Images brought with love from Northern Nigeria

15th Century Hausa building

Traditional Hausa Architecture

Market Scene

Argungu Fishing Festival

Street scene at sunset

Entrance gate to the Palace of the Emir of Kano

Entrance gate to the Palace of the Emir of Zaria

Reception room of Palace of the Emir of Kano

Bauchi Harmattan Sunrise

It's really the sun up there. This photo was taken on a particularly dusty morning somewhere east of Yankari Game Reserve in Bauchi State, Northern Nigeria.

The Harmattan is a dry and dusty West African trade wind. It blows south from the Sahara Desert into the Gulf of Guinea between the end of November and the middle of March. On its passage over the desert it picks up fine dust particles (between 0.5 and 10 micrometres). When the Harmattan blows hard, it can push dust and sand all the way across the Atlantic Ocean to the Caribbean and South America.

Garba 1

The female voice on the loudspeakers finally announced that the flight to Jos was ready for boarding. This flight had been delayed for four hours already, and it was to the relief of us the would be passengers that we were directed towards the Nigeria Airways aeroplane that was to take us on this journey from Lagos Murtala Mohammed Airport. 

I was excited, the moment had finally come when I was leaving home, going to that far-off place that I had always dreamt of. I was going to Northern Nigeria where I had never been, for my one year of compulsory national youth service. It is the requirement for every new graduate of higher institutions in Nigeria to join the National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) for one year of service to the nation. 

It is the practice for 'youth corpers' to be posted to parts of the country different from where they originate, or where they had gone to school, college or university, the idea being to introduce young people to other parts of the country to which they had never been, and which they would otherwise have no occasion to visit. I was posted to Bauchi State, a place I'd only read about in geography books and heard about on the news. I had recently turned 21, and I was leaving home. And I was bubbling with excitement. The nearest airport to Bauchi town was the one at Jos, about 120km away. The plan was that I would fly to Jos and then complete the journey by bush taxi.

The Jos Plateau is a very scenic part of the country. The landscape was all quite new to me, as I had never been in a highland area. I know now that the weather was pleasantly cool, sub tropical. But at that time I thought Jos was cold, having lived all my life until then in the coastal equatorial steamy heat of Lagos and Port Harcourt. So it was with a sense of wonder that I sat in the city taxi travelling from Jos Airport across the city to Naraguta from where I would catch the bush taxi to Bauchi Town. By this time it was about sunset, the flight from Lagos had lasted for only slightly more than an hour, but because it had departed late from Lagos, we had arrived in Jos much later than had been expected. 

The journey to Bauchi from Jos would last another hour, when I eventually got on the bush taxi that is. No matter, I thought, surely the NYSC must have an office open all night in the event that corpers travelling from other parts of the country arrived at an odd hour. It was the responsibility of the NYSC office to register corpers on arrival, accommodate them, and manage their posting to whatever job they were assigned. 

I knew nobody in Bauchi, indeed in the entire north of Nigeria, so I was counting on the NYSC office in Bauchi being open this evening when I eventually arrived. At the moment, I was too filled with wonder and excitement to think too much about what would happen. Or maybe I was too scared to even consider the possibility that the office might not be open when I arrived later this evening.

Soon I was dropped off at the Bauchi Road motor park (motor park - a bus station cum taxi rank in Nigeria) from where I was to catch my bush taxi. There was a row of several taxis, all going to Bauchi, but I could see that they were in sort of a queue, taking turns to depart. None could leave until the first one in the queue had departed having first filled up with passengers. When I arrived at the motor park, the driver of the taxi at the front of the queue had taken my bags and placed them in the boot together with the luggage of the other passengers who were already sitting inside the taxi. There was only one other empty seat remaining after mine, so I realised that I had a few minutes to spare before the taxi would leave while we waited for the last passenger to turn up. 

I was excited. This was a whole new atmosphere where Hausa was the main language being spoken, of which I knew not a word. I went a few metres to a little shop and bought a Coke to quench my thirst, and as I walked back to the taxi I heard someone behind me say "Excuse me..". 

It was nice to hear someone speak a language I understood, so I turned around and saw this tall young man dressed in traditional Hausa attire, a sky blue embroidered caftan with matching trousers, and that cap on his head that is so typical of northern Nigerians. This fellow introduced himself as Abdulrahman. He was a student at the Ahmadu Bello University in Zaria and was heading to Bauchi to visit with relatives. However, he had not done his sums properly and now found that he was a few Naira short and needed some assistance to pay the fare. I agreed to assist him, not that I had a lot myself, but it was easy, because I could see straight away that he was genuinely in need of help. He was decent, polite and I thought that this could easily have been me in his position seeking the help of a stranger. Together we paid Abdulrahman's fare to the driver and got into the taxi, both of us sitting side by side. So it was that for this journey into the unknown, I had earned the company of a young man of about my age who was native to this place. I was alone no longer.

As expected the journey to Bauchi took just over an hour. By the time we arrived it was already dark. Bauchi is not a large city, it is an old traditional Hausa settlement with an ancient city wall that surrounds the old city. However, with modern development the city had expanded outside the city wall. This was now a state capital and the road leading into the city was broad and brightly lit. Also it didn't feel cold as in Jos. 

Abdulrahman had explained that shortly after we left Jos we had descended from the Jos Plateau and that we were now on the vast Savannah that covers almost the whole of northern Nigeria. On the way from Jos I had told Abdulrahman who I was, and explained why I was travelling to Bauchi. He said he knew where the NYSC office is located and that the taxi would drive past in front of it. He suggested that it might be a good idea if I let the driver know, so that he would stop there and I could get off. I agreed and then he said a few words in Hausa to the driver, who nodded. 

When we arrived in front of the NYSC office in Bauchi, it was already about 9pm. The street was brightly lit, as every major road seemed to be in this town. But the building. There was not a single light in sight. Not even an open window. Abdulrahman had pointed out the bulding to me and as he did so, he must have noticed the shock on my face, because he immediately decided to alight from the taxi with me. 

I was in Bauchi with all my worldly possessions, late in the evening, in front of a locked office building, with nowhere to go, and no idea what to do next. I was thankful that Abdulrahman had decided to leave the taxi and stay with me, because the task of rescuing me from this predicament now fell upon him.

Abdulrahman told me that his uncle whom he had come to visit in Bauchi lived not very far away. He suggested that we should go to his uncle's house and stay there until the next morning, when I could return to this office and get myself registered. It was not as if I had a choice, so of course I welcomed the suggestion and so off we went, him helping me with my heavy bags. 

We got into a local taxi that took us to his uncle's house, a very nice house in a part of town that I assumed was where all the important people lived. On the way he told me that his uncle was the state commissioner for something or the other, sort of like a state government minister. The house was very nice indeed, set in a beautiful arid garden. 

The northern part of Nigeria is a semi arid zone that lends itself to arid gardening. I marvelled at the immense good taste in which this front garden had been created, and how lovely it looked in the floodlighting set strategically among the various cacti and succulents. Walking past the garden and the main house, Abdulrahman and I went straight to the back house, commonly referred to as the 'boys quarters'. This is usually accommodation provided for the domestic staff who worked in the main house, but in this case Abdulrahman's cousin, his uncle's son, had laid claim to one of its rooms. 

It was into this room that we entered after Abdulrahman had unlocked the door. Although it was not a large room, my first thought was that it contained too many items of furniture. It was apparent that its owner had gone to great lengths to assert to anyone who entered that he was not a domestic staff in this place.

Abdulrahman showed me around, the conveniences and such like, and then left to enter the main house to inform his relatives that he had arrived. I think he must have at the same time also told them that he had come with a visitor, because shortly afterwards he came back to the room accompanied by two teenage boys of about 13 and 14, who seemed eager to see who this person was who had accompanied their cousin to their home. They were friendly and I felt very welcome. Abdulrahman said supper was on the way and that in the meantime I could freshen up if I wished. 

Of course it had been a long eventful day, so I welcomed the opportunity to take a shower and change my clothes. Abdulrahman went back inside his uncle's house with two young cousins.

Returning to the room after my shower with only a towel draped around my waist I saw that the door was ajar, it was obvious that there was someone inside. I was a stranger in this place and didn't want to upset anyone, so I carefully knocked on the door and peeped inside to see who it was. There was indeed someone in the room, but not someone I had met before. He had his back turned to the door but turned around just as he heard me enter. He seemed surprised to see me, well, obviously he didn't know who I was, or what I was doing there. 

"Hello", I said. "I arrived a short while ago with Abdulrahman". 

"Oh..?", was his reply. He stared at me briefly then smiled and for the first time I got a clear view of his face. 

I was naked under this towel draped around my waist and was somewhat embarrassed that he was seeing me for the first time like this, but I extended my hand. He seemed to understand how I felt because after shaking hands, still smiling at me he left the room so that I could get dressed. Not very long after that there was a knock on the door and Abdulrahman returned with the same man who had been here when I entered after my shower. Abdulrahman introduced him to me as his cousin, his uncle's son and his name was Garba. Garba and I shook hands again, and I mentioned  to Abdulrahman that we had already met. 

Garba was not tall, not as tall as Abdulrahman. He wasn't even as tall as me. But he exuded masculinity, and he was very well groomed, with a neatly trimmed moustache and perfectly manicured fingernails. I couldn't held noticing.

A loud knock on the door and a woman entered carrying a tray on which was set a huge meal of rice and peanut stew with beef. The aroma was heavenly. The tray was set down on a mat on the floor, and the woman, obviously one of the uncle's domestic staff, left as quickly as she had arrived without saying a word. She returned a few moments later with a pot of piping hot tea, which I was told is called chai, and some mugs, and then left again. No cutlery was provided, and as is the tradition among the people of the north, all three of us sat around this tray of rice and beef and ate with our hands directly from the tray. The food was delicious, and Garba was very pleasant. And he kept smiling at me.

Anengiyefa at 10:09 am

The Saxophonist 7

The Wednesday and the Thursday that passed before I was to see Moses again were the longest two days ever. But the pain of waiting was reduced by the fact that of necessity, I was confined for hours to that airy reading room near the amphitheatre of the Science Complex, one of my favourite venues on the campus to sit down and study. Very light and bright, with large windows providing panoramic views of the lagoon and offering a strategic view of Jaja Hall, a hall of residence for men. The sea breeze off the lagoon and the agreeable surroundings were supposed to help to focus my mind on my work, but every passing student was in my thoughts immediately compared to Moses. It always came back to Moses, whatever I did. 

There were many men (male students) in the vicinity and I've often wondered if I liked this place so much because the rooms of Jaja Hall had windows from floor to ceiling, such that it was quite possible to peer right inside the rooms from where I was sitting. I did the best I could with revision and preparation for the exams. I desperately wanted to become free from studying and education generally, so that I could do all those things I'd always dreamed of. And the way out was to pass these crucial exams, graduate, and move somewhere far away from home and family. But there was this new complication in my life, my relationship with Moses. It was a distraction that I did not need, but one that I had no control over.

Finally Friday came and I arrived at the Shrine, careful not to arrive as early as I had done the last time I was here. Even before I turned into Pepple Street I saw Moses standing at the corner looking in the direction from which I was approaching. He had seen me and it seemed to me that he was out there just to meet me. I was surprised, but I realised then that he must have been missing me too, perhaps almost as much as I had missed him. I thought to myself how unkind this world is, that denied us the joy of just rushing towards each other and jumping into each other's arms. I loved Moses and I could see that he cared for me too. Smiling at each other from the moment we made eye contact, we came together, him walking towards me. I saw that he was being careful not to attract attention to us, so we just shook hands and walked side by side towards the Shrine. The gate was already open and he led me in, past those waiting in the queue and past that handsome bouncer whom I kind of fancied the first time I came here. 

Moses nodded to the bouncer as we passed. It was a strange feeling I had whenever I was with Moses. It was a lovely warm feeling, the feeling of being where I am meant to be. Nothing seemed as important as being with him. I had never felt this way before, but I also knew that I never wanted to lose this feeling. The Shrine already had some people inside and it was a bit noisy. Moses and I went to a quiet corner and then he told me that Grace had left to see her parents this morning. There was excitement in his eyes and surely he too would have noticed the joy that was in mine. We agreed that we would meet at the corner where we had just met. I was to proceed there after the show and he would meet me when he had finished what he had to do.

The show went on as usual. At break time we looked at each other knowingly, but made no move to do what we had done each time since the first day we met. I was happy, here was Moses right before me and he was mine, even if only for tonight. All thoughts about Jurisprudence, Psychology and all exams were banished from my mind. Tonight belonged to Moses and me and I was going to enjoy it. I was excited and danced as I loved to do to Fela's music. Eventually when the show ended, I went outside and waited, for Moses. 

It was nearly an hour of waiting before he came out and even then, he wasn't alone as is often the case in this place. Still, I knew that I was leaving this place with him, so no amount of waiting was too much. Moses left his colleagues and came towards me. I moved further forward and turned the corner so that by the time he reached me, we would be out of sight of his colleagues. We immediately clasped hands and headed towards the Ikeja bus station, a typically rowdy and chaotic bus station even at this late hour, and potentially dangerous at night, as is any other major bus station in Lagos. But I was with Moses and felt in no danger.

We boarded a taxi and headed towards Ogba where Moses had his home. Before now, I had tried not to think too much about what would happen this evening after the show and in particular, where we would go and what we would get up to, but it was unfolding right before me even before I'd had the time to think about it. We were seated in the taxi, at the back, our bodies pressed against each other. Moses casually swung his arm around my shoulder. It felt to me as if he was asserting his claim over me, as if he owned me. And I absolutely loved it. 

Traffic was unusually light and we arrived at our destination after only about 15 minutes of riding in the taxi. Moses paid the fare and led me through a locked gate which he opened and relocked. It was a block of four flats, typical of this part of town, two flats downstairs and two upstairs. Theirs was the one downstairs on the right side from the front as we walked up the path leading to the building. It was dark and I was unable to take in all of the surroundings, but I sensed that it was a reasonably decent neighbourhood.

Moses opened the front door, let us into their flat and turned on a lamp that sat on a cabinet near the door. The sitting room was tastefully furnished, spartan, in exactly the style that appealed to me. There were two two-seat sofas against two of the walls, a furry rug at the centre of the room and a glass coffee table on the rug. This was a lovely home, a nest that Moses and Grace had created for themselves. I instantly felt like an intruder.

Later Moses told me that he had noticed my reaction when I entered their flat for the first time and I tried to explain to him that I felt odd entering this place because it had the imprint of Grace all over it. It was his home, but it was hers too, and I felt like an outsider, an interloper. Sensing this Moses had tried to make me relax. He knew that I enjoyed being physically close to him and he made sure never to be in a position where I couldn't just reach out and touch him. He poured some brandy, I guess to lighten the mood and I sat on one of the sofas.

Moses put on some music, soft jazz, George Benson, Al Jarreau, Roy Ayers, Earl Klugh, Herbie Hancock, but the music was low and so was the lighting. He joined me on the sofa and we sat together just enjoying being together, luxuriating in this moment, alone and in private, not saying much. It was our first time like this and although I knew that he must be tired after the show, he seemed more concerned to see that I was relaxed and comfortable. On the sofa, he placed his arm around my shoulder again and pulled me close and embraced me. This was the moment I had been waiting for all these days. I responded enthusiastically, and from that moment on, what happened between Moses and me cannot be published here. Suffice it to say that this was the most exquisite night that I had ever lived through before then, although I flatly refused to be led into their bedroom. He fetched some pillows and we curled up together on cushions taken from the sofas and placed on the rug, and in each other's arms we slept, intermittently. Moses made me very happy that night.

THE END

The Saxophonist 6

Tonight's show felt different from the others that I had seen. I felt restricted not only because I was seated at the Shrine, which in itself was strange enough, but there was a woman sitting right next to me whose presence was uncomfortable to say the least. I wondered if she thought anything of the fact that Moses had sat me beside her, but as far as I could tell she seemed completely unconcerned. We had exchanged greetings when she first arrived, but since then I might as well not have been there. I didn't mind being ignored, indeed I quite welcomed it. What was uncomfortable was that I could not enjoy watching Moses as I had hoped I would, there being a constant reminder sitting just inches from me that this man was unattainable in the way that I desired. It's not as if I didn't already know about her, or that I ever imagined that I could take Moses away from her. But I didn't need to have to be constantly reminded of who she was and what role she played in the life of this man with whom I had fallen so hopelessly in love. Moses himself had not looked away from our direction all night and that was pleasing. But because of the lighting, it was hard to tell whether he was looking at her, or at me. For the first time, I felt a bit jealous.

At break time I got up and made my way outside without once looking in Moses direction, perhaps to send the message that I wasn't entirely happy with the evening so far. Outside I made sure to stand conspicuously under the lights by the entrance. Moses would come after me if he cared anything for me. He must have noticed that I was acting strangely, I told myself. And sure enough, Moses did come out and because I saw him before he saw me, I saw that he was casting his eyes about until they settled on me, where I was standing pretending not to have noticed him. However, he wasn't alone, and it was a few minutes before he managed to extricate himself from the group of people and then come towards me. There was a look of concern on his face and I felt sorry that I had upset him. But I needed to let him know that it was not comfortable sitting beside his wife. Moses seemed to understand immediately as he looked into my face, I didn't have to say a word. He came up so close to me that I could feel his breath on my face. I couldn't help myself and said "I'm sorry". Moses said nothing. He put his arm round my shoulders and steered me in the direction we had gone the last time we were together. I put my arm around his waist as we walked together. I didn't care anymore who saw us, or what anybody thought. In this place, he had more to guard against than I did, yet he had come after me and put his arm around me in the open, in full view of everyone. I must mean something to this man and the thought of it warmed my heart. We walked down the street and slowed. I turned to face Moses and put my other arm around his waist so that both my arms were wrapped around his midsection. I placed my face sideways against his chest and before I knew what I was saying, said "Moses, I love you.." Moses held me, right there in the middle of the street. He is so gentle, this man. I cannot bear the thought of living my life without you Moses, I thought to myself.

Moses then told me that Grace was due to travel upcountry to her parents' home somewhere in the hinterland. He said the visit although already planned, was not yet set for a specific date. He needed say no more, because we both understood what this meant. That we, Moses and I, would get the chance to be together, on our own and soon. How blissful this would be, I thought. I looked into Moses' eyes. This man loved me, I could tell. We held on to each other for as long as we dared, not saying much, just enjoying the moment, feeling the warmth from each other. Reluctantly, we let go, because it was sensible at this point for us to return to the club and see out the rest of the show. Much of the communication between us was of the kind that is not spoken. We each seemed to know what the other was thinking without having to ask. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Moses. I had never felt this way about any person in my entire life.

And so we returned to the Shrine, but I did not go back to sit beside Grace. I went to my spot, on the left side of the stage, closer to where Moses was than was the seating area. I wanted Moses to know that although I was in love with him, I did not want to be a part of his marriage, or affect it in any way. Ours was a same-sex love, it was different from what he had with Grace. And that was fine, as long as he kept her out of our relationship. My reasoning was that the part of Moses that reached out for me, was not a part that Grace could satisfy. He wanted me to fulfil that part of him, and I was there for him. I wanted Moses to have all of me, since there was no part of me which he could not fulfil. I loved him and I was going to prove it when we had the opportunity to be together.

I returned to the campus that night excited, in anticipation of that day when Moses and I could have each other. But at the back of my mind was the exam that was due to start next Monday. I hoped that on Friday when I returned to the Shrine, Moses would have some good news.

That blue car

I've just taken delivery of that car I've always wanted, you know, that blue one with the leather trim interior and the wood effect dashboard. I didn't manage to sort out the insurance before the week's end and against the best advice of my friend Albert, I went spinning around in it this afternoon. And boy, it is something!

I haven't owned a car for the better part of 10 years, mainly because I convinced myself that I didn't need one. And there was a hint of the desire to do my own small bit for the environment. But driving around this afternoon listening to loud Aswad on the stereo, even though the traffic was heavy in parts of town where Premiership football was just disgorging its huge crowds of fans into the streets, I realised what I've been missing. Thoughts of standing all the way to my destination on a crowded London bus, or standing on a train station platform on a freezing cold wet morning flashed through my mind and I shuddered. It was nice and warm and comfortable in the car, and I've vowed never to go anywhere unless I'm driving there in this beauty. Within the last hour I must have looked out of my front window about 100 times already, just to make sure she's still sitting where I left her when I came in. I'm going out again shortly...

Technology and me

I haven't blogged for a few days and it was almost as if something was missing although I couldn't tell exactly what it was until I started typing this post. Nobody told me blogging is addictive, or that there are withdrawal symptoms. Anyway now that I know I'll try to keep up with the posts.

I was thinking about a news report I saw on television sometime ago, about how some weird people were queueing in front of a store somewhere in London where Apple's iPhone was to be launched the next day. I mean this live report was sometime in the late evening on a cold windy night, when every sane person ought to have been sitting snugly on a sofa in front of the TV, or at least making their way home in order to do so. And there was this throng of wild haired men and women proudly announcing to the TV reporter that they were happy to brave the foul weather all night, just to be sure that they obtained the iPhone the very minute it became available in the UK the next morning when the store's doors opened. Thinking about this I wondered what was so special about the iPhone that was to be sold on the first day. Was it perhaps different in some enhanced way to any other iPhones that would be sold the day after? What about those who would acquire the iPhone weeks or even months after its launch? Taking into account the pace of technology, perhaps its even sensible to wait a few weeks I thought to myself.

I am fascinated by technology and the advances that we have witnessed within just a few decades. It's nothing short of amazing. But having said that, I personally have struggled to keep up with innovations, although when I do finally catch up, I've often wondered why I was so slow in realising how truly awesome this thing is, whatever it was that I was just catching up with. Let's start with mobile phones, or cell phones as some people say. For a long while I was entirely convinced that I did not need a mobile phone. What for? I would question myself. I already had a phone at home and another at work. Surely I didn't need a third phone? Who would want to contact me anyway when I was out and about? But when I looked around and saw that even school children carried mobile telephonic devices around, texting and the like, I started to feel like a visitor from another planet, or from a place in time somewhere in the past. Not until then did I realise how ancient my thinking must have seemed to those to whom I fervently argued that a mobile telephone was a completely unnecessary frivolity. Anyway, as I have often had to do, I caved in and acquired one.

It was pretty much the same with the Internet. Even this blog was started five years after everyone I know had already started a blog. As a child sitting in the back seat of my parents' car, anytime the car stopped at a railway crossing, or whenever there was the possibility that we would be anywhere near a passing train, I clearly remember the panic that would take hold of me and how I would try to duck down under the driver's seat until the train passed. I feared engines and machines or anything mechanical. I seem to not have outgrown this anxiety about machines and technological innovations generally. I despise pocket calculators, but I have to use one regardless. Thankfully today's computers are user-friendly, but apart from the basic word-processing, emails, blogging (now), music and videos, there isn't very much else that I do with them. I like to draw with crayons and paint pictures with a brush. I love to read books that are made of paper and cardboard. I love writing with a pen and ink. Sitting in front of this computer screen is a necessary evil, the way I see it. I looked up the word "technophobia" in the dictionary and was surprised to find that it's a real word, defined as the "fear of or aversion to technology, especially computers and high technology". That finger is pointing directly at me. 

Yes I accept, I am officially a technophobe, because now Twitter is all the rage and I am breaking out in a cold sweat.

I know I've been rambling in this post, but I just needed to let that out somehow. It's even had a therapeutic effect in that I've been able to share with this blog something that has lurked somewhere at the back of my mind for a long time about which I'd not been able to speak to anyone. But of course, I still haven't acquired that Apple iPhone, although I might just do so someday.

PS: I set up my Twitter account shortly afterwards.

The Saxophonist 5

It was the last week before the start of the end-of-semester exams. I had failed that awful compulsory Psychology course two semesters running and I had to resit it this semester, again. And there were all the other final-year courses and that all-important Project with a very strict deadline for completion. I knew that I was behind with my coursework and that this week was going to be the only chance I would get to put myself back on top of my academic work. I had to put my head down and study; and study I did...whenever I could get Moses out of my mind. This was in the days before the Internet and when telephones were a luxury, the preserve of the affluent. There was no way of knowing where he was or what he was doing, or who he was with. And I just sat and thought and wondered about this man and the magic that had developed between the two of us. The university is located on the shore of the Lagos lagoon. The water is at the rear of the campus, such that the shoreline is far removed from the centre of campus life. At the lagoon front is an expansive grass lawn and just at the water's edge on the far side of the grass is a long quiet road along the shore, which leads to the Vice Chancellor's residence. Palm trees line the road and wooden benches similar to what you would find in a park are placed under the trees close to the water line. It was in this lovely place that I would spend long lonely hours, looking out over the water, wondering if Moses was thinking of me too. None of the people on campus who I called my friends knew I wasn't like they were. For them life was good, girls were aplenty. I didn't know anybody who was like me. There was nobody I knew with whom I could share this thing I was feeling. This was a time in my life when being different felt to me like a curse. There was nobody to talk to, but there was Moses...on my mind, always.

And so it was with much anticipation that I approached the Shrine on that Tuesday as I turned the corner into Pepple Street, the small side street where the Shrine is located. A group of men stood in front of the club entrance engaged in a conversation of sorts, one of them waving his arms about. In my eagerness to see Moses again I had arrived rather too early, because it was obvious as soon as I turned into the street that there were only few people about. I felt a bit awkward, but surprisingly among the group of men standing by the entrance was the man I was here to meet. We must have spotted each other at exactly the same moment, because the reason I'd noticed him was because his head made a sharp movement, the way one does when one suddenly notices something of interest from a distance. Our stares locked, before he turned away quickly and muttered something, perhaps an excuse to his colleagues from the band with whom he was standing. I slowed my pace and came almost to a standstill, not sure what to do. But Moses left his colleagues and came towards me, looking genuinely pleased to see me. He extended his hand, which I shook in the way I would any friend. Those in the group whose backs were turned to us, turned around to see who their colleague had left them to meet. But their curiosity quickly disappeared when they saw me, the nondescript unremarkable young man that I must have appeared to be.

It was awkward indeed. It was only dusk, quite early in the evening and Moses had things to do before the show started. He clearly hadn't expected to see me at this hour and I felt a bit guilty for being the cause of his discomfiture. I apologised to him for turning up this early and confessed that not seeing him had become unbearable. He looked at me in that way that makes me feel that he can see right into me and read all my thoughts. I knew he understood. 

It was annoying that I was not allowed to throw my arms around him right here and now, because this is what I would have loved to do, to feel the warmth of his body against mine, to be held once again by this man. We were standing in full view of everyone around us but there was no denying it, I was helplessly besotted. Moses said he was expecting Grace to arrive any minute now. He had told me the last time we were together that there was always a seat reserved for her at the front, because he liked to see her while he was on stage so he would know she was safe. He asked me if I would like a seat in the front tonight, and of course I wasn't about to refuse the first thing ever offered to me by this man. Besides, the thought that he even wanted to have me constantly in his sights was exciting. So naturally I said yes. At least, I too would get an undisturbed view of the man I had come to the Shrine to see. I will take in as much of Moses as I can tonight, enough to allow me bury my head in my books until Friday when I will be back here again.

Leaving me, Moses rejoined his colleagues and shortly afterwards they all entered into building through the stage door. I wandered around for a while. It was too early to gain entrance to the club as the gate was still locked shut, so I moved further down the street and found a quiet spot. I sat on a bench by the roadside under a tree, a place which I assumed was a hangout for local residents, where ayo a traditional board game was played. From where I sat, I had a clear view of the Shrine and it was not long before a taxi pulled to a stop in front of the club. Two women alighted from it and I immediately recognised Grace. I couldn't help noticing how elegantly she carried herself, a true African beauty, this woman, and I could see why Moses had married her. Both women disappeared into the club through the stage door. As night fell, the street became noticeably busier as more and more people poured into the area. I realised that I ought to return to the entrance gate in order to claim my position in the queue as one who arrived early. The gate eventually opened and when I entered I went straight towards the front. I hadn't been there long when Moses emerged from backstage. He seemed preoccupied with something, walking around the stage then saying a few words to one of his colleagues and then to another. They were doing all those things that members of a band do with their instruments before a performance. I hoped I wasn't being a nuisance. Moses looked out across the hall where a few people were already milling about. He didn't notice me straight away so I made myself more noticeable by moving into his line of vision. Moses acknowledged me with a nod and then went back into the backstage area.

I went to one of the kiosks that was just opening and bought a drink. As I turned around to return to the front I saw Moses coming towards me. We went together to the front where he showed me the seat that he'd reserved specifically for me. I was unused to the VIP treatment, indeed, such had never happened to me before and I wasn't sure what to make of it, or how to react. Anyhow, I sat down, although all of the other seats were still empty. Turning around, I saw that the crowd was rapidly increasing behind the seating area and I wondered if anyone I knew from campus would see me sitting at the front like an honoured guest. It wasn't long before the seats around me were occupied by others, strange people quite unlike the sort of people I was used to seeing at the Shrine, those who jumped and danced wildly to the music when the band was playing. Well, I felt important and I was just adjusting myself to this new status when to my astonishment, Grace wafted past in front of me and sat down next to me. I wasn't sure if I was excited, or if I was horrified. She greeted me, obviously remembering me from the last time. I returned her greeting politely, secretly hoping that this woman would not even conceive of the idea of striking up a conversation with me. Thankfully, she didn't, and to my great relief the band emerged on stage just then and the show began. If only this woman knew what her husband and I were up to. In a way, I felt I was in a superior position because I was sure she knew nothing about the erotic relationship that her husband had with me, or about that side of her husband that craved the love of a man. I knew her man better than she did.

Easter

We are told that Easter Sunday is the day on which the resurrection of Jesus Christ is marked. If there is any other reason why this day is important in the Christian religion, then I suppose it is the fact that it marks the end of lent, the season of fasting and penitence that commenced 40 weekdays earlier on Ash Wednesday. In reality however, in modern times, just like Christmas the religious significance of this day is shunted aside and what Easter appears to have become for most of the Christian world is a holiday weekend, starting on the Friday before. Of course, there is the obligatory movie or two on television about the life of Christ, or some other similar biblical story, and then, at least in every country where I have happened to be when Easter came along, the compulsory live broadcast on Easter Sunday morning of that dreary Mass at the Basilica in Rome. While I cannot dispute that there are those who hold this day in reverence, what seems more apparent to me is that most people think of this weekend as a holiday. Bars, pubs and restaurants are packed full of people having a good time. On the Thursday before Good Friday, many people leave work early and because schools have broken up since the Friday before, airports, train stations and coach stations struggle to cope with the mad scurry out of town of those who wish to spend these precious few days of holiday someplace else. And of course since the railway companies have announced clearly that major engineering works are scheduled for the Easter weekend, you miss your train on Thursday at your peril. And then the roads. Early on Thursday morning, traffic reports on the radio warn that this day is traditionally the busiest day on the road network.

Why all this commotion, one wonders. Is it really because Jesus died? Did Jesus die and rise from the dead so we may gorge ourselves with food and ingest as much alcohol as we can? Where is the connection between Jesus resurrection and Easter eggs?

The Saxophonist 4

And so it was that Moses and I were hidden in this dark place, the only place where we could be alone for those precious minutes before needs must he return to his job, and his wife. We held on to each other, both of us acutely aware of how fleeting this moment of joy was. I stroked his face and his moustache and ran my fingers across his cheek. Moses took my hand and pressed it against his lips. "I want to be with you always Moses..." the words spilled out of my mouth before I realised I had said them. He pulled me close and hugged me tightly and as I clung to him my cheek brushed against the stubble on his chin. "How can we baby?" he asked, whispering into the back of my neck as he held me, his breath causing a tingling sensation. "You understand how things are, don't you?"

"Yes", I replied, my head resting on his shoulder, "I do understand, but.." I did not know how to say what I was thinking. Indeed I didn't even know what to think. Here was I with a man whom I met only a few days ago, but with whom I had become almost obsessed. In the last couple of hours I had found out he has a wife, but I had also learned that he is just as interested in me as I am in him. Where would this lead us? I wondered. And just then as if he knew what I was thinking, he blurted out, "Don't worry, it'll be alright. We'll work it out somehow." In reply I said "I don't wish to cause you trouble, you know...but the truth is that nobody has made me feel as I do now..." Moses responded by pulling back and looking into my eyes. In his eyes I saw that this man felt exactly the same way as I did. 

When suddenly reality came crashing down on us. Moses had to go back inside the club to join the band. Oh, how time flies when you least want it to. We stared at each other like two conspirators, and smiled, the feeling of guilt was mutual.

We walked back to the Shrine, consciously making the effort to look innocent. I knew after this brief but enjoyable encounter that I'd had with Moses, there would be no other chance to be alone with him tonight. He understood that I lived in a student hostel on the campus at the university and I knew he lived with his wife. So the only chance we were going to have to be together again was here at the Shrine, on another day. It was clear to me that I would become a regular visitor to this place for the foreseeable future.

At the end of the show that night I lingered inside the club not wanting to let Moses out of my sight for as long as I could manage it. He was good. He would steal glances at me but I knew he was being careful because Grace was right there, up front by the stage. Apparently, she was well known by the staff and the other musicians, which was lucky, because chatting with them kept her from noticing that Moses was not concentrating fully on what he was doing with the musical equipment. I moved slowly towards the exit in the now near empty hall and stopped to wave goodbye to Moses. With my hands I signalled that I would be here next Tuesday. He nodded and smiled. I knew then that I was enamoured with this man.

The Saxophonist 3

I stepped back, closely observing Moses' face. The body language suggested something was not right. The woman came closer, she had seen us and was coming straight towards where we were standing now a few feet apart. They greeted each other but the greeting was short, as of two people who spend a lot of time together. Later on, while thinking about this encounter I thought Moses had handled it quite well, as he had calmly introduced me to her as a friend. This woman was his wife. 

I was taken aback at first, because he had given me not even a hint that he was involved in a relationship as significant as this. But then I couldn't hold this against him, because, after all, in total the time that we had spent together would amount to no more than an hour. It was I who had allowed myself to become so hopelessly enamoured with someone whom I hardly knew, and about whom I knew next to nothing. This however begged the question, why would he react to me in the way that he did the first time we met a few days ago, and since?

Since three is a crowd even in the best of circumstances, I knew the sensible thing was for me to withdraw. And so I did, wondering when would be the next chance for me to spend some time with this man. I greeted Mrs Moses courteously, excused myself, and quietly left them, careful not to look at Moses as I left, being fearful that my eyes might betray us as I'd heard all those stories about women and their intuition. 

I had chosen to come to the Shrine on my own tonight and I felt alone. I knew that in this huge crowd gathering outside forming itself into queues, there would be people I know from campus. But I wasn't in the mood for raucous banter. The person I really wanted to be with was somewhere inside this building. And he has a wife. The realisation of how untenable my position was suddenly hit me. But even his wife couldn't stop me from watching him while he was on stage. And that is what I did, having joined a queue, paid the entrance fee and made my way to exactly the same position next to the stage where I had been last Tuesday when I first met him.

I had been standing there for about 15 minutes, sipping a Guinness from the bottle, when Mrs Moses, whom I later learned is called Grace, brushed past me. She turned to say sorry and then her eyes lit up when she realised who I was. "Oh, its you", she smiled at me, and I smiled back. It was clear to me that she was here for the very same reason as I was, to watch her (or was it 'our') man perform on stage. Forward of where I was standing were some seats. There were only few seats arranged close to the stage, but in truth there was hardly any need for seats at the Shrine because most people just stood and watched and danced and jumped when the show got going. But there were seats available at the front, many of them reserved for special guests. I watched Grace from behind as she made her way to the very front row of seats and perched herself delicately on one of them in the way that only a woman can. There was an air of importance about her, sedate, demure, and the feeling that went through me at the time was a mixture of admiration and envy. Envy because it was this woman who got to enjoy this man with whom I was so besotted.

The show went on as usual. Predictably, my eyes hardly left Moses, but I would take the odd glance at Grace who seemed herself to be enthralled by the music. She remained seated, calm and composed, but from time to time she would sway with the rhythm. At break time, I looked up expectantly at Moses and observed that he too was staring at me. I noticed that Grace had left her seat and gone in the direction of the ladies room at the far side of the hall. As before, Moses left the stage and came straight towards me, but as he got closer I sensed his uneasiness. He searched my face as he approached me. I smiled, my heart leaping as I now knew without any doubt that this man wanted to be with me as much as I wanted to be with him. Seeing my smile his uneasiness visibly disappeared. 

Again he took me outside, holding me by the hand. I suspected he was taking me away from his wife, and others. This time we walked through the crowd outside where Moses acknowledged a few greetings from people he knew. But we pressed on and continued down the street, still holding hands, him leading the way determinedly. 

The Shrine is located in a residential area such that once away from the immediate vicinity of the club, it was dark and quiet, with cars and vans parked on both sides of the street. Moses led me behind one of the vans, the rear of the van facing away from the direction of the club. We were completely hidden from everyone and it was in this dark place that he pulled me into his body with an urgency that surprised me. We embraced tightly and smooched for the first time. We held each other and we talked in a soft voices, he about himself and his wife, and many other things. 

And we smooched again. I just listened to his voice, wishing that this moment would last forever. Then we smooched again, and again...I never felt such excitement in my life.

This G20 Summit

History teaches us that is it not very often where two or more countries agree on something, that each country will act upon what was agreed on in exactly the same way. In the G20, there are 19 countries and the European Union, which itself is a political union of 27 member states, only four of which are represented independently in the G20. The way I see it, this is a hodge-podge of diverging interests and it seems clear that no form of consensus can ever be achieved in actuality, although on paper the final communique to be produced at the end of this summit will undoubtedly purport that there has in fact been consensus. Recent political history is replete with examples of agreements made on paper, on which are conferred as many different interpretations as there are signatories to the agreements.

The very nature of the G20 itself is such that there can and should be no disagreement. Yet, even before the meeting began it was well known, with regard to regulatory reform, that there was a split between the Anglo Saxon capitalist model of the UK and the USA on the one hand, and the more interventionist European model of Germany and France. Indeed, France's Monsieur Sarkozy even threatened to walk out if no firm measures were taken to rein in the banks and hedge funds.

Gordon Brown's brainwave of a fiscal stimulus, a major new initiative to kick start the various economies has come up against a solid roadblock. Angela Merkel, and not her alone, has firmly indicated that she has no intention of letting the G20 write her national budget. Not to mention the recent cutting words of Brazil's Lula da Silva, blaming white blue-eyed males for the financial crisis. All in all, I expect little more than rhetoric from this summit, as opposed to solid and detailed figures. The rhetoric will lean towards highlighting the benefits of concerted international effort in dealing with the financial crisis, but few commitments will be obtained from governments, if at all.

Methinks that one positive outcome of this summit will be the formalisation of the shift of the balance of power from the traditional economic powers like the US, Japan, Germany and the UK, to the newer players like China and India. And particularly in relation to the issue of voting rights in the IMF, taking into account the fact that an enlarged role for the IMF inevitably carries a substantial price tag, a burden that the traditional powers will not be terribly keen to shoulder in the present economic situation.

While trying not to get bogged down with all this economic stuff that we have been bombarded with recently, most Londoners are basking in the limelight of Obamamania. Many know that there are several heads of government in town, but everyone, including the almighty BBC are following Obama around. Its almost like an Obama state visit. And Michelle, she's grabbing all the headlines.

The Saxophonist 2

So I went back to the Shrine that Friday. And this time I made certain to go alone, as on the previous occasion I had accompanied a group of my friends from university. And of course I was sure to arrive early in order to enhance the likelihood of meeting Moses before the performance began (let's call him that for the purpose of this story). On arrival I made my way to the backstage area, feigning the innocuous wide-eyed curiosity of an excited and awe-struck Fela fan, primarily to bamboozle my way past the burly bodybuilder bodyguards who were the scourge of any foolish troublemaker at the Shrine. 

I successfully made it into this inner sanctum, not quite believing how daring I had been at the entrance. And as is to be expected there was a lot of activity going on, with Fela's female dancers darting about backstage, giggling, as women are wont to do, while preparing themselves for the night's performance. As everywhere else inside the Shrine, there was the ever present cloud of cannabis smoke hanging in the air, the lighting was low, so it was quite an effort moving around the backstage, from darkened room to darkened room trying to locate him. Thinking back now, I can only wonder how easy it might have been if this was happening today when everybody owns a mobile telephone. Back then, the thought of a personal mobile phone was still in the realm of science fiction.

Eventually out of the corner of my eye I spot him bending over something on the floor at the far end of a corridor. It was dark, you see, and I wasn't sure if that was him. Yet I was very sure that was him, Moses, that man because of whom I'd laid awake at night, every night, since last Tuesday when I first heard his voice and felt his touch. There could not be another person backstage at the Shrine who looked anything remotely like this man, whom I had been unable to keep out of my mind since I left this place three nights ago. 

So I moved closer, and had almost reached him before he sensed that he was being approached. When he looked up and recognised me, the expression on his face a combination of shock, surprise and delight. He beamed, flashing that dazzling white toothed smile at me. Oh Lord, I wished we were alone, I should have leaped into his arms. But no, I just smiled back, genuinely feeling a bit shy that I had taken the bold step of coming to find him backstage. He must have noticed too, so he made me comfortable by rising from what he was doing, walked up to meet me and said, "Hi baby", as he embraced me.

I felt as if I had died and gone to heaven. The hug had happened so naturally. I held on tightly to his body, feeling as if I had arrived at my destination after a long and tortuous journey, never wanting to let go of this man who made me feel so special. It was hard to think that I had met Moses only once before, because being with him now at this very moment was as if I had arrived at a place I had always wanted to be.

I felt so safe and secure. This man was strong, and he pulled me close, and I held on too, but we were both mindful that we were in a space that was accessible everyone who was backstage at the time, to all the members of the troupe of performers. Reluctantly, we let go of each other. 

I was shy (or pretended to be), so I turned my face downwards towards the floor, smiling. We didn't say much, we just let our facial expressions and our bodies do the talking for us. 

Moses crooked his finger under my chin and turned my face upwards towards him. I raised my head and looked up into his eyes. I knew he could tell that I had fallen desperately in love with him and he pulled me close again, this time being careful not to make contact with that part of our anatomy that is below the waist. I put my head against his chest and I could feel his heart pounding. We held on to each other again, tightly.

In my head I could hear myself saying

"My love, where have you been all my life? I'm so glad I've finally found you."

But that line of thought was abruptly disrupted when Moses suddenly jerked and let go of me. I looked up at him and followed his gaze down the corridor towards a female figure who was approaching us. She did not seem to have seen us, but Moses had seen her, and had reacted in the way that he did for a reason... (To be continued)