亞歐鐵路北向急行: November, 2011: The Eyo Festival, Lagos, Nigeria

The Eyo festival is likely the weirdest mass gathering I have ever encountered, or will ever run into (unless someone decides to bring back the burning of witches and beheading of royalties.) Whether anyone else feels the same after watching it is really subjective, but there is no denying it is unique. For one thing, the Eyo festival is held only in Lagos, and nowhere else in Nigeria. The participants are not supposed to cross into mainland Nigeria with their costume. There is also no particular date set aside for it in any given year. In fact, it is not an annual affair. From what I was told, it is held only after a tribal chief past away. As to the purpose of the festival, and whether there is any religion (christian or animalistic) significance attached to it, none of the locals around me could tell me for sure. There were also strict rules that participants and spectators were required to follow: men cannot come with long hair, no eye-wear and no footwear (me failing in 2 of the 3 requirement).

As weird as I may be, it probably had influence on the festivals in South America that we are more familiar with.

I have been looking forward to the Eyo festival, because this looks like the only chance I get to do something touristy in Nigeria. All week I have been trying to find out where the festival is being held and ticketing information. Finding the location wasn't that difficult. The posters for the festival had appeared on the lampposts about a week or so before, and I was able to googled the stadium given on the posters. What was not so apparent was if tickets were needed and where to buy one. None of the locals could give me much help. Which wasn't unexpected, since many of the Nigerian engineers I worked with are from out-of-town. My last resort (which probably should have been my first) was to check with the receptionist at the hotel. The answer I got was very reassuring: no problem, if I were interested, they will try to arrange (although with the Eyo festival slated for the next afternoon, none of the staff have any info about tickets.) They ask me to stay in my room the next morning, when they will call me once they have the tickets.

The next morning, no news came. I checked again and was told that they were working on it, and will call me in my room. It was past noon, and after another check at the reception, I was told the ticket should be available in an hour or so. The call finally came, and I was ask to go over to the reception, where I was asked to go into the office to collect my tickets. It was more like a hospitalty package that came with two VIP tickets, a car decal (with VVIP printed on it) to stick on the car windscreen, some informations about getting to the stadium and parking arrangement, coupons for food and a small pamphlets on the do's and don'ts for the festival. It looks like it had come from the tourism office (assuming there is one here in Lagos.) There was no price printed on the tickets, so I assumed it was complimentary for VVIPs such as I. The hotel receptionist (a guy with scars, tribal markings, below his eyes) assured me that he had gone to quite a bit of trouble to secure those tickets, as he was handing them over. I waited for the golden question, assuming he would be asking for some monetary award for his trouble. It did not come, so I thank him and went on to arrange for a rental car for the day and a driver.

I couldn't recall for sure now, but this was possibly the first time I met Anthony, the Nigerian driver that I would be using for the next few weeks while I was in Lagos.

This being a Saturday, the traffic to the stadium was light. But as we came closer to the stadium, a traffic jam began to form on the road leading to the gates.

I saw what looks like a shuttle buses that were transporting spectators to the stadium, although I was not able to get any info on them before this. On the road, we could see groups of participants making their way to the stadium. Even under the bright light of the afternoon sun, the costume still making them look sinister, and somewhat eerie.

Anthony had problem finding our allocated car-park, so after going around the stadium for a futile search for the dissignated car-park, we decided to park right outside the closest gate to the stadium. A little bribe was required for the parking attendant to allow us to park.

As the rule required, we took off our shoes. Anthony left his in the car, while I decided to place mine in a plastic bag and brought it into the stadium. This was a good idea, as the concrete ground in the stadium was hot and somewhat dirty, and most important, I found out after finding our seats that the footwear rule wasn't strictly enforced.

Our allocated place wasn't actually seats, we could pick any chairs under tents that had been set up right by the tracks and field in the stadium. Here, I found out that my status as a VIP wasn't much of a big deal. Because under the pecking order here, I was just higher than the mass of 'commoners' in the stands.

Here by the tracks, there were tents set up for the Judiciary, the Traditional Rulers, and the Royal Family.

At least I don't have to curtsy before the royalties.

Before we found the tents, we need to find our way past the stands, carefully avoiding the rubbish on the floor. We need also to get past some metallic stairways like two cats on a hot tin roof. Along the way, someone from the local press saw me from afar (probably the only yellow face in the crowd), ran towards me, shove a voice recorder before me and ask for my comment on the Eyo fest. I have yet to see much of the festivities, but I know how to be diplomatic when I have to.

Later, under the tent and halfway through the fest, another journalist (this time, from a TV station) again asked for an interview: "how do you like the Eyo festival?!" I was full of superlatives, but I was being rather sincere, because I largely enjoyed what I saw. That evening, I was flipping through the local channels in the hope of seeing myself on national TV. Well, I wasn't on as the Eyo festival didn't really made it on any of the few channels I could receive in my room.

The pocession started with some of the smaller teams. I wasn't really sure if each of these team represent their tribe or their neighborhood, but it was obvious different teams had different level of financial backing. The earlier teams that came on were smaller in size and their costume were more threadbare. Some of the teens don't even have the rags to cover up their faces and bodies. They were booed by the crowds, some were even asked by the official to get off the procession.

They also have less number of percussion instrument to make the din in the stadium. The noise were making a flock of flying animals leave their hideout under the stadium roof. I thought they were birds such as crows, until a closer examination reveal that they were bats.

Anyway, as long as the kids are participating in a festival, parents everywhere are concern that they turn out just right for the event, whether in Africa or Japan. One last check on the costume before showtime:

The wealthier teams came with big drums, ...

....flags, decorated staffs.....

.....and even horses.

Some had what looks like witch-doctors leading the way with their chant.

As with other masquerades, the anomynity afforded by the rags covering their faces gaved the participants a chance to do what would not usually be legally allowed: they get to hit any un-suspecting spectators that came within reach of their stuff. Actually, I was told some spectators approaches them so as to get a whack from the staff, which is supposed to bring good luck. I got a whack from one of them staff, I can testify it was rather painful, but the jury is still out if it brought any good luck. Some of this innocent horseplay could spill out of the stadium and cause problem for the police. In previous editions of the Eyo, maurauding gangs of costumed 'spooks' (not necessarily festival participants) were known to wander the streets asking for money. Anyone who decline gets the whack with the staff.

The governor of Lagos came on-stage in the middle of the field to give a speech. But the climax of the whole festival were the arrival of the Oba of Lagos, with his entourage in expensive SUVs fancied by American rap artists. The Oba is the tribal chief, something of a king or a sultan.

After the arrival of the Oba, the true big teams joined the procession. You know they are the big guns because an announcement were made over the PA that rang around the stadium: we were not allowed to get too near the tracks and no photoes allowed. It is now that the rules were strictly enforced. Officials, civilian and military both, were gettting the spectator to move back. Anyone raising their camera to point at the procession were met with shouts of "no pictures!" Even the few white guys in the crowd were asked to turn off their video camera.

Anthony, was largely uninterested in the whole event. I noticed him dozing off in the afternoon heat a few times. He admitted later that he was from a completely different tribe, and what went on that day didn't interest him much. He was of the Igbo tribe from the eastern part of the country. Chinua Achebe, author of Things Fall Apart, was from the Igbo tribe; and the book's characters were Igbo. The way Anthony talked about the ways and customs of his village, it appears things haven't changed much from the Igbo village Chinua Achebe wrote about in Things Fall Apart, a book set decades before Anthony was born.

You can hear the regrets in Anthony's voice when he told of how he has missed out on a higher education because his father did not want him to get corrupted by a western education. In the book, the son's desire to join a missionary school was what caused the rift between the father and son. Achebe has since passed away. A British-Nigerian, Noo Saro-Wiwa has seen wrote an updated book about Nigeria, this time more a comedy than tragedy. Now that I am safely out of Nigeria, I can find myself having a laugh at what is written in it, especially about Lagos.