swearing parade, with the soldiers making a big deal of it, us, bothered more with the picture taking. You could see it from the faces of alot, that this was more of a milestone in their lives, than a new experience, in another part of their country. We then dispersed for lunch - mashed beans, on which I spread some garri to make a nice mix although the beans begged for a little more salt. Surprisingly, I ate with much gusto and was glad I didn't tell them to reduce the ration on the line.

Evening parade was at 4pm till 6, after which we were addressed by our Platoon Officer, talking about monetary contributions for inter-platoon competition and we taking it very serious. There was this selected Deputy Platoon Leader - Vicky, from Zuru who was getting in to my "likes" book. I quickly left the parade ground, and set off for an audition with the OBS -  Orientation Broadcasting Service. I was auditioning to be on the editorial and reporting department. Bumped in to a couple of lovely ladies from Lagos, who were no finding the sun here in Kano funny. Then I met a couple of Jossites, and wanted to scream out loud for finding 'kindred'. Gift talked with me more, probably finding fascination with my stories. She'd had a couple of laughs anyways. Her friend looked on, her mind focused more on something outside the camp than in it. I was already liking Gift's smiles though. They were always from ear to ear. I sent Egbo an sms, and she replied complaining of lack of sleep and all. I got a call from Jos, to learn that Ugo was finally getting back with her boyfriend after a few days of standoff. I wanted her to hold off for a few more days, but I guess she didn't have enough resolve either. I concluded, they both were just feeble hearted kids in love.

Lights went out at 11:42pm, just before I finished writing this. I had used phone calls and Carlos all the way in Liberia to strike a deal, which had me happy before going off to bed

TWENTY – ONE KUSALA DAM DAYS: 1st Sun Down

Having wild romance at midnight with a lady you had just met the afternoon before, and refusing to call it a one-night stand, would be bizarre. Well, after the club at Nomansland disappointed, we managed to psyche a bike to ride us all the way to Danbare, the students’ neighbourhood opposite the new site of Bayero University, Kano. We had the room to ourselves, and my blood got hot. If Sika had anticipated this all evening, she must be having her wishes played out before her. We were clear-eyed; a bit tired, and cursed the searing heat. I lay beside her, tucked my left arm round her, resting it on the voluptuous breast. I was satisfied with the sigh she gave. Rhythmically, I began roving over her trunk while the tempo of her sighs continued to heighten. Then I jumped on her, and began kissing, caressing and undressing her simultaneously. She reached for my loins, and undid my belt. My maleness had come to terms with the air in the room, while I reached for my bag. The oil and latex were always in my bag. Together with my toothbrush and paste, Jasmine – my laptop, and some fragrance, I always made sure I was always ready for the moment.

It was 1:30am, and I had just put a call through to Ugo. I was still naked; Sika had switched off to sleep within moments after my climax coincided with her fourth – she’d had too much. Ugo was having relationship issues, and while we had constantly made love in her hostel room back in Jos, we still kept our relationships, and called the other, friend. Yes, we were friends with benefits. Her lame boyfriend as I’d seen him was at being childish again. She was pissed, and was ignoring him for the umpteenth time. The last time she had cried in her room, I had consoled her, wiped her eyes, hugged and kissed her, and then we made some good, good love. She had cursed me that night for not doing enough to snatch her from her boyfriend. Tonight, she was narrating how he kept bugging her with calls and messages, and how tempting they have been for her to resist. She likes him, but his immaturity bored her to death. She was learning, and sought motivation to continue at her course from me. Then she'd bribe me with sex.

It was July 6^th; I’d just woken up still drowsy and terribly in need of a massage. My host was long gone to school, and no one was in the compound either. I trudged off in to BUK new site with Sika, got some breakfast, and wandered around in vain, looking for internet. You wonder why it is so difficult to find public cafes in and around students’ neighbourhoods. In anger, I returned home, and packed. I enjoyed just my third tricycle ride to Kikabuga, and got a cab going to Karaye. Passangers mused about the distance, the heat and what to expect at Karaye, but after about two hours, a high-walled compound stood before me. I went through routine security checks, and walked in to the compound. My first sight flashed back imaginary scenes from Kalu Okpi’s “Biafra Testament”. Orders barked out in confusing staccato, and the field was a sea of white. More enquiries sent me further in to the belly of the compound. In thirty minutes, call-up letter was verified, platoon assigned, but the accommodation officer was nowhere around. You could see frustration on the faces of youth who had turned up from all across the country, tired, hungry, weary and fearful of the land which they would call home for the next one year, and in for which I became the 2292^nd person to report to camp with primary assignment in Kano State.

Egbo had not said a word all day, and even though I find myself cheating on her, I still DEARLY love and yearned daily for her. A bugle sounded, and we were all gathered. I promptly stood in line, and waited for over an hour, before we were addressed by the Camp Coordinator, a large Gwari woman with a deep voice, evidence of how she had systematically solved stress with tobacco. I lined at the rear, within close proximity of the military instructors. One was wearing a blue United Nations shirt, with UNMIL inscribed on it. I knew what it meant, and they were bemused that I did. We talked about the Nigerian contingent to the United Nations Mission in Liberia, and some shared stories of their expnce in Liberia, Sierra Leone and most recently, Sudan. I had fried yams for dinner at the mammy market, where some girls were already selling their wares for that hour come. I scoured my environs and began adapting to the crowd gathered in the hall, waiting till 11:30pm to get a mattress. I had not been allocated to any room still, and I knew I was going to spend the night in the "open"; but the anger was doused by a call from Egbo after I had sent her an sms. Mummy also called to know how I have fared and cope with the new culture, and having eased 5,000 NGN extra above budget from my account, I knew I needed to act financially sustainable to be able to adapt here.

It’s 12:11am, the morning of the 7^th of July, and am  about to doze off to sleep with thoughts of Egbo on my mind.

KANO IS RUNNING TO THE SANDS

Kano Durbar; an annual Eid festival of pageantry and loyalty

Riding behind a commercial motorcycle in the ancient north-central city of Kano, Nigeria is a two-pronged experience. While it gives you an easy and faster escape from the terrible traffic congestion and its antecedent effects, it also provides the chance to be refreshed with air – freshness determined by what location of the city you are in – which brings reprieve from the scorching heat in a city, fast transiting in to the desert region, in the agro-ecological classification of Nigeria. Kano is a beautiful city, carved out of the clayey material remains of the alluvial plains of central Nigeria, with a very rich history and conservative society, after Islamic norms. And as much as the vegetative metamorphosis is ongoing, the vagaries of globalisation seem to be fast on its heels. 

With the mammoth Kasuwan Kwari – a haven for textile, dates, rubber and plastic merchants to name a few – nestled almost at the centre of the metropolis, little wonder the tag, “centre of commerce” has come to stay, much to the despair of other cities like Onitsha, and Potiskum, barring Lagos, which in its own right, is indeed, the “centre of excellence”.  The city of Kano, written in the annals of time is today an agglomeration of nine local governments of the total forty-four which make up Kano State. Characterised by thick traditional clay defense walls and gates, the original plan of the old city, brings repute to the ancient planners, who had made the city impregnable, a commercial bliss and a tourist’s destination.

Kano boasts of astute business men, ranging from Alhassan Datata who had surpassed Umaru Sharubutu Koki and Maikano Agogo by 1922, to become the city’s richest man. He is the great grandfather to Africa’s richest billionaire today, conglomerate magnate Aliko Dangote, who amongst business interests in flour, sugar, cement, oil and confectioneries, is currently developing a tomato processing plant by the expressway before you enter the city. The Sharada, Challawa and Bwopai Industrial Estates are situated in the city, which has an Export Promotion Zone.

Aliko Dangote - Chairman, Dangote Group

Notorious for its tye and dye, the Maitatsine uprising, the Durbar and the groundnut pyramids, Kano is a ‘wonder’ in Nigerian history and mythology. In January, 2012, it was a scene of deadly bombings carried out by the terrorist group Boko Haram, targeted at government installations in the city. This they claimed was a retribution for the city’s support for the federal government’s effort in ending their activities. Also, in as much as two-hundred years, the traditional Eid Durbar – a festival of class, pageantry, royal show-off and affirmation of loyalty of the polity to the ruler – was called off in August, due to a variation in reasons from security challenges, to the Emir, His Royal Highness, Dr. Ado Bayero – San Kano, taking ill.

Before the bombings, it staked its acclaim during the #OccupyNigeria protests organized by the Save Nigeria group, then seeking the reversal of the Presidency’s decision to remove fuel subsidies, when protesters took to the silver jubilee square, and renamed it “Subsidy Square” though the naming didn’t stand the test of time. A British Broadcasting Service reporter approximated the number of protesters who camped there – a la Egypt’s Tahrir Square during the Arab spring, at two thousands. Protesters followed going-ons across the country, via their mobile phones and transistor radios as they made a name for themselves. The Murtala Mohammed ICT Park, a gigantic structure built by the state government to be the information technology hub, towered behind them. Even a twitter account, @Kano emerged from the event, highlighting the growing influence of information technology in a highly conservative and perceived illiterate society. Albeit, only 35 percent of the population are litereate.

Goron Dutse and Dalla Hills overlook the city, with the Gidan Makama museum housed in a 15^th century monument and the Kurmi Market where you can get the best of handcrafts, nestled in the old city. The Aminu Kano International Airport, the country’s largest cargo airport is situated outside the old city, where the first recorded flight to the city landed at the polo field, in 1925. And while the railway system is getting a facelift, a bus or a tricycle ride around, is another experience of its own.

However, a phenomenon scarring the beauty that is Kano is the mass of waste produced which is improperly disposed and managed. This has not only polluted the air and land, but also the ground water system, which traditionally supplies the bulk of residents who are still waiting for government pipes to reach them. Combined with poor housing planning and hygiene, a contamination of the water system would result in a quick fire cholera epidemic. In 2001, well over seven hundred people died and thousands more hospitalised. The World Socialist Web Site reports that up till 2001, the only year in which Kano had not suffered a disease epidemic, was 1997, but the year before, there was a triple epidemic, with almost fifteen thousand people suffering from cerebrospinal meningitis.

Most worrisome, is the flecks of sand that settle between the lips, eyelids and eyebrows, when you ride the motorcycle around Kano. While you might have to wait for the harmattan winds to bring you any evidence of the fast encroaching desert in the middle belt and southern parts of the country; fine loess filter in from the desert daily, as turbulent winds erode the Sahara desert. And with the desert encroaching at an alarming rate of 0.6 kilometres per annum, the efforts of the women employed by the government to sweep the roads of daily stockpile of loess might not be enough; and take frontline local governments in the North-Western and North-Eastern parts of the state are already feeling the impact of the desert. Soon enough, some loess landform might appear in the Kano horizon.

The state government is stepping in, planning to plant one million trees this year, with nurseries already established in Danbatta, Bichi, Gaya, Karaye, Bunkure, Dawakin Kudu and Takai local governments as well as at the monitoring unit in Kano city, according to Alhaji Maitama Danbatta, manager of the project. To confirm the severity of the situation, the federal government is also set to launch the Great Green Wall Sahara Initiative in October, a project which is expected to run across Africa, from Mauritania in the North-West to Djibouti in the North-East, which might just help rehabilitate the existing fifty kilometre shelter belt in the state.

Floods are among disasters that frequent the city of Kano, with yearly records of lives and property lost in the throes. As at Friday, 14 September, 2012 there were calls for volunteers to help evacuate neighbourhoods close to the Warawa Dam. On Sunday, it was reported; eleven thousand, five hundred people were displaced in Kano and Jigawa States. On this occasion, a motorcycle would be handy in saving lives and property.

Word goes around that if you can ride a motorcycle in Kano, then you can anywhere in the country. Enjoying a motorcycle ride around Kano has its downside afterall. Exposure to ghastly mishaps as cyclists meander through traffic is second only to Lagos. You might also be prepared to have your heart in your mouth sometimes, but always have some water in the bathroom for a bath afterwards.