November, 2011: Lagos, Nigeria Week 1 可我不曾见过海洋

For the next few weeks, I would be shuttling between Lagos island and the mainland. I found out there a actually 3 bridges crossing the two points. The traffic situation here is similar to the Causeway. In the morning, the direction is from the mainland into Lagos as workers commute to their offices and other workplace in the more developed island. In the evening (actually rush hours start as early as the late afternoon), it's in the opposite direction.

The relationship between Lagos and mainland Nigeria also sounds like that between Hong Kong and mainland China in the early days of Deng XiaoPing project of openning up the country. The political power may be in northern Beijing, but the window to the world trade was in British-occupied Hong Kong. In the case of Nigeria, the capital is actual in the northern Abuja, but by all measures, the commencial capital is in Lagos. Economical power is not the only divide between the south and north. The north of the country are mainly occupied by Muslim, while the south by Christians. This religious and economical divide has been festering for a while, especially as the country (or part of it) grew rich following the discovery of oil in Nigeria. The schism manifest itself over the 2012 New Year. In the north, the Islamic terrorist group Boko Haram were bombing churches over the Christmas festive season. In the south, masses went onto the street to protest against the withdrawal of feul subsidy on the strike of the new year. The protest and labour strike closed the city for about a week.

Commercial capital or not, take away the highrises, and on the street level, Lagos is still the Africa of most people imagination. It is beat-up vehicles, dusty road, and women carrying load on the flat of their head.
And the road here is a dangerous place. Many times on the mini-bus, I envision scene similar to the movie Final Destination. The motorbikes swerving in and out of lane could be muscle into a dirty ditch by the road, or worst, their pillions could thrown off the seats and killed by oncoming traffic. The hugh rocks from the bed of the MACK quarry lorry could stumble down and flaten the cars behind. Or how about the trailer with the logs chained on it, those chain could break and strew the highway with the logs. Fortunately, I only witness minor accidents while I was there.
When I asked an Nigerian acquiantance if he felt it was too dangerous for him to join the street protest this January, he said Nigeria are fearless because they faces danger everyday. I guessed they are trained well on the roads of Lagos.

Another 'feature' of the Lagos road is the number of official (or official-looking personnel) on it. There are so many of them, that they probably ran out of color for their uniforms. So, you see yellow shirt crashing with with liver-red pants (someone call the fashion police), and when they run out of color you see lime green uniform. You have the black police uniform, but after these, it's a whole spectrum of color. Some may be raffic police, others neighborood patrol, or traffic wradens, but many I cannot identify at all. Although in uniform, many behave like roaming thugs. There must some fortune to be made on these road: stop a car on the prefix of some rules violation and try to profit from the situation. Beats making a living let the rest of the young men on the road, selling bottled drinks, tidbits and newspaper to those cars caught in the jam. I saw one of them handing his merchandise to a driver, when the traffic start moving before the driver handed over the payment. You should see how he came tear down the road to get to car, already picking up speed, all those snew of muscle tightening up for flight. I have seen top black athletes doing the 100m on TV, but this is the first time up close.

Police is your Friend? Yeah, right.
The only bright spot on these daily commute were the sea by the side of the highway. Going out of Lagos, on the left will be the Lagos sky line, then the ports with the container-handling cranes (looks to Keppel), followed by marina clubs with their yacht.
Part of these bodies of water may not be the sea. There are supposed to be swamps and lagoon in Lagos before they were filled up. Some of the houses, mostly made of wooden planks, between Lagos and the mainland looked like there are built on such filled-up swamps. The sprawl of these housing community reaches the edge of the water.
On the right, would be a hugh lagoon. On the mainland side, there will be fishing villages with their boat moored by the lagoon. On some morning, the fishermen will be out on these boats fishing with their nets.
When weekend comes around, I have to decide whether to stay in the hotel or go outside. I have been warned Lagos can be a dangerous city. So are Mexico City and Sao Paulo. They all have a reputation, but in Mexico and SP, at least a thief is a thief and the police is the police. Here in Lagos, I cannot really tell them apart. On saturday, I have an excuse to stay in the room, Newcatle United was playing Manchester City, the only two remaining undefeated teams this far into the BPL. No one would know that within a week, Gary Speed, who once played for NUFC, would hang himself at home.
I decided to get out on Sunday. I reason that this is the holy day of the week in the Christian south, I should have less problem with any criminals. The traffic was also much much lesser compared to the weekdays. Two blocks from the hotel, some of the locals came up to me, with a friendly 'NiHao'. Some asked for a handshake, but then gestured for money with their thumb rubbing their other fingers. I am not sure what the Chinese have been doing here, they must have done something here to suggest to the Nigerian all Chinese-looking person has spare change for them. Probably the Chinese government had been pouring funds into Nigeria in their bid to secure a share of the oil resources.
On the way, I was looking out for restaurants and supermarkets. Places I could get some cooked food and biscuit or chips or instant noodles. Because all week I have felt like a prisoner in the hotel, having to depend on the restaurant for my meals. And they don't come cheap. I was happy to find quite a few fastfood chain near the hotel, and a supermarket.

Along the way, a car stop beside me and two men in it identify themselves as police officers, and asked to see my passport. They were not in uniform and the so-called ID they were showing me has 'NAVY" written on it. They looks more like crooks to me, and could likely be off-duty officers trying to get lucky with me. I pretend to not understand English and was prepared to run for it. After they can't get anything from me, they pretend to be friendly , close the car door and drove off.

On my way back, a local stopped before me started to do a brief dance. I have seen this dance on the local TV, and it looks like wrestling. Then he came close and hugged me, that's went the alarm came on. I start to guard him against going near my pocket, then when his hands near them, I decided I don't want this dance anymore. I still haven't decided if that was a friend gesture, or an attempt to pickpocket me. The only genuine greeting during the walk was a Muslim man who advise me to get indoor in such a hot day: why don't you take a motorbike taxi or bus?

It was getting really tired from the walk, no because of the leg work, but from having to be constantly vigilant for real or percieved danger. Before I head back to the hotel, I decided to go to the beach near the hotel. Every morning, as the mini-bus turn the bend and drive along the hugh Eko hotel compund, I could see the beach right before me. The colorful umbrella make it look like a good place to be on a hot afternoon.
When I approached the beach, a group of 'beach wardens' crowded around me. They were selling me ticket to go onto the beach. The ticket looks official enough, but the 100naira price had been crossed out and 200 written with ballpoint over it. I said "no thanks" and they immediately lower the price and were ready to negotiate. I moved away. Only a very low stone wall along the beach seperate it from the road, I could easily get in further down the road. I did get in, and as I wlak down the wide stretch of sand towards the ocean, some 'beach wardens' got out of their camp or small wooden huts,put on their shirt and came at me. I could guess what they want. Showing me their palms, they asked for money: for the maintenance of the cleanliness of the beach. Well, it works.
This must have turn away many visitors, so no garbage was generated on the beach. I decided this is too much, took some picture from afar (for free), and headed back.