In 2005 I saw a Congolese band at a bar along the Niger River in Asaba.  Three years later, I picked up a “Best of” CD of Congolese music in Abuja at a market.  It spent the past week spinning repeatedly in my car.  The rhythms brightened the mornings, the surroundings outside the windshield being winter pre-dawn dark.  I enjoyed the guitars and percussion to the point that I was looking forward to turning the ignition key.

Meanwhile, throughout Nigeria while I was driving around Lafayette, Indiana the people were marching in protest of the government’s removal of a fuel subsidy.  Workers were on strike, an attempt to shut down the country.

How much longer can Nigeria exist with the blatant “fuck you” to the people by those in power?  Nigeria, if what I’ve read is accurate, is the fifth largest supplier of oil to the United States.

I joined my colleague and a friend who wanted to buy some things at the main market in Abuja, named Wuse.  They were looking for gifts to take back home to their families.  The following are some of the sites and sounds from my 4 hours there today:

Muslim men washing their feet, arms and faces with little plastic teapots filled with water.  They were preparing for prayers.

Hausa women from northern Nigeria wearing beautiful, bright colored dresses sitting in a half-circle selling yogurt.

A blue and yellow nylon camping tent set up smack dab in the middle of the market, hoping to be bought, despite its incongruity!

Kilishi–dried beef, like jerky, that is seasoned with pepper spice, peanut sauce and ginger.  It tastes kind of like Thai peanut sauce flavored strips of beef jerky.

The colors and prints of fabric stacked to the ceiling at many shops, being sold to then be made into dresses and traditional shirts/pants for women and men. 

Being asked if I was Chinese.

Being told I was an American soldier.

Jollof rice and fried mackeral for lunch in a dank square box of a luncheonette.

Peanuts being sold from headtops seemingly around every corner.

Laughing at how tough my friend was while haggling.  He got his prices, much to the dissatisfaction of disgruntled sellers who were out-negotiated by a man with a sharper/quicker tongue.

Buying Nigerian High-Life and Congolese music CDs, and while doing so having a local guy insist he was a rapper, as in “I am like 50 cents man…what’s up G?!!!”

Having that rapper teach me how to say some Ibo words, and then having me call his friend those words, which I knew was going to be a joke, so I played along.  When I called his friend “bush meat,” everyone around got a laugh!

The feel of a hot afternoon sun on the back of my neck.

Electronics.  Shoes.  Suits.  Rugs.  Furniture.  Toys.  Everything you could possibly want or need was there, as is the case of large markets around the world.

And spending time with my friends who were going about the same thing you and I have often done:  walking around a shopping area looking for what would make nice gifts for the people we love, giving thought to each person and what item would be perfect for them.

As is often said, (but we can never hear it enough) we all are more alike than we are unalike. 

 

 

 

Sitting here drinking a Guinness

Extra Smooth brewed in Lagos

Ingredients: Malt, Sorghum,

Maize and Hops, label says

 

Reading Brazilian Portuguese

and watching Spain v. Russia

with Abuja’s Nigerians

 

Spain’s up 2 nil, and

the locals are happy

drinking Gulder and

Star and Heineken and

Harp and the Irish ferment

 

Mosquito bit the underside

of my foot, but malarone

is in my system….

 

Correction, Spain is up

3 nil and a few people

have decided to go

elsewhere for the night

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