Racialism

Racialism is a term used to describe differences between races. Racism, by contrast, is a belief that some races are inherently superior, and that others are inferior and those races therefore require different treatment. 

Baffled by human diversity, confused 17th-century Europeans argued that human groups were separately created, a precursor to racist thought today.

Their later 19th-century racialist ideas, often termed "scientific racism" or biological determinism, are widely rejected by modern science, anthropology, and ethics. These ideologies, which proposed that humanity is divided into biologically distinct, hierarchical "races" with innate differences in intelligence or morality, have no valid place in modern society.

Key reasons why 19th-century racialist ideas have no place in the modern world:

No Biological Basis: Modern genetics has shown that "race" is a social construct rather than a biological reality. There is no DNA or genetic basis that corresponds with the racial categories developed in the 19th century, and genetic variation within so-called "races" is greater than between them. 

For example, genetic diversity within the so-called "Black people" is greater than the diversity between any one of those Black people and that of any other "race". Africa possesses the highest level of genetic diversity in the world, with populations containing more variation than those on any other continent. Due to being the origin of modern humans, African populations have had more time to accumulate genetic variation, with an average genome having nearly a million more variants than non-African genomes. To then categorise this entire subset of diverse humans as a single category, namely "Black people" is completely inaccurate. 

Contemporary science finds no biological basis for race; no single gene or trait is exclusive to any one group. Race in humans is a scientific, biological continuum of genetic and physical variation, not a set of discrete, fixed categories. It is a socially constructed concept, with human DNA 99.9% similar across all groups.

Scientific Consensus: The scientific community officially recognises that scientific racism is pseudoscientific. It was originally used to justify slavery, imperialism, and eugenics, and modern research has debunked the craniometry and early anthropology that supported these views.

Ethical and Human Rights Impact: 19th-century racialism directly fostered genocidal policies, including the Holocaust, the atrocities of the colonial era, and the creation of segregation laws like the apartheid laws in South Africa and the Jim Crow laws in the Southern United States that enforced racial segregation. 

Persistence of Harmful Legacies: While scientifically invalid, these ideas still exist, leading to "new racism" or "cultural racism," which subtly continues to drive systemic inequalities in education, healthcare, and criminal justice. 

Despite their lack of scientific credibility, these ideas are often revived in modern "race science" to justify discriminatory policies, necessitating active, ongoing, and critical engagement to ensure they do not inform contemporary social or scientific discourse.

The idea that biological races underlie intellectual or moral character is false. Genetic research confirms that all humans belong to a single species, Homo sapiens.

The physical exploitation of colonialism was underpinned by an entire system of beliefs, prejudices and stereotypes built around the idea of white superiority over people of colour. Many of these beliefs persist. It’s called racism, one of colonialism’s most enduring and pernicious legacies.

Ancestral Africans generally did not hold modern, skin-colour-based racialist ideologies, but, like many ancient societies, they practiced intense ethnic, tribal, and cultural discrimination. While tribalism and xenophobia existed—often involving "othering" based on caste, clan or region—the systematic, hierarchical ideology of racism as defined today was not prevalent until later interactions. Similar to other ancient civilisations worldwide, early African societies had conflicts and prejudices, but they did not operate within the same rigid racial hierarchy that developed during the colonial era. In many African contexts, tribalism or ethnic discrimination served as a primary form of prejudice, creating divisions similar to racism but based on kinship, language, or culture rather than skin colour.

The modern concept of racism, particularly anti-Black racism, is often tied to the development of 15th-19th century European colonialism and the transatlantic slave trade.

A brief take on the impacts of European imperialism on Africa

European imperialism was the downfall of Africa. The continent and its people could have modernised in their own way, at their own pace, while retaining their own values, ideologies, value systems, and philosophies. The tragedy was in abandoning what was originally theirs, which had evolved organically over millennia to embrace that which was foreign, European or Arabian. On this latter trajectory, the continent and its people were always going to struggle, in striving to become what they had not originally evolved to be.

Traditional African societies were generally well-ordered and well-organised, characterised by diverse, sophisticated systems of governance, economics, and social structure long before colonial intervention. While often falsely portrayed as primitive, these societies ranged from large, centralised empires (such as Mali, Songhai, and Great Zimbabwe) to decentralised "stateless" societies, all of which maintained social order through established customs, kinship, and, in many cases, complex administrative hierarchies.

Key aspects of order and organisation in traditional African society included:

Political Structure: Governance varied widely, from monarchies with divine kings to council-led systems that relied on consensus, such as the "interminable palaver" (discussions) mentioned by Julius Nyerere. Authority was often decentralised among lineage elders, age-sets, and clan leaders, with some areas operating as "ordered anarchies" based on strong social norms rather than rigid, coercive governments.

Social Order and Kinship: The core of social organisation was the extended family and clan, which provided social security, regulated land use, and defined moral behaviour. Respect for elders, community solidarity, and adherence to tradition were paramount in maintaining harmony.

Economic Organisation: Economies were organised around agriculture, animal husbandry, and trade. Complex systems were in place, such as the osusu (cooperative, rotating savings) and trade networks that stretched across the Sahara.

Justice and Administration: Many societies had sophisticated judicial mechanisms to resolve disputes, managed by councils of elders or, in some cases, centralised officials.

Cultural and Ethical Values: A common ethos of communalism—often summed up by the philosophy of "I am because we are"—guided daily life, ensuring that individual actions were aligned with the well-being of the collective."

AI has this to say, as a first response when queried about the impacts of European imperialism on Africa:

"European imperialism in Africa (roughly 1870s–1960s) caused profound, lasting devastation by exploiting resources, imposing arbitrary borders, and disrupting social systems. It resulted in widespread forced labour, violent atrocities (e.g., in the Congo), economic dependency, and cultural suppression, which created deeply ingrained cycles of poverty, ethnic conflict, and political instability that persist today."

It is clear from this that the negative impacts of European imperialism in Africa far outweigh whatever positive impacts there might be from such foreign interventions into the continent. Arabian culture on its part, completely erased indigenous African cultures in the areas where it prevailed, supplanting itself as the alternative, such that much of the indigenous cultures and belief systems that it supplanted are lost to us today.

A cartoon, uncredited, in the French magazine L'illustration dated January 3, 1885, on page 17, presents a critical view of the Berlin Conference of 1884-1885. It depicts Otto von Bismarck, the then Chancellor of Germany, cutting a cake labelled 'Africa' with a knife, symbolizing the division of the continent. The other delegates at the conference are shown sitting around the table, watching the scene in shock.

Rio de Janeiro

It was in February of the year 1992 that I embarked on my first foreign trip by myself. Travelling from Lagos, Nigeria, we flew to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, on Varig, the Brazilian airline that at the time maintained the air bridge between South America and the African continent.

The flight was full, with lots of Igbo traders from Nigeria travelling to Brazil to purchase merchandise, with most of them travelling onward from Rio to the commercial capital Sao Paolo. There was a whole troupe of Yoruba Orisha practitioners in full traditional ceremonial regalia, which highlighted for me the deep connections between Nigeria and Brazil. Orisha, the traditional religion of the Yoruba people, is Candomble or Santeria in Brazil, versions of the same religion practiced by Afro-Brazilians with Yoruba ancestry. The two sides have maintained links across the Atlantic, I had heard that visits between them are common. Yemoja the Yoruba sea goddess is known as Yemanja or Iemanja in Brazil. There were several others too on this flight who seemed like tourists or diplomats or whatever.

This was the first time I was travelling abroad alone, but there were other firsts. It was the first time I was to cross the Atlantic ocean, the first time I would visit a country where they spoke a language I did not know. It was the first time I was to see with my own eyes the delights of the city of Rio de Janeiro, about which, through the tourism promotion programme 'Fantastico O Show da Vida' the Brazilian authorities had bombarded us from our TV screens for years. It was also the first time I would be visiting a country where I knew no one.

This was an adventure. I was excited, even as I anticipated the challenges that all those firsts could pose. There might have been some nervousness too, but I was curious, and adventurous. I might have even desired the challenge.

As it turned out, this visit to Rio de Janeiro was to become, among other things, the most enjoyable, most exciting, and the most frenetic two weeks of my life. An 'unforgettable experience' in every sense of that much used term. That I am writing about this three decades later is testament to this.

My trip coincided with the preparations for the annual Rio Carnival or Carnaval, which was set to commence in the week of my departure from the city. This seeming coincidence was not intentional, it was a genuine coincidence, but it was auspicious. It made for a vibrance in the city that was consistent, all day and all night, throughout my stay there; a vitality and exuberance that defines my entire memory of this brief visit to Rio, and, which made it an extremely pleasurable experience.

During the day there was the sightseeing and the wandering around town, the shopping for souvenirs, sampling street food; getting mistaken for an American by very friendly Brazilian people because I spoke English, enjoying the looks of surprise when they learned that I'm in fact Nigerian; having them practice on me what English they knew as they then tried to impress me by showing how much they knew about the Nigerian national football team.

Getting myself lost in the city afterwards, and in the process see places and things I might not otherwise have seen; venturing into the less well trodden parts, areas certainly not often visited by tourists, yea, I even strayed into a favela, one of the city's lively shanty towns. (We had been warned during the flight not to drink the tap water, to avoid the favelas, to beware of the many street kids in the tourist areas, and not to display any cash). But in the favela I visited on my own, it felt as if I fit right in so long as I kept my mouth shut, and didn't betray myself as just another nosey tourist. I felt very brave, even as my credentials as a Lagosian came to bear. Or maybe it was just the fearlessness of youth? Today I might act rather more cautiously,

Then having to navigate my way back to the rented apartment, using public transport. I shared the apartment with two others, Nigeria Airways pilots who had come to Brazil for their mandatory flight simulator training exercises. We were on the 6th floor in an apartment block on the Avenida Atlantica, on the Copacabana beachfront. My flatmates would attend for their flight simulator training at night, so I was always alone in the apartment at night-time. During the day, as my flatmates rested, I was out in town on my own. So, basically, this whole adventure was one that I undertook and experienced all by myself. 

That is, until Mateo came along. 

There were samba groups out on the streets at night, the various samba schools practicing their samba song-and-dance routines in preparation tor the upcoming Carnaval. This especially on the Avenida Atlantica (where my apartment was), and the Praia de Copacabana (Copacabana Beach), which together with Praia Ipanema and the adjoining boulevards and avenues was where everything happened. Or so it seemed to me.

In the evenings the usually busy avenue in front of my apartment building would be closed to traffic and then shortly fill up again with people on foot, many of them in carnival costumes. The loud music and the drumming, singing, and dancing on the street, would begin; and on the beach itself across the road, the beach volleyball that is played all day never really stops. It surprised me to see people still playing volleyball at midnight.

Observing all this from the apartment's 6th floor balcony in the middle of the night, the sights and sounds were overpowering. I was drawn down from the apartment to street level again and again, each night, as if on autopilot. The street and beach were flood lit, the atmosphere was electric. It was impossible not to join in with the crowd on the street while spontaneously swaying to the heady Brazilian samba rhythm, even as I wondered what the actual carnival would feel like seeing as this was just a practice session.

After a couple of times of this, as I joined the crowd again, capoeristas appeared before me one night. I was mesmerised. I was seeing Capoeira this uniquely Afro-Brazilian phenomenon for the first time. I had never before even heard of this unique blend of martial art and dance choreography that originated from Brazilian slaves. One particular capoerista caught my attention, his charcoal skin glistening in the night light as he twisted, vaulted, kicked and cavorted to the music, gracefully, effortlessly, in an expert demonstration of Capoeira. I must have been transfixed, like a rabbit caught in headlights, because, he, the capoerista, could not but notice that someone was staring intently at him. Then his performance ended.

Mateo acknowledged me with a nod and in that friendly Brazilian way came forward and greeted me, saying words to me that I assumed was him saying hello and introducing himself, but in Portuguese. Responding warmly, I asked in English "what's your name?". Of course, he didn't understand, and I too had not understood a word he had said at first.

In the Portuguese language, "What's your name?" is "Qual o seu nome", so after repeating my question a few times in English, he recognised the name/nome similarity in the two languages, understood what I had meant, and responded, "Aah, nome", and with that huge Brazilian smile, replied, "Meu nome e Mateo". I then told him my name, painstakingly telling him how to pronounce it, something I've often had to do.

This was how I met Mateo. I wanted so much to tell him that I thought he was magnificent, and that he was the best among the capoeristas in the group; that I myself wanted to know more about Capoeira, and that I wanted him to be the one to teach me. 

Though I didn't know how to say all these sentences to him in a language he understood, I needn't have worried, because he seemed to catch on. We both shortly realised that in this brand new friendship smooth conversation would be difficult, but it didn't seem to matter, and it didn't deter us.

Communication was achieved, and even if less than seamless, it wasn't too difficult in the end, because we both wanted it, worked at, and both shared the will and desire to achieve it. It came naturally.

Meeting Mateo made Rio for me doubly more enjoyable. I learned then that when visiting a place, there's not much that is better than seeing that place from the perspective of, or through the eyes and mind of a person who is local to the place, During this visit I was privileged to see and experience a hard-core side of Rio that a tourist would not ordinarily see or experience. And for this reason, being in Rio became that much more of an enriching experience for me. As I was leaving, I promised to return to this city as soon as it was possible to do so, but I have not been able to fulfil this promise, even up till now more that thirty years later, Yet the longing today is just as raw, almost the same as it was on that day when I departed, a feeling that is as if I had left a part of me behind in Rio de Janeiro. 💔

Fela

As a student at the University of Lagos many decades ago, Fela's club, The Shrine, at Ikeja, Lagos, was a favourite haunt for me and several others like myself. I visited the Shrine many times. Once, standing close to the front of the crowd at the Shrine I was wearing a t-shirt with PUBLIC ENEMY boldly emblazoned on the front, when from the stage Fela himself picked me out from the crowd and made some sharp remark about my t-shirt, while pointing at me, causing the crowd to cheer. I was awestruck, lost in the moment and don't even remember exactly what he said, but this was the only personal interaction I ever had with him and I cherish that moment eternally.

"Upside Down and Zombie, both released in 1976, were made at the midpoint of an extraordinary three-year purple period during which Fela recorded 24 albums of new material. Upside Down was written by Fela to portray a worldly travelled African who searches the dictionary and finds the definition of "upside down" - a perfect description of the African situation. Upside Down is unusual in that it includes a second lead vocalist, Fela’s American friend Sandra Izsadore. Izsadore was a Black rights activist and introduced him to the writings of revolutionary thinkers such as Malcolm X, Angela Davis, Rap Brown, Stokely Carmichael, Huey Newton and more, who inspired Fela’s philosophy of Blackism." World of Echo

Second video:  Upside Down - Funmilayo Afrobeat Orquestra, Seun Kuti, Egypt 80 (Live Session)

Technical Sheet:

• Composer: Fela Kuti
• Recording at Estúdio Sem Piscina, São Paulo, Brazil 
• Sound Engineering: Eduardo Magliano
• Recording Technician: Caio Terra 
• Mixing: Gustavo Lenza
• Mastering: Felipe Tichauer
• Executive Production: Vanessa Soares - Movimentar Produções
• Cover: Edson Ikê
• Communication Strategy: Amanda Figueiredo
• Video Capture and Editing: Paris de Araújo

What Grok said 2

 According to Grok. 

"The Botswana travel blog by @anengiyefa appears on their long- running personal blog, Things I Feel Strongly About (hosted at thingsifeelstronglyabout.blogspot.com). It's a multi-part series titled "Visiting Botswana", published in December 2025, documenting a reflective, road-trip-style journey through the country — focused more on personal observations, landscapes, subtle social dynamics, and a non-intrusive approach to wildlife rather than typical high-adrenaline safaris. The series (at least parts 2, 3, and 6 are detailed in recent shares) covers a drive from southern to northern Botswana, emphasizing immersion in the environment, cultural nuances, and a philosophical respect for nature rooted in traditional African perspectives (e.g., viewing animals as beings to leave undisturbed rather than entertain tourists).

Key Parts of the Series 

Visiting Botswana 2 (Dec 2025): Details the long road journey north from Gaborone along the A1 Highway, with stops/views in Mahalapye, Tonota, Francistown (Botswana's second-largest city), and onward to Kazungula and Kasane in the Chobe District. 

Highlights include: Herds of elephants approaching roads near Kazungula, including a massive bull blocking the way.

Marshy Chobe River banks with white salt deposits, bubbling freshwater springs, elephant/water buffalo tracks and dung (animals visit for minerals like sodium/calcium/phosphorus).

Crossing the Kazungula Bridge (built 2014) over the Zambezi River, reaching the unique quadripoint border area (Botswana, Zambia, Namibia via Impalila Island, Zimbabwe).

Personal sensations like near-vertigo on the windy bridge shared with pedestrians, heavy trucks, and Zambian taxis.

The post celebrates the joy of the journey itself over rushed destinations.

Visiting Botswana 3 (Dec 2025): Centres on a short stay at Flame of Africa lodge near the Chobe River and Kasai Channel (leading toward the Zambezi). Experiences include: Wildlife sightings: elephants, baboons, meerkats (first time in the wild for the author), hippos mistaken for logs.

A wobbly floating jetty for boat access (quickly abandoned due to discomfort).

Guide Maphorisa suggesting fishing trips, boat rides, or open-vehicle game drives — declined in favor of minimal interference.

Strong reflection: Aligns with ancestral views that wildlife shouldn't serve human amusement; prefers respectful distance over commercial tourism intrusion. Includes photos of the river, lodge area, and animals.

Visiting Botswana 6 (Dec 22, 2025): Focuses on the Chobe River shoreline in Kasane, specifically a local-frequented spot nicknamed "Kasane Italy" (reserved for residents, contrasting with exclusive lodge areas mostly used by wealthy foreign tourists from Namibia/South Africa). 

Relaxing observation of "sophisticated Africans" enjoying recreation.

Unease at subtle racial/wealth-based hierarchies in access to prime riverbank spots (echoing historical dynamics over centuries).

Views across to Namibia's Impalila Island.

Photos capture the scenic shoreline, locals at leisure, and access contrasts.

The series promotes authentic, low-impact travel — savouring scenery, chance wildlife encounters from roads/bridges, and introspection over packaged safaris. The author shares links to these posts on X (e.g., in late Dec 2025), tying into their broader blog themes of African travels, culture, and personal musings. The blog itself is introspective, written by a former UK criminal defence lawyer (with Nigerian heritage), blending travelogues, cultural deep-dives (e.g., recent posts on Malian mud cloth or Congolese rumba), and occasional political commentary. Botswana entries stand out for their thoughtful, anti-exploitative lens on wildlife and tourism. You can read them directly via the links shared on X or search the blog archive for "Visiting Botswana". If you're planning a trip, they offer a grounded, non-commercial perspective on northern Botswana's Chobe region!"

Journey Journal 4

Sitting in the Departures lounge at the Murtala Muhammed International Airport, Lagos, having gone through Immigration, Customs and Security in readiness for my departure on a night flight back to Europe, I am able now to calmly reflect on how much change has taken place at this airport. In fact, this airport and my experience(s) here, has, more than anything else, informed my belief that the change for the better in Nigeria is rather more substantial than I had originally thought. 

The air-conditioning in the terminal building is working this time around, the floors are shiny from having recently been polished and waxed, the abrasive and even sometimes rude public officials of the past are nowhere to be found; all I have seen so far are smiling faces and officials with a kind, polite and considerate approach to their official tasks and duties, an attitude that I had never associated with Nigeria in the past. I have to say it again, I am impressed with what I have seen and experienced in Nigeria. This country has made me proud. 

I received a text message from the KLM airline earlier this evening notifying me that my connecting flight from Amsterdam to London tomorrow morning at 10:30 hrs has been cancelled. No reason for the cancellation was given, but the option was provided for me to select from a list of alternative flights to London. One was an earlier flight that would depart Amsterdam at 06:45, just one hour after my arrival from Lagos in the early hours of the morning. My estimated arrival time at Amsterdam's Schiphol Airport is  05:45 hrs. 

My original connecting flight to London had provided for an intervening period of about 4 hours in Amsterdam, a time frame that I was sure would guarantee that my checked-in bag made it from the aircraft arriving from Lagos, to the one departing for London on which I would have been travelling. I was uncomfortable with the idea of arriving in London on this earlier flight, with the possibility that I might be separated from my bag in the process. 

The next flight out of Amsterdam after my cancelled flight is at 13:45 hrs, so having arrived at 05:45, there will be a wait in Amsterdam of about 8 hours. I'm not sure if I should be pleased about this (Schiphol, after all, is a very nice airport), or whether I should be angry that my journey back to London is going to be significantly more tedious than I had anticipated. 

I opted for the later flight, the one at 13:45 hrs, and the peace of mind in the knowledge that my bag would definitely be on the same flight as me. This wait will also give me the time to review in my mind everything that I have seen and done during this visit to Nigeria and to record for posterity my impressions and assessments of these.

I do not have an internet connection at my current location so I am typing this as a Word document with the intention to copy and paste it here sometime later, perhaps when I am at Schiphol and have access to WIFI. 

My flight has been called over the tannoy and I must now proceed for boarding. I might try to update further during the flight but this cannot be guaranteed as it is a night flight, and Mother Nature will likely cajole me into sleeping through much of it. If I am not able to update, then I shall do this later from Schiphol.

04:35 hrs - I did in fact fall asleep after the hearty midnight dinner served shortly after departure from Lagos and woke up to find that we are only 25 minutes from our destination. I thought I should jot something down as a memo of this uneventful flight. Join me later on at Schiphol Airport, all eight hours of it.

Schiphol - As I already knew that I was going to remain at Amsterdam Schiphol for a while, I headed straight for the relaxation room set aside for those with long layovers at this airport, a quiet room equipped solely with reclining relaxation seats, where it is possible to have a nap or even sleep if necessary. 

It was here that I met Izell, a young African American gentleman, a pharmacist, who as it happened had also been on that flight from Lagos. We both were surprised when we learned that we had arrived in Amsterdam on the same flight and were now sitting/reclining next to each other. It was even more surprising when we learned that we had arrived in Nigeria within days of each other, he on the 9th, me on the 6th of March. He too had a five-hour wait before his flight to Chicago, and he was just as positive as I was in his impressions of of Nigeria, and of his experiences there. He had been hosted by a Nigerian family during his stay and had nothing bad to say about the country. 

We spoke at length, had a lot to talk about, and he was great company. We even had a chicken meal together, paid for using the meal vouchers KLM had provided to those of us on delayed flights. But unlike my own, his flight was called and has now departed as scheduled.

My own flight was cancelled, for the second time. So for the first time ever, I have received three boarding passes for the same journey. I hope this is the last one I will receive before I finally leave, because I'm not terribly keen on spending the night in a strange hotel room, with no change of clothes, all of which are contained in my checked-in bag, which is still in the possession of the airline and contracted to be delivered to me upon arrival at my final destination.

Both my phone and my laptop are dead. I have been unable to charge the battery on either of them in the Netherlands due to the the incompatibility of the plugs on my devices with Dutch EU electricity sockets. However, they have kindly provided me with free web access, as well as the free use of a computer, which, by the way, is configured in Dutch. So I have to translate everything into English before I can use it. 

I shall update again when I get the chance.— at Amsterdam Airport Schiphol.

Journey Journal 3

6 March 2018

WELCOME TO NIGERIA

This large sign greeted me as I descended the escalator into Passport Control at the Arrivals area of the Lagos Murtala Mohammed Airport. I do not recall ever seeing a "Welcome to Nigeria" sign upon arrival previously when I arrived in Nigeria, but as it turned out this welcome sign was an indication of just how much the traveller's experience at this airport has changed for the better.

Within no more than 15 minutes we and hundreds of others, (three planeloads of people had arrived at this airport on three different flights at approximately the same time), were whisked through passport control by polite very efficient immigration officials. What? This was not the Nigeria I knew.

Apart from the baggage on my flight taking quite a while to emerge from the hole in the wall on to the carousel, the overall experience at this airport was nothing like the unpleasant airport experiences I had had in the past. In fact, this was my first time ever of having something of a pleasant experience at a Nigerian airport, and thus, it was definitely worthy of being acknowledged and reported, although of course the air conditioning in the airport terminal building wasn't working.

But this was a great experience nonetheless.

Going forward, the feeling that things have improved in Lagos grew stronger, this city where I grew up and lived in for most of the first few decades of my life, and about which I have had cause on various occasions to express frustration. The longer I stayed in and wandered through the city, the more the reasons for this feeling became more easily explained.

I wound up on the second evening sitting on the peaceful outdoor terrace of an establishment known as The George Lagos in upmarket Ikoyi, at the pool side, sipping a martini and surrounded on three sides by impeccably manicured gardens stylishly illuminated by mood lighting, with mild music in the background. My only worry in the world at that point in time was this - that had that brick wall at the far end of this magnificent garden been replaced by a view of the lagoon, with reflections of the city’s bright nightlights bouncing off the water's surface, the magic of this beautiful place would be complete. But as this was a location that was nowhere near the lagoon or the ocean, or any water body, there was no possibility of there ever being a waterfront view from The George Lagos. The fact that my mind had even wandered into the realm of fantasy and the surreal at all, speaks only of the enchantment I felt at that moment.

It is now my third day in Lagos, and like yesterday, it's hard to find anything to worry about. My biggest problem this morning was deciding on which FM radio station to tune my earphones into, and how I must go about satisfying this burning craving I'm having for puff-puff and hot buns.

So this is how worry-free and stress-free I am at the moment, and I am delighting in it. I'm enjoying being in Nigeria much more than I thought I would.

The city of Lagos itself does continue to spring surprises even for a hardened Lagosian like yours truly, with credentials as an old hand, and veteran long time resident. Now that my internet connection has been fully established, I expect to come back with more of these musings.

Journey Journal 2

Originally from March 2018

In the few days I have been in Lagos, the one time when there has been an interruption in electricity supply, the power was restored within 15 minutes, which surprised me. I was informed that the supply of power has been more consistent in recent times than it has been in years, including the period during my last visit here just three months ago.

During the drive home from the airport on the evening of my arrival, crossing the Third Mainland Bridge to the Island and Ikoyi, I had also noticed that all the street lights lining the entire route were blazing with light. and traffic flow was smooth and seamless; my thoughts at that moment were that things are now the way they are supposed to be, after having not been quite so for a long time. This trend towards improvement is very welcome, but there are some other things to be said.

Firstly and most importantly, the consequence of the absence of a maintenance culture in Nigeria is becoming increasingly more apparent. The focus seems to be on the construction of new roads, and shiny new buildings, while the already existing roads and structures are subject to neglect and are quietly falling into disrepair. The formerly upscale Onikan area of Lagos Island where the National Museum and the former Police Headquarters are located, and which is close to the former Governor's Mansion of colonial glory on the Marina, has deteriorated to such an extent that it was shocking to see; remembering the area as it was a mere twenty years ago.

On this same theme was my observation of the condition of some structures, in particular, those of historical importance / significance, which now look decrepit, derelict, decayed, abandoned, an eyesore and a cause of sadness to those whom had known those structures in their heyday.

Of particular note was the Independence Building at Tafawa Balewa Square, the 25 storey tower block significant in its historical importance as a structure built to commemorate the very independence of Nigeria itself, an independence won in the year immediately preceding the building's completion in 1961. I was terribly saddened yesterday when confronted with the reality of the appalling condition in which this is building currently.

Just last week, I read that a similar fate has befallen the famous, but now badly dilapidated Cocoa House in Ibadan, which had been built to make a proud statement about a time when Nigeria was the world's leading producer of cocoa. Each of these buildings were at one time or the other known as the 'tallest building in the Nigeria', when they were the pride of the country. Cocoa House in particular, was built entirely from the proceeds of cocoa production and was at the time of its completion in 1965, known as the tallest building in the whole of tropical Africa.

Another noteworthy example is the former Federal Secretariat office complex on Lawal Road, Dolphin Estate, Lagos, which is in a parlous state, with its facia, façade and all of its exterior fixtures and fittings ripped off.

Yes, I am aware that this extensive complex that is now in such a state of dilapidation is currently the subject of litigation, and that this has been so since 2012. But had the careful maintenance of national assets in Nigeria been treated as a matter of great importance as they ought to be, the court in the case might have in the course of the proceedings. made an interlocutory order, even of its own accord, that the maintenance of the premises be continued and sustained, with appropriate supplementary orders and directions as to the apportionment between the parties of the costs of that maintenance, the purpose of the order being to avoid such dilapidations to the premises that have now occurred.

It is incongruous and ironic that immediately surrounding what can fairly be described as the skeleton of the once beautiful Federal Secretariat complex, have been erected several gleaming, brand new, glass covered tower blocks, standing in sharp contrast to the secretariat's skeletal remains.

Then there is the Murtala Mohammed Airport terminal building itself. This is a structure that was modelled after Amsterdam Airport Schiphol in the Netherlands and was commissioned only in 1979; but due to (and because of) this very same lack of a maintenance culture in Nigeria, it is the Murtala Mohammed Airport building that looks and feels like the older of the two airports. Schiphol as an airport has existed for more than a hundred years and the current terminal building was opened as far back as in 1967, but you wouldn't know it, because every aspect of that terminal building still seems new and well maintained. It's all about the maintenance.

I could go on and on citing examples of shiny new towers today, and spanking new roads and highways that seem doomed to become dilapidated wrecks in the not too distant future, but I shall not do so, because this might appear to be too much of a pessimistic view.— in Lagos, Nigeria.

Reparations for Africa?

We heard that Ghana is set to file a resolution at the United Nations on March 25, 2026, to have the transatlantic slave trade declared as one of the greatest crimes against humanity. President John Mahama has led the African Union's call for reparations, demanding that former colonial powers provide compensation for the injustices of slavery and colonialism. So, will the African slave raiders who captured and sold their fellow humans also be held to account? Or are we to ignore this part of the story?

Approximately 90% of Africans captured for the transatlantic slave trade were enslaved by fellow Africans—including rival states, kings, and traders—and sold to European buyers. Major powers driving this internal trade included the Kingdom of Dahomey, the Ashanti Empire, and the Oyo Empire, who often raided smaller societies for captives. These actions were frequently fuelled by the European demand for labour, which encouraged kingdoms to secure goods like guns, textiles, and alcohol by providing captives. Coastal groups like the Efik and Ijaw in the Bight of Bonny, as well as individuals like Nwaubani Ogogo Oriaku, acted as middlemen, purchasing captives from the interior and selling them to Europeans at ports.

My own ancestors in the Niger Delta engaged in selling captives from the hinterland to the Europeans, acting as middlemen. Why do we not include this part of the story in our conversations about this subject? Should Africans not also be taking responsibility for their complicity and for their own role in this trade? Why is "victim" the role we always want to enthusiastically embrace?

Manillas were a form of commodity money widely used as the principal currency by European traders to purchase enslaved Africans and other goods in West Africa from the 15th century onward. They were a crucial element of the transatlantic slave trade's economic system.

Manillas served as a traditional currency and metal bracelet in West Africa from the 15th to the 20th century and were primarily cast from copper, brass, and bronze. These open-ring, horseshoe-shaped items were often produced in Europe, notably in Birmingham, England, and traded for commodities and enslaved people.

Scientific analysis confirms that many of the famous Benin Bronzes were crafted by melting down millions of brass manillas. The artefacts are, arguably, the proceeds of the trade in human beings. There is a culpability for this heinous crime against humanity that we Africans have failed to acknowledge, choosing instead always to play the victim. The real victims of this crime were those who were enslaved, not those who captured them, enslaved them, and sold them.

Yes it is true that the Europeans themselves captured slaves. In the 15th century, Portuguese explorers often kidnapped West Africans directly from the coast to take back to Europe. European sailors and traders occasionally engaged in kidnapping individuals or conducted small raids along the coastline, as documented by formerly enslaved people like Olaudah Equiano, but high mortality rates from tropical diseases in the interior limited the ability of Europeans to travel inland to capture people themselves. Most enslaved people were captured by other Africans, particularly during wars, and sold at coastal forts operated by European nations like Britain, France, and Portugal.

While direct European raids happened, they were a smaller part of the overall, systematic, and brutal trade that saw 12–15 million Africans transported to the Americas. We Africans must face up to what actually happened and stop portraying ourselves wholly as victims. As a matter of fact, it is we Africans who now owe an apology to the descendants of those whom our ancestors so grievously harmed. This, I'm afraid, is the opposite of saying that 'reparations' are due to Africa, in particular, for the transatlantic slave trade, when many Africans were themselves enriched by it.

Reparations for colonialism is a different matter altogether, and with this I am in full agreement with its proponents; for the crimes against humanity committed during colonialism.

A Brass Manilla from West Africa

Journey Journal

To Travel

I enjoy the process of travelling quite a bit more and separate and distinct from enjoying being at the destination I am travelling to. I find the journey itself to be one of the more interesting aspects of it all, and it is among the most exciting things that I get to do in my life. If I go on a certain journey ten times, I know that I am going to have a different experience of the same journey each time. It is the individual unique experiences of each journey that make for the journey itself being so interesting. Many of these experiences come from chance encounters with fellow travellers that I might meet on the way.

I would not in my everyday life, for example, have the interesting encounter that I had with this striking, dark-complexioned, statuesque, stylish, very beautiful lady with whom I got into a conversation as she stood behind me on the security queue at the transit arrivals section of the Nairobi airport terminal building. We both had arrived on the same flight, and, by way of striking up a conversation, I asked her if she was transiting to Dubai. "No, I'm travelling to Bangui", she replied, confidently, in excellent English. She then proceeded to calmly inform me in a perfect, sweet crisp, clear voice, with a hint of a French accent, that she lives in Cotonou, Republic of Benin (she had joined our flight from Lagos during the stopover in Cotonou), but she is originally from the Central African Republic. She was travelling to visit her family in Bangui.

Perhaps reacting to the querying look on my face, without pause, this woman went on to explain that, yes, she indeed speaks both English and French fluently. Her flight to Bangui was leaving in about an hour, so she would have to head immediately towards her departure gate. Also, she appeared to be travelling together with a group of other ladies who seemed to be her friends. But by this point I was at the front of the queue, and I was annoyingly summoned by the security person to undergo the security procedure, thereby, abruptly terminating my conversation with her.

As my wait at this airport was to be for all of eleven hours, I had the wistful feeling that having the company of this lovely woman for the entire duration of this waiting period would be very delightful indeed. I realised, though, that to be with her would not be possible, but I did seize the chance to walk up to her and bid her farewell after she came through security herself. I could not at that moment but notice the bemusement on her friends' faces as I did this; it is quite unusual for a woman to have had such a profound effect on me that my body language revealed the unsettled excitement to others who might be watching. I was in awe of this woman, and it might have been that I was unable to hide it.

Earlier, while still on this flight to Nairobi, I was seated next to a Nigerian gentleman, an Igbo 'businessman', (a term, which in the in Nigerian context often refers to a trader, or a merchant), who was travelling ultimately to Guangzhou, China, to order and purchase merchandise to be shipped to Nigeria. He started off by complaining about how long the flight was, and worrying about the even longer connecting flight to China that was yet to come. He seemed to be very passionate about Nigeria, and shared the same concerns about the future of the country as I do, but the conversation became ever more heated when the subject shifted to Nigerian pastors. The vitriol that came from him about the pastors was intense. He complained tirelessly about those pastors for at least an hour, and about his wife, whom, he thinks, nowadays, is spending too much time in church with her pastor, and perhaps too much of his money in doing it. He was a chatterbox, which was good, because the five-hour-long flight became far less boring than it otherwise might have been.

Then there was that young Chinese guy I bumped into as I waited in the Nairobi airport who spoke not a word of English, but who through gesticulations, and saying "China, China" as he repeatedly thrust his packet of cigarettes at me, managed to persuade me to try out one of his Chinese cigarettes, and in so doing break my promise never ever again to smoke a cigarette in my life. As guilty as I feel about it, I cannot deny that the one Chinese cigarette that I ended up smoking had a pleasant taste to it. My new Chinese friend didn't know English enough to understand the "thank you, it tastes nice" I said, so I repeated the same thing in my halting French. Still he did not understand. I wondered how he would cope in the French-speaking Bangui, Central African Republic, the destination I'd seen on his boarding pass, before I remembered that Chinese people who come to Africa to work do not need to learn the language, as they likely will be working for a Chinese company, and contact with locals will be minimal.

This by no means describes everything that happened, or everyone I met as I waited at the airport that night. I met an Indian gentleman recently arrived from Mumbai, who was enroute to Bamako, Mali, a place he had never been. He was travelling there to start work with a steel company. I did my best to assuage his fears and reassure him that Africans in general are hospitable, and are generous towards foreigners. Then there was also the young Somali man who lives in Uganda, but was on his way to Mogadishu with his brother. He talked tirelessly and I listened patiently, about life in Uganda, about how different it is in Kenya, about how Hargeisa in Somaliland is now a paradise, and about how Mogadishu will soon become the ultimate tourist destination, to which I nodded my head in agreement, smiled and politely excused myself. Later I found myself seated next to a distinguished older gentleman who as it turned out, is a professor from Sierra Leone. He started his journey in Freetown and was flying to Arusha, Tanzania to participate in an academic workshop of some kind. The conversation with him was so stimulating that I secretly wished he would not have to leave and say goodbye when his flight was called. But alas, this is what happened.

I had attempted to post this shortly after these events I have written about (all happened within the space of a few hours), when each was still fresh in my thoughts. But the Wi-Fi was patchy, so the first attempt to post it only led to the rather lengthy post I had hurriedly written getting deleted irretrievably. Now having to produce it again, it is possible that it's not as fresh and emotive as it had been when I first poured it out; or less intense. and not as complete and detailed as when I scribbled it the first time. 

 

Bògòlanfini

Bògòlanfini or bogolan (Bambara for "mud cloth") is a handmade Malian cotton fabric traditionally dyed with fermented mud. It has an important place in traditional Malian culture and has, more recently, become a symbol of Malian cultural identity. The cloth is exported worldwide for use in fashion, fine art and decoration.

In traditional bògòlanfini production, men weave the cloth and women dye it. The dyeing begins with a step invisible in the finished product: the cloth is soaked in a dye bath made from leaves of the n'gallama (Anogeissus leiocarpa, a tall deciduous tree native to the savannas of tropical Africa) that have been mashed and boiled, or soaked. Now yellow, the cloth is sun-dried and then painted with designs using a piece of metal or wood. The paint, carefully and repeatedly applied to outline the intricate motifs, is a special mud, collected from riverbeds and fermented for up to a year in a clay jar. Because of a chemical reaction between the mud and the dyed cloth, the brown colour remains after the mud is washed off.

In traditional Malian culture, bògòlanfini is worn by hunters and serves as camouflage, ritual protection and a badge of status. Women are wrapped in bògòlanfini after their initiation into adulthood and immediately after childbirth, as the cloth is believed to have the power to absorb the dangerous forces released under such circumstances.

Bògòlanfini patterns are rich in cultural significance, referring to historical events (such as a famous battle between a Malian warrior and the French), crocodiles (significant in Bambara mythology) or other objects, mythological concepts or proverbs. Since about 1980, Bògòlanfini has become a symbol of Malian cultural identity and is being promoted as such by the Malian government. It has become a popular Malian export, notably to the United States. There, it is marketed as "mud cloth", either as a symbol of African American culture or as a generically "ethnic" decorative cloth.