“Haggling Apprentice – You’re Fired!”

There are a million photographs to be taken here; however, there is a general prohibition because even a casual photograph of nothing in particular will result in a near violent altercation with someone who thinks you are gaining something at their expense. There is nothing charitable about the way of life here. If someone does you a favour it is with the expressed expectation that they are owed a debt which must be repaid soon. It is a dog eat dog world and everything under the sun has a value of some description. We got a lift to the market on Friday, a journey of 5 minutes, but I think I have to house a Nigerian teacher, his two wives and twelve children when they are next in the UK. I think it will be cheaper to move house!

Children camp outside our houses in the hope that they may get a sweet or a bottle or intercept any rubbish we throw away. Shopping for us can be a bit of a trial as we will offer 100 Naira (40p) for some tomatoes or eggs or onions and you might get one or a bag full. Traders will charge more to white skins for however much they can get away with. We just pay the price if it seems reasonable but rarely argue.

When it comes to a major purchase the haggling starts in earnest. Having avidly followed the ‘Apprentice’, the tip I picked up was that when bargaining, you never pay more than half of the original asking price. You can see the glee on the traders faces as we approach (with trepidation).

One needs a manager and back up crew just to set foot in the doorway of a stall holder who comes from a tradition of thousands of years of negotiation. At a recent visit to Kurmi Market, one of the oldest markets in Africa, we were led down alleyways that defied compass bearings. Each trader had the equivalent of a walk-in wardrobe as his space for trading. Slaves were originally bought and sold here, so the place has brooding air of despair for those that enter!

Some traders really ought to visit John Lewis‘ lighting, gift or soft furnishing departments to see how to set out your wares properly... There might be a bargain to be had, but it’s hard to see clearly in the dim alleyways and the word ‘Bature’ flashes around the market. Bature means white person or in this case ‘easy prey’ would be more apt.

Eking out my meagre funds: having bought too much costly tuna fish from outrageously highly priced western supermarkets. I endeavour to find a souvenir of Nigeria.

My late mother always comes to mind on these occasions. We were in Hong Kong many years ago when my brother was living there and she would enter into negotiation with a Chinese trader who didn’t speak a word of English. Having had a verbal exchange in which neither would understand the other, my Mum would always say “How much for two Love?” and issue a ‘V’ sign in complete innocence...

Dawakin Tofa, where we go to market for vegetables. Mud houses with refuse strewn about!

The ‘Apprentice’ advice gets a very mixed reception. Some real disdain or a turned back which I see as a victory because the trader feels he’s not going to make much money out of me. However I leave souvenir-less which leads me to doubt my approach. I try again at a cupboard selling Islamic Rosary Beads. First I get one price, and then another, then another, so making a choice I’m then told that they are more expensive because they are made from amber. There then follows a lengthy discussion about yellow plastic beads do not in fact constitute amber. This brings the price down to the one before last. Are you keeping up with this? Because I’m not... In the end you kind of lose the will to live and would rather just find a bar or cafe to regroup. But then this is Kano... no bars and no cafes that you would recognise! Life is so much easier when the price is displayed...

Some people are very good at getting the best price for everything and I admire them greatly. After an hour or so, we’d had enough and a guide took us back to the mini bus, where someone was being paid to ‘look after’ it. Still cheaper than parking in Bristol though. This haggling business, I must really get the hang of it or employ someone to do it for me! Where’s Karen Dinning when you need her? I spent nearly £20 on a hat which in the cold light of day was a huge mistake. It’s worth £2.50 at most: wonder what it would fetch on e-bay? As Lord Sugar would say...”Really pathetic, they saw you coming – you’re fired!”



Some of my unofficial class - SS2A. The teachers here are on strike, so being a boarding school the boys fend for themselves hanging about the classrooms. We have an english lesson each morning to keep them occupied!



Coffee and Paracetamol!

‘Twas the night before Mawlid and not a sound was to be heard not even a mouse. Not exactly...

Laying beneath my mosquito net and trying vainly to get to sleep, a lizard starts running back and forth across the window screen. I throw a t shirt at it and it leaves abruptly! I then hear it clamber across my tin roof. Why is it one’s knowledge of the world is never remotely conclusive? I thought lizards only became mobile in the sunlight, yet here we are, moon becoming brighter by the minute, it’s twenty five minutes to midnight and lizards are dancing around the house in around 25 degrees!

A scratching noise from the direction of my bedroom door forces me to turn my torch on. (Having had to chase a rat out of my colleagues’ house just the previous night, whilst they just screamed continuously; causing quite a commotion thank you very much... I wouldn’t have minded but the blighter lunged for me (trio of screaming momentarily...) before I shooed it out of the door with a broom), so did not fancy another round. No it was a large cockroach!  At least I think a 4 inch cockroach is a tad large. It didn’t appreciate the torch light, so left momentarily. I then pondered whether to get up and try and catch it or leave it alone as they go again by daylight. Oh no, it decides to come back with the express purpose to annoy me. So starts the game of “catch me if you can” for at least 10 minutes, chasing it around the walls and ceiling of the house. What my neighbours must have thought I do not know. Cockroaches are good at teasing you. They move so quickly, that even though I’m sure I’ve temporarily blinded it with my torch light, the bin I thrust down to capture it misses and it scoots a few centimetres out of reach. Desperate times call for desperate measures, so I hit it with the broom. Having stunned it, I throw it quite ceremoniously out of the front door Fred Flinstone fashion.

Another battle won, I retreat to my room after getting a drink and settle down to some deserved sleep...  In the distance a dog barks and then the P.A. system in the traditional village next door starts up. I don’t believe it! Why start a gathering at midnight? (I find out the next day that the village were celebrating the birth of the Prophet Mohammed. Mawlid refers to the observance of this feast and is celebrated in the third month of the Islamic calendar (February time)). There were prayers, stories and singing especially from the children. However, this middle of the night interruption was compounded by the blasted guinea fowl outside my courtyard starting an almighty ruckus. This starts off the goat that’s tied to my neighbours’ fence ( He is the Hausa teacher at school – nice man called Abubaka, though why the goat is tethered I don’t know... Goats can have a really excruciating bleat, they also break wind constantly and loudly! There then follows at least an hour of cacophony that would drive a man to drink – except I have only water in the house. By 2:30am the night is at peace again. So I turn off the ipod (of which I am now thoroughly bored with) and settle for some quality sleep.  A cockerel crows, a dog barks and half an hour later the P.A. is at full volume again...

Nigerian schools start to take over my alert mind and before I know it: the 4am call to prayer starts in the town then passes across the countryside from village to village. 4:30am , 5am...  Cock starts crowing – again and again, then the dog barks, then the hideous guinea fowl start – what’s the use!  Well there are some e-mails to type so I may as well get up and by 6:17am precisely, the bees in the lemon tree are buzzing quite loudly and the birds are in full song. A dawn of a bright new day... quick get me some coffee and paracetamol!

Symbol of the Prophet Mohammad from Wikipedia

Local three & four year olds at school because the state funds a teacher! They sit in the shade of a tree as there is no room for them to go in. So even when the Harmattan wind is going strong, they chant and sing and listen to stories. Not one single piece of equipment exists for them to play or explore with!



Looking out from within! Children at the traditional village school (who would have been up all night for Mawlid). The school was not as bad as we thought it would be and compares favourably to others we have seen including the 'Model School'.

The staff of the local traditional village school. The women break off lessons to feed their own children whom they carry with them. Arabic, Maths, English, Hausa and PHE teachers compliment the staff. I'm stood next to the head teacher.





Part of the 'Neighbourhood Watch' gang!

Little Hassan with his tyre!



Bashful Sidiq!



See a camera and all goes to pot!

Sainab at full volume!

Farouk framed!

Mohammed

Sainab, Faroul and Mohammed's sister! 

Mr.Cool!

Not London Fashion Week!




and the winning contestant is...

My wife and I often know what we don’t like in the clothing line as opposed to what we do like. In recent years, with maturity, clothes buying has lost the excitement that it once had. However since I have been in Nigeria, I have been struck by clothes envy! The Abuja (Christian) Man has the wildest African print on a shirt and draw string pants, They are the colours that only a black guy can wear. Well actually a black person seems to look good in any colour. Pale white skins need to be more careful. What colour you wear draws comment from those around you – at least behind your back at any rate. Abuja Man looks cool and hip!

The Kano (Muslim) Man looks elegant in his plain long shirt with understated embroidery around the neck with matching pants underneath. An embroidered Nehru hat finishes the ensemble. The sight of tens of thousands of muslim men attending Friday prayers, forming an ocean of billowing material of every hue under the sun, is something to behold. Nigerians are not colour prejudiced in the way that we are regarding clothing. What I mean by this is that a burly 6 foot Nigerian male would not think twice about wearing a bright pink ensemble, with contrasting baby blue accessories. From a distance it could be Barbara Cartland, though closer appreciation proves this to be far from the truth. So who gets top prize – the Christian or the Muslim?

I need to put this to the test so having been assaulted by the masses at Kurmi market, I have chosen the most outrageous material I could find for ‘Abuja Clements’ and a neat grey/blue material for ‘Kano Clements’. £7 for around 12 yards in all... call the tailor!

Wearing a full face crash helmet in 40 degree heat is not something I relish at all. Having got the opportunity of riding on the back of Khalifa’s bike into Kano City to attend Mass at Our Lady of Fatima Cathedral, I weighed up the possibility of being involved in a crash with or without a helmet. I could wear the helmet, faint in the heat, and fall off the bike that way, or not wear a helmet and be prepared for any eventuality. I thought in my infantile wisdom that God would not want me to crash when I was going to mass anyway, does he do irony? An hour and ten minutes later, we arrived helmetless. I almost thought it pointless going in to the church as I’d spent the majority of the journey in prayer. But buoyed by the achievement of actually arriving, I settled into a really memorable experience. The Christian women were a sight to behold themselves, wearing the most gigantic and elaborate head-dresses. The prints were so fanciful, decorative  and utterly fantastic! Abuja Man was everywhere to be seen so the place was a riot of colour – well apart from me in chinos and a shirt from M&S.

The choir master and choir were amazing and people danced in their pews to the music of praise. Each bench had to process to place your offertory envelope in a sack and then the offertory procession itself starts. Hundreds and hundreds of people brought a crying child first; then it turned into the Generation Game conveyor belt. The offertory included sacks of oranges, boxes of bottled water, electric fans, a bicycle(!), a projector stand... and on it went for nearly twenty minutes until the back of the altar looked like a warehouse. Another hour was to go by before the end of mass. Just as everyone was ready to leave, a child threw up in the doorway. And as Nigerian women hitched up their prints to tread carefully away, it seemed to me the Christians had swung it their way. However you will be the judge...

We popped in to the tailor on the way back from the city. Abuja Man will stand out a mile. In fact you’ll see me coming from as far away as Morocco at thirty thousand feet! The outfit is literally blinding! Kano Man is still on the sewing machine, so wait and see.

The irony would have been complete if I’d had an accident on the way back from church, but I’m pleased to report there were no incidents!

(Since going to press, I can report that we were assigned by the inspectorate to join them on a routine inspection of a secondary school. Our driver pulled out too sharply from refuelling and a motor bike rider ploughed into the side of us! Who on earth would want to go on a bike without a crash helmet? Cyclist shaken but not stirred!)