Shopping 4U

 

Weekly shopping trips happen on Tuesday evenings, with a bus provided for a limited number of staff going to one of the acceptable supermarkets in Abuja. My early experiences were very educational, as I learned what I could get, where to find it, and how often it might be available. I really couldn't think past, "Does anyone know where to buy foil?" 

Now I am more accepting of the produce I find and can sit back and reflect on the experience of shopping in Abuja. First, we pick up an armed guard with an AK-47 and wearing camo.  He rides shotgun (literally) to provide a deterrent to kidnappers. One bus forgot to pick up their body guard, and we all got an earful from the angry security officer. 

We unload at the store and mask up. Depending on the store, and the week, we might find milk and cheese, and I am tempted to hoard when I see tonic water. However, I am going to have to carry everything I buy and so I don't go crazy.  Many cans and packages look like they came from the UK 5 years ago.  I have bought some real mistakes, like pounded yam powder and frozen fish sticks. But I have also learned how where to find decent coffee and crackers. Our diet is quite simple, and I can always find chicken, eggs and bread.

4U is one of our regular stores, and it has a great deli for fresh hummus and olives. Before entering I visit the food van parked out front to order a shawarma or Chinese to go. I avoid making eye contact with the fruit and nut vendors. These men and women hang around the parking area with the season's fruit piled into their head pans. The men carry oranges and bananas, the women have  avocado, where the little girls always carry nuts. Once I made the mistake of asking one the price of a hand of bananas. A large group immediately surrounded me, hounding me to buy their produce. Things got out of hand when produce started falling from over head and landing on me.

I learned to make it to the safety of the bus before asking for bananas. It is easier to negotiate a price when you are able to get away. One of my colleagues believes in doing her good deeds each week by giving out 1000 Naira notes as gifts. You can imagine the scene like t-shirts being fired from a cannon. The crowd goes wild. 

Most of what I have seen of this country is from the bus window on our weekly shopping trip. I window shop the huge variety of plants for sale along the side of the road. I wish we could stop and I could buy some, but then again, where would I put them? I enjoy the flame trees that blaze with orange red flowers all over town.  I try to take pictures of all the hawkers selling cheap goods through car windows. I understand why I am discouraged from taking a taxi when we pass a car so dilapidated and loud it hardly runs. Still, 6 passengers will pile in, often fighting off others for a seat. The tuk tuks (known as keke here) are fun to watch, but strictly not for expats. Riding one of those you would be just asking to be robbed.

I do appreciate a talkative Uber driver. They can explain some oddities on the side of the road. Like why men sit on upturned wheelbarrows by the side of the road. Apparently they are waiting to be hired for the day (although I still don't understand why I see them sitting there in the evenings); and why we suddenly encounter oncoming traffic on our right of way. 

Other scenes need no explanation.  I am amazed that a women can urinate on the side of the road without undressing, squatting down or dislodging the load she is balancing on her head. Remarkable and shameless.  On the whole most Abujans dress much better than us expats. It is rare to see a woman without a wig or elaborate hairstyle, dressed to the nines in sequins and ruffles. The men, also, would never go out dirty or in jeans. 

A combination of COVID and safety measures have severely restricted my movements around this country; down to one shopping trip a week. I heard one other staff member declare that if next year is the same, then she's not coming back. But I wonder if life was any different before COVID. Did expats travel down to Lagos for the weekend? Did they go out camping or hiking in the bush? I am sorry to say that my life will probably not change that much as an expat in Abuja in the future.  And now I look back on my childhood and days as a young expat wife with amazement. No, traveling in Nigeria will never be like that again.

My African Garden

 

My initial thought was to write a professional blog on the process of starting a community garden on the grounds of my international school in Abuja, Nigeria. However, after more reflection, I realized that my experience has more to do with African culture, than with international teaching.  

I saw no reason not to try planting a garden. I knew colleagues already had their own container gardens on verandas, and as soon as the rainy season started in earnest, I wouldn't even have to worry about watering. The school already had some beds prepared, although they needed some work. Termites had eaten away the wooden border, and quack grass had lodged itself into the hardened red dirt. But this wasn't to be my private garden.  When another staff member showed some interest we started to make a plan. Who else was interested? Could we have students involved in the garden throughout the school?

I was surprised at the lack of positive response from the staff,  who were quick to point out the problems: it had been tried before and abandoned; no one took charge of weeding and watering; there is too much sun; there are no seeds available here and you are prohibited from bringing them into the country from abroad.  I had enlisted a team of high school students to help as part of their Design class, but I had not anticipated the lack of enthusiasm and support. The way I saw it, the fact that the school employs a small army of grounds keepers and gardeners who are hardly overworked, and the abundance of sunshine, were pluses when it comes to growing vegetables and flowers. And to make a point about the needed seeds, I planted some beans and popcorn from the supermarket.   I still believed I could make a go of it and started collecting scraps for compost.

But I still need the administration's permission and blessing. It turned out that the compost was my downfall. The Head of School called it smelly, and the HS principal assured me that it would attract rats. My plans were put on hold because they didn't fit in with the vision of the school. What that really meant was: it didn't fit with the HOS's vision of the gardens of Versailles.  He asked for a bigger plot with more beds for showy flowers like roses and pansies.  It was unfortunate that the new location stood mostly in shade.  The Design students and I came up with a new plan but had difficulty generating genuine enthusiasm for a project that had suddenly come under someone else's command.

Under new command, the garden plans moved quickly. The cement truck is coming next week, and our HOS will choose the plants himself before we break for the summer. Meanwhile, I turned my attention back to my original project: weeded and hoed the beds, mended a very leaky hose, and planted some seeds I had taken out of a local pumpkin.  I was fortunate that my planting coincided with the start of the rains, and my pumpkins are looking healthy. Far from being a community garden, it is more like my secret garden.  The only other staff that know of it are the custodians who use the hose to clean their mops and hang up their uniforms to dry. Although, I do believe that, if my pumpkins grow to full size, news will get out, and I will be able to involve others in the joy of planting and growing.

It does go against the grain here - this need to do your own projects, get dirty and create something yourself. Where as in other parts of the world everyone is running off to the DIY megastores and nurseries, here you pay someone to do the project...or even better, get someone who is already on your payroll to do it to keep them busy.

Surprisingly, I learned the same lesson with my garden as Jon did at the golf course.  Just as I am not expected to create my own garden,  Jon is not expected to golf without help from two or three caddies. They wait for him as he gets out of the car and compete for his business. They carry his bag, retrieve his balls and hand him each club.  Jon has tried to sneak into the club unseen in order to have a quiet round of gold without the large entourage, but it is just not how things are done here.  On the weekend, or over the holiday, I sneak on to campus to visit my secret garden like I am doing something clandestine.