A Polite, Deliberate and Respectful Communication Style

The Kalenjin people of East Africa, primarily living in Kenya's Rift Valley, are widely recognised for their polite, deliberate, and respectful communication style. In Kalenjin culture, speaking gently and avoiding unnecessary loudness or aggression is deeply tied to traditional values of humility, self-control, and respect for elders and the community. 

This soft-spoken nature is often observed during social gatherings, traditional dispute resolutions, and everyday interactions, where active listening and maintaining harmony are highly prioritised.

I observed this softspoken nature and its impact independent of having it confirmed to me after I had brought it up and expressed my observation in a conversation. I found the softspoken nature striking, coming from the background that I come from — softspoken is NOT what Nigerians (of all ethnicities) do. 

I appreciated it, seeing it as a better alternative to the loud abrasiveness that one has been more exposed to. It is beautiful to watch, even if one does not understand the language. The deliberateness by which conflict is kept out the picture and everyday interactions are conducted, and potential conflict situations resolved, all with polite comments and smiles. 

I witnessed first-hand where a potential conflict situation was dissolved instantaneously. This was new to me, but that's just the way things are done here.

The Kindness of Strangers: A Testament to Human Connection

For a brief moment I was lost in Kenya. Then humanity showed up.

There is a unique vulnerability in being completely lost in an unfamiliar place. The world feels larger, colder, and distinctly indifferent to your anxiety. I found myself in this exact state of distress recently, standing at a designated meeting point in a strange location where my friend was supposed to be. When I arrived, the landscape was unfamiliar, my friend was nowhere to be found, and my calls to his phone went completely unanswered. In that moment, isolation settled in heavily. I was an outsider, swallowed by a strange environment, with no clear path forward.

It was during this peak of panic that the true beauty of human nature revealed itself. Two local men, total strangers to me, noticed my visible distress. Instead of walking past or ignoring a foreigner in need, they chose to step into my situation. They approached me not with suspicion, but with genuine concern.

Their assistance went far beyond merely offering directions. From the moment they stayed by my side, their presence became an anchor. They spoke to me with calming words, reassuring me that I was not alone and that we would solve this problem together. In a situation where they owed me nothing, they gave me their time, their patience, and their protection. They walked with me, guided me through the unfamiliar terrain, and actively helped me navigate the area until, at long last, I was reunited with my friend.

This experience left a profound mark on me. It serves as a powerful reminder that beneath the divisions of geography, language, and background, there is a shared thread of humanity that connects us all. These two men did not see a stranger to be ignored; they saw a fellow human being in trouble and chose to act with empathy. Their selflessness turned a terrifying ordeal into a beautiful lesson about grace, community, and the quiet heroes who restore our faith in the world. I will carry their kindness in my heart, a reminder to pay that humanity forward whenever I encounter someone lost in their own storm.

Papa, can I assist you?

It was a large backpack, and heavy. I struggled with it, but the idea had been to put most of the heavy items in it to avoid excess baggage charges. The backpack was carry-on baggage that wasn't checked-in as luggage and is therefore not weighed most of the time. This is a tactic travellers use to get around the checked-in luggage weight limit. The checked-in luggage travels in the cargo hold, the carry-on baggage travels in the passenger cabin with you, usually stowed in the overhead bin. 

So it was a large, heavy backpack, but I was sure I could easily manage the weight climbing up the stairs into the aeroplane. I did not realise that it was obvious to onlookers that I was struggling. Then I heard the voice of the flight attendant standing at the top of the stairs, "Papa, can I assist you?", with her hand held out as it to help me up the last few steps. Now, no stranger has ever called me Papa in my life, so the offer of help to a struggling elderly person that was directed at me hit me hard.

This same flight attendant made the point of offering to help me down the stairs after arrival at our destination. Of course her offer of help was kindly refused, both times, I was too proud in both those moments to accept that I may now be a senior person who sometimes might need the help of others to do mundane, everyday things.

The term for it is Age Epiphany —The sudden, sharp cognitive realisation that you have transitioned into an older age bracket or life stage. It is usually triggered by a specific event, or seeing a photograph of yourself.

So, guys, I guess I am now Papa to all of you.

Note from Kampala

We've just been on a drive around Kampala in the early evening as the sun set, and I was taken aback by just how large this city is. This is my second visit to the city in the space of two years, but it has taken this long for me to fully appreciate the city's true size, how spread out it is, and its magnificence. 

Previously, my knowledge of Kampala was limited to the Central Business District, Entebbe Road, (which is the direction towards where I have my lodgings—I'm lodged in the same place as last time); Masaka Road, Bwaise, the Express road from Entebbe, Namirembe, and not much else really. From the Expressway I always saw the roadsign with arrow pointing towards Mulungu, but we often came off the Expressway at the Kajjansi exit, with Mulungu still further forward; mysterious, out-of-reach. This evening that mystery was unravelled. 

I should start by doffing my hat to the architects profession of Kampala. They are doing an amazing job. I'm still picking up pieces of my jaw that dropped to the floor from how awestruck I was just from seeing such dazzling architecture as I did, driving down this road; homes styled and built to such stunning effect, accentuated by a hilly landscape that makes for structures located on a higher elevation at the rear being just as visible as those at the front. It was like a mural of stunning architectural magnificence presented to my visual senses that left me totally stunned, and utterly dumbfounded that I knew nothing about this at all before now. And this was just the beginning, as we drove down this Expressway towards Mulungu. 

For the duration of the drive until we reached Mulungu I remained in shock for having no idea that I actually knew so little about this city that I like, one that I have often described as one of my favourite cities. 

It was calming to later on stand on the shoreline in Mulungu in the fading light of the dusk, an anticlimax to the earlier surge of emotion. I came away from the lake with a large, deep-fried Tilapia fish to console myself.

Sempaya Hot Springs

The entry fee to visit tourist locations in this country is determined by various factors, one of which is nationality. I did qualify for the "rest of Africa" category but I had no documentary evidence in my possession when purchasing the entry ticket, that I was not an American pretending to be an African. So the man said, "Now speak like a Nigerian let me hear". So I said, "Oga, you sef, na wa, which one you dey.." Then everyone burst out laughing, including the man himself. 

Okay, so I got my ticket as "the rest of Africa", but it was still five times more expensive than the "East African national" ticket.

Sempaya Hot Springs are striking geothermal features located in Semuliki National Park in the Bundibugyo District of western Uganda.

Female Spring (Nyasimbi): Features a boiling geyser that shoots water over 100°C about 2 meters into the air. Visitors often use the extreme heat to boil eggs and plantains.

Male Spring (Biteete): A calmer, wider pool about 12 meters across surrounded by swamp vegetation and palm trees.

Cultural Significance: Held sacred by the indigenous Bamaga clan, who believe their ancestors live beneath the springs and perform annual rituals there. The shrine where these indigenous people perform their traditional rites and rituals has been preserved right next to the hot springs.

Semuliki National Park, a 220-square kilometres protected lowland tropical rainforest located in the Bundibugyo District of western Uganda, is the only lowland tropical rainforest in East Africa, serving as an eastern extension of the vast Congo Basin's Ituri Forest. It is one of the richest areas of floral and faunal biodiversity in Africa, with bird and butterfly species being especially diverse. The park is managed by the Uganda Wildlife Authority.

The area of Semuliki National Park is a distinct ecosystem within the larger Albertine Rift ecosystem. Most of the plant and animal species in the park are also found in the Congo Basin forests, with many of these species reaching the eastern limit of their range in Semuliki National Park.

The Science: The water at the Sempaya Hot Springs boils at such extreme temperatures—up to 103°C (217°F)—because of the intense geothermal forces hidden beneath the Semuliki Valley.

The scientific mechanism behind why this water boils involves several key geological factors.

1. High-Pressure Underground Heating

Rainwater and river runoff from the nearby Rwenzori Mountains seep deep into the earth's crust through porous rock and deep fractures. As the water travels kilometres downwards, it approaches incredibly hot rocks near the earth's mantle.

Because the water is trapped deep underground beneath a heavy column of water and rock, it is subjected to immense pressure. This pressure acts like a natural pressure cooker, allowing the water to become "superheated" far past its normal surface boiling point without turning into steam.

2. Deep Fault Lines of the East African Rift

The Sempaya Hot Springs are located right inside the Western branch of the East African Rift System. In this region, the earth's tectonic plates are slowly pulling apart, thinning the crust and creating deep fractures and fault lines. These faults act as open pathways that allow the superheated water to rise rapidly back to the surface.

3. The "Flash" Effect at the Surface

As the superheated water rapidly ascends through the fissures, the surrounding physical pressure drops. When it finally nears the surface, the sudden drop in pressure causes the superheated water to violently "flash" into actual steam and boiling water. This is why the female spring (Nyansimbi) forcefully spurts a geyser of boiling water up to 2 meters into the air with a constant bubbling and sizzling sound.

4. Mineral Elevation of the Boiling Point

Pure water at sea level boils at exactly 100°C. However, Sempaya's waters are heavily saturated with dissolved minerals and salts (like sodium chloride and sulfur) leached from deep subterranean rocks. These dissolved minerals physically elevate the boiling point of the fluid, which is why temperatures at the vent can consistently register slightly above normal at 103°C.

Impact on the Human Population: The forests in the park are of great socio-economic importance to the human communities that live near the park. The local people practise subsistence agriculture and use the park's forests to supplement their livelihoods. Some of the products they obtain from the forests include fruits and vegetables, herbal medicines, and construction materials. The local population is increasing at a rate of 3.4 percent per year. The high population density and declining agricultural productivity combined with an unavailability of alternative sources of income means the local population is dependent on the park's resources. The forest also plays an important cultural and spiritual role in local people. The forests are also the home of approximately 100 Great Lakes Twa people, an indigenous community who still largely live as hunter-gatherers. Tourism provides the Batwa people with additional income.

Note: The Great Lakes Twa, also known as Batwa (singular Mutwa), Abatwa or Ge-Sera, are a Bantu speaking group native to the African Great Lakes region on the border of Central Africa and East Africa. As an indigenous pygmy people, the Twa are generally assumed to be the oldest surviving population of the Great Lakes region. Current populations of Great Lakes Twa people live in the states of Rwanda, Burundi, Uganda and the eastern portion of the Democratic Republic of Congo. In 2000, they numbered approximately 80,000 people, making them a significant minority group in these countries.

Past practices of the managing authorities that excluded the local people created resentment among them. This reduced the effectiveness of conservation practices and contributed to the occurrence of illegal activities. Since the 1990s, the Ugandan Wildlife Authority has involved the local communities in park planning.

She was the park ranger assigned to be our guide

Lifeline Across Continents

The aviation link between Europe and the African continent is far more than a routine commercial network; it is a historical lifeline that has shaped geopolitical and economic relationships for over a century. For anyone boarding a modern Brussels Airlines flight bound for Central Africa or sub-Saharan Africa in general, this connection instantly transforms from an abstract corporate operation into a deeply personal experience of hospitality. Stepping off my recent flight from Brussels to Bujumbura, the overwhelming takeaway was clear: the service was comfortably among the finest, if not the very best, ever experienced on a journey to the continent. This world-class onboard environment is not an accident. Rather, it is the modern reflection of a century-long institutional legacy and a testament to the airline's vital structural role in African trade, logistics, and community connectivity.

The deep-rooted history of this connection spans more than one hundred years, inherited from the legacy of Belgium’s former national carrier, Sabena. On February 12, 1925, three Belgian aviators completed the first historic flight from Brussels to Léopoldville (now Kinshasa), an arduous 51-day trek across the Sahara. By 1935, Sabena had launched regular commercial passenger services, establishing a permanent aerial bridge to Central Africa. Following Sabena's closure in 2002, SN Brussels Airlines was formed to preserve these vital routes, later becoming the Brussels Airlines known today. Now a key pillar of the Lufthansa Group, the carrier draws upon nearly a century of specialised operational knowledge via its dedicated African Competence Centre.

This century of experience directly translates into the passenger cabin, distinguishing Brussels Airlines from peers who often treat African routes as secondary priorities. On the flight to Bujumbura, this dedication manifests in a meticulous attention to detail and genuine warmth. The onboard dining experience immediately stands out as a highlight, featuring thoughtfully curated meals that rival premium restaurant standards, complete with authentic Belgian touches that elevate the entire journey. This culinary excellence is perfectly complemented by the interactions with the cabin crew, whose professionalism is defined by an authentic, unhurried attentiveness. Rather than delivering mechanical service, the crew frequently navigate multiple languages and cultural nuances with ease, anticipating passenger needs with a level of care that transforms a long-haul journey over the Sahara into a welcoming and profoundly respectful experience.

Beyond exceptional hospitality, the airline delivers profound economic impacts by serving "niche markets" that are frequently underserved by other major European legacy carriers—such as Bujumbura (Burundi), Freetown (Sierra Leone), and Monrovia (Liberia). By maintaining consistent schedules, Brussels Airlines provides an indispensable link for Visiting Friends and Relatives (VFR) traffic. This supports diaspora communities, facilitating the seamless flow of human capital, skills, and financial remittances back to home countries, which forms a cornerstone of local macroeconomic stability.

Furthermore, Brussels Airlines acts as a critical engine for trade and logistics through its robust cargo operations. Utilising the bellyhold capacity of its widebody Airbus A330 fleet, the airline moves millions of kilograms of freight annually. Southbound flights deliver high-value European manufactured goods and life-saving pharmaceuticals, pulling directly from Brussels Airport’s status as a leading global pharmaceutical hub to reinforce local healthcare networks. Conversely, northbound flights transport fresh agricultural produce, flowers, and fish from African markets to European consumers, injecting vital foreign exchange into local economies and supporting thousands of agricultural jobs.

The true value of this service extends past pure economic metrics into the realm of humanitarian resilience. The airline's operational commitment was profoundly demonstrated during the 2014 West African Ebola outbreak. While almost all other international carriers suspended operations to Sierra Leone, Guinea, and Liberia out of risk aversion, Brussels Airlines continued its regular flights. This decision provided a literal lifeline, allowing the United Nations, the World Health Organisation, and global aid workers to fly in essential medical personnel and emergency supplies.

Ultimately, Brussels Airlines represents far more than standard commercial aviation; it is a historical institution and an economic prerequisite for regional development. The world-class service experienced on the flight to Bujumbura is simply the modern, human face of a century-old commitment. By bridging isolated markets, facilitating high-stakes pharmaceutical and agricultural trade, and treating its passengers with unmatched hospitality, the airline serves as a vital, irreplaceable custodian of Euro-African relations.

This was the best Premium Economy experience flying to Africa I have ever had. It was far better even than the one Business Class experience on Air France that I have been privileged to enjoy. I did not feel that I was taken for granted as I did flying Ethiopian, Kenya Airways, and especially Egypt Air. I did not feel like just a number as with Turkish Airlines. 

This is not an advertisement. These are personal reflections, accolades that Brussels Airlines truly deserves. In my humble opinion they are the best airline flying direct between Europe and Sub-Saharan Africa at the present time. 

Rhythms of the Rift: A Cultural Journey Through Burundi, Uganda, and Kenya" — My Upcoming East Africa Tour

When travellers imagine East Africa, their minds often drift to the sweeping savannahs of the Serengeti or the dramatic wildebeest migrations of the Maasai Mara. Yet, the true heartbeat of the region does not reside in its megafauna, but in its people. A journey tracing the crescent from Burundi, through Uganda, and into Kenya offers a profound exploration of human resilience, artistry, and community. By deliberately stepping away from the safari jeep and into the markets, kingdoms, and villages, one uncovers a tapestry woven from ancient traditions and dynamic modern realities.

The journey begins in Burundi, a small, mountainous nation nestled in the Great Lakes region. Often bypassed by mainstream tourism, Burundi offers an incredibly raw and intimate window into Central-East African life. The defining characteristic of Burundian culture is its profound relationship with rhythm, best embodied by the Royal Drummers of Gishora. In Burundian tradition, the drum (ingoma) is not merely a musical instrument; it is a sacred vessel representing fertility, regeneration, and the ancient monarchy. To witness the drummers perform is to experience a masterclass in collective energy. The performers leap, dance, and shout in perfect synchronicity around a central drum, their faces etched with pride. Beyond the performance, daily life along the shores of Lake Tanganyika revolves around communal agriculture and fishing. In the capital of Gitega and the bustling streets of Bujumbura, the lifestyle is defined by the umuganda—a spirit of communal labour—and the warmth of shared meals featuring fresh lake fish and cassava bread, offering a gentle, rhythmic introduction to the region's hospitality.

Travelling north into Uganda, the landscape shifts, and the cultural complexity deepens. Known historically as a crossroads of Bantu, Nilotic, and Central Sudanic peoples, Uganda’s identity is anchored by its surviving traditional kingdoms. In Kampala, the capital city, the majestic Buganda Kingdom takes centre stage. Visiting the Mengo Palace and the historic parliament (Bulange) reveals how centuries-old monarchies seamlessly coexist with modern administrative governance. The Baganda people maintain a lifestyle deeply rooted in etiquette, respect, and a love for culinary heritage. A staple of daily life here is matooke (steamed green bananas), meticulously prepared by wrapping the fruit in banana leaves and steaming it for hours over a wood fire—a communal culinary ritual shared across generations. 

The final leg of the tour crosses into Kenya, a nation where hyper-modernity meets deeply entrenched ancestral lifestyles. In Nairobi, the vibrant tech and art hub of the continent, the lifestyle is fast-paced, creative, and cosmopolitan. The city’s markets, like the Maasai Market, act as living galleries showcasing the intricate beadwork, wood carvings, and khanga textiles that define East African fashion and identity. However, to understand Kenya's cultural diversity, one must venture toward the coast and the northern rangelands. Along the Indian Ocean, the Swahili culture thrives in places like Lamu and Mombasa. Here, centuries of trade between Africa, Arabia, and Asia have birthed a distinct lifestyle characterised by narrow stone alleys, carved wooden doors, the aromatic scents of spiced pilau, and a relaxed philosophy known as pole pole (slowly, slowly). 

Venture into the lush, high-altitude landscapes of Kenya’s Great Rift Valley, and you encounter the Kalenjin people, a Nilotic ethnic group whose cultural lifestyle is deeply intertwined with the geography of the ridges. Historically pastoralists and skilled agro-pastoralists, the Kalenjin possess a rich social structure governed by age-sets (murenet) and traditional rites of passage that emphasise physical endurance, mental fortitude, and deep respect for ancestral wisdom. In contemporary global culture, this heritage of resilience has manifested in an extraordinary way: the Kalenjin are world-renowned as the "running tribe," producing a staggering number of the world’s elite long-distance marathon champions. This athletic dominance is structurally supported by a lifestyle centered around high-altitude living, a diet rich in traditional staples like ugali and fermented milk (mursik), and an ingrained community ethos of quiet determination. Visiting a Kalenjin homestead offers an intimate glimpse into a community that seamlessly balances global sporting excellence with a fierce dedication to preserving their language, oral histories, and pastoral roots. 

Focusing an East African tour on its people reveals a region that is far more than a backdrop for wildlife photography. Starting from the sacred drumbeats of Burundi, moving through the historical kingdoms and culinary traditions of Uganda, and concluding amidst the coastal Swahili rhythms and pastoral endurance of Kenya, this journey highlights the true essence of travel: human connection. It reminds us that the ultimate beauty of East Africa lies in the shared laughter in a crowded market, the pride of a traditional dance, and the enduring warmth of its inhabitants.

Visiting Botswana 9 (Side notes)

I was waiting for the driver, and then this new friend of mine came round to keep me company. My friend likes chicken, I've been feeding him some scraps.

Oh, by the way, we came upon a whole herd of elephants as we approached Kazungula last evening, and even before that, the van we were travelling in had had to halt its progress when a bull elephant stepped into the middle of the road. And this happened just a couple of hundred metres from the next village, so the much talked about conflict between wildlife and humans showed up in stark relief right before our eyes.

Travel vlogging today

I was concerned about the current trends in travel vlogging, and wondered how the desires of the more thoughtful person in search of travel stories might be fulfilled. So I proposed the following to an AI chat bot:-

"There's not much intellectuality in the travel vlogging that fills the internet. Much of this kind of vlogging is limited to scenes and images, not necessarily the deeper, more meaningful stories that a thoughtful person might be hoping to see and hear. Discuss."

Then I received this response:

"You have pointed out a very real and visible shift in how we consume travel media. Much of the travel vlogging that dominates the internet today prioritises visual spectacle over intellectual or cultural depth, transforming what used to be a medium for storytelling into a fast-paced gallery of beautiful, but often hollow, imagery. Here is a breakdown of why travel vlogging has leaned away from "intellectuality".

The economics of modern internet platforms heavily favour short-form, high-stimulation content. Referred to as "the Attention Economy", platforms like TikTok, Instagram Reels, and YouTube Shorts reward creators for hooking a viewer in the first two seconds. A stunning drone shot of a cliffside in Amalfi or an aesthetic slow-motion clip of a cafe is instantly digestible. A deep dive into the socio-economic history of that same Italian village requires time that the algorithm rarely rewards.Then there is the rise of "vibe" over substance. Travel content has increasingly shifted from travel journalism to lifestyle marketing. The focus is often less about the destination itself and more about how the vlogger looks and feels in that destination. The location becomes a mere backdrop for personal branding.

The internet hasn't completely killed intellectual travel storytelling; rather, the dominant platforms have buried it beneath an avalanche of highly aesthetic, easily monetisable lifestyle content. The "thoughtful person" can still find deeply meaningful stories, but it now requires active curation rather than relying on what the algorithm serves up on the front page."

When I am telling a story, I aspire to tell the story in the manner of Alan Whicker of old, and more recently Michael Palin. Even though those men were at the centre of the stories they told from around the world, the stories were never about themselves personally. You watched their storytelling and came away with having learned so much. It was real travel journalism. I try to do the same through my own preferred medium of expression, which is writing. The purpose, in my humble opinion, should be, through one's journalistic efforts, to capture the essence of the place that one is visiting.

Nowadays, though, it seems to be more about lifestyle than about travel.

PS: Donald Alan Whicker (2 August 1921 – 12 July 2013) was a journalist and television presenter and broadcaster. His career spanned almost 60 years, during which time he presented the documentary television programme Whicker's World for over 30 years. I used to watch him avidly when I was growing up, as he took us around the world.

Cotonou

I watched the dust of Cotonou settle onto my shoes, realising how strange it felt to be an outsider in a place that looked exactly like home. As an African travelling across my own continent, crossing a border doesn't mean entering a new world; it means entering a mirror that has been slightly tilted. Back in Lagos, the cacophony is loud, the soundscape is always of busy traffic, loud car horns, and raised voices, but here, there is hardly a noise, with the Atlantic humidity wrapping around you like a heavy, familiar cloth, as if you are constantly in the pleasant Lagos city district of Victoria Island wherever in Cotonou you are.

Walking through the Dantokpa Market I didn't feel the sharp detachment of a foreign tourist. Instead, I felt a quiet frustration—the sensation of recognising everything and recognising nothing at all, all at once. The rhythm of the women bargaining, the vocals of the Beninese local music spilling from speakers were familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time; the aroma of roasting plantains was entirely intimate, but I could not speak the local Fon and Egun languages, or French, fluently enough to blend in.

My friend and I went to the city’s port. There were newly imported used cars from Europe for sale, and my friend was interested in replacing his car. The ambience was relaxed, nothing like the hurried helter-skelter of Lagos where everyone seems to be dashing around at a frenzied pace. It was in Cotonou that I heard Zouk music for the first time, this French Caribbean music genre pioneered by the French Antillean band Kassav' in the early 1980s. In Cotonou, in the Republic of Benin, the word "chill" took on a new meaning for me.

Stranded between the comfort of shared identity and the isolation of being a stranger, I found a strange kind of peace. I didn't need to explain myself here. The land understood my bones, even if the city didn't know my name.

Grok said this

According to Grok: The X post shares a personal blog entry reflecting on the author's solo 1992 trip to Rio de Janeiro, capturing the thrill of first-time experiences like flying across the Atlantic from Nigeria and navigating a non-English-speaking city amid Carnival preparations.

It emphasises Afro-Atlantic cultural connections, such as Yoruba religious influences in Brazilian Candomblé and the mesmerising Capoeira performances, blending historical slave trade legacies with vibrant street life in favelas and beaches like Copacabana.

The narrative highlights transformative encounters, including an impromptu friendship with a local capoeirista despite language barriers, evoking lasting nostalgia and a sense of leaving "a part of me behind" in Rio after two frenetic weeks.

Rio de Janeiro 2

Rio de Janeiro is one of the most spectacular cities in the world, certainly THE most spectacular city I've ever been to, and the one with the most dramatic landscapes. Visiting this city is one of those unforgettable memories that remain with you forever. Especially for me, because it was my first ever independent foreign trip, one that I did all by myself as a youngster in my 20's then; having to navigate the language barrier, then react and adapt to the new and the unfamiliar. The experience was thrilling in the extreme, and is probably from where my curiosity and love for adventure were born.

This mountain is the Corcovado, and the large sculpture on top of the mountain is known as Cristo Redentor, or Christ the Redeemer. It took nine years to complete, between 1922 - 1931. It is an Art Deco-style sculpture, of Jesus Christ with open arms in a cross shape, 38 metres (124ft) high, which is equivalent to a 13-storey building. The total weight of the statue is approximately 1145 tons, of which 30 tons correspond only the head. It is huge. 

The hands and head are the only parts of Christ the Redeemer that weren’t built in Brazil. They were shaped in Paris. The statue’s body is made entirely of soapstone, cut into triangles, glued by hand in a fabric and applied in the structure made of reinforced concrete. The monument is made to withstand winds of up to 250 km per hour. 

I actually walked up to the foot of this sculpture, and took the obligatory tourist photos. The views of the city from the viewing platform at the foot of the statue are breathtaking. I reached the top of  the mountain by taxi, there's a road that winds its way up the mountain, although the last few hundred feet of the climb must be completed by foot. This, even if one had arrived at the top of the mountain by way of the funicular train, the alternative and more popular method of reaching this mountain top. 

My taxi driver took me up there, waited for me, and brought me back down. Then he charged the hell out of me, I was after all a foreign tourist who spoke English. But I didn't mind paying for what seemed to me like a once in a lifetime experience. Also, the driver had a living to make, so..

This statue is one of the New 7 Wonders of the World.

Journey Journal 5 "Oga just hold on, these are my boys"

We arrived at Abuja just before 5am following our 10pm departure from London Heathrow the previous evening. No, I couldn't sleep at all, I had underestimated how cramped and uncomfortable it would be in economy class when I had thought I could just sleep through the flight. Also, the flight itself was particularly bumpy, with severe turbulence commencing just after we passed Barcelona, and continuing until we crossed the Algerian coast. The captain, who even before departure had warned us about this turbulence, later came on the speakers to explain the reasons why the turbulence was happening, saying that it was worse than had been expected—something to do with the Atlas Mountains and converging winds. But in my weariness I paid little attention to what he said.

It was with this same weariness that having cleared the tedious border health and other immigration procedures at Abuja, I responded to being summoned by two very astute foreign exchange dealers, who seemed to have positioned themselves strategically to waylay passengers disembarking from this early morning flight who were desperate for Naira at 5am, when all other outlets would likely be closed. In exchange for three crisp currency notes, I received a thick wad of Naira notes that would not fit into my wallet, so I requested an envelope and stuffed the parcel of money into my shoulder bag.

I then logged my two other bags across the parking lot from the international terminal to the domestic departures, where upon entering the building I was approached by a young man, "To where, sir?" 

As it turned out, it was this young man who led me to the correct check-in counter for my onward flight scheduled for 10am; it was he who weighed my bags, advised that I carry the less heavy bag as hand luggage, and he who transferred the heavier bag personally to the inner office for loading. As I waited for him to return, being mindful that I owed him a reward for his 'kindness', another young man came forward, "Oga, I can take you upstairs to the departures lounge to relax while you wait for your flight. You can even use the executive lounge.." as he leaned forward to pick up my hand luggage, insisting on carrying it, motioning with his hand that I follow him. 

But at the foot of the escalator leading upstairs, the first man whose return I had been awaiting suddenly appeared as if from nowhere, the two of them standing side by side. So I put my arm around the shoulders of the first guy and pulled him aside, whispering that I wished to give him something and give something to the other guy too, but that I wasn't comfortable doing it all out in the open. He agreed to share with his colleague whatever I gave him, so we moved further away to a more secluded area where I opened my shoulder bag and flicked some notes off the top of the bundle those currency exchange men had given me and handed the notes to him.

We returned to the foot of the escalator where after having received his own share, the enthusiasm of the second guy who was still holding my bag seemed to escalate. After I bid a warm farewell to the first guy, the second guy led me upstairs, where on arrival at the entrance to the departures lounge itself, we were confronted with another security gate complete with a full body scanner similar to the one at the front entrance of the building.

"Oga, just hold on, these are my boys," I heard him say to me, with a hand gesture signalling that I should wait. He then walked over to the men manning the gate and said something to them, before signalling that I could come forward. 

On seeing me arrive at the gate all three men jumped to attention, and I was greeted with repeated shouts of "Welcome sah", " You're welcome sah", "You're welcome", then "Oga, oya, pass, pass, just pass by the side," meaning I should walk around the side of the scanner bypassing it completely.

The guy still insisted on taking me to the executive lounge, something he had proposed the minute he met me. But I wasn't keen on making a statement that seemed to be saying that I was more important than everyone in this large crowd of people seated out in the general seating area by walking past them, and entering this place boldly signposted as the EXECUTIVE LOUNGE. My natural inclination is to identify more with the ordinary people, 

If importance comes to me, let it be bestowed on me by others, not by my own self.

And so it was that I ended up sitting on a hard uncomfortable bench among the crowd in the general seating area for upward of four hours, waiting for my flight to Port Harcourt, tired after a sleepless night, and with pains to my backside from sitting for so long on that hard bench. I did eventually make it to Port Harcourt, though, even if this is not my final destination. 

I intend at some point to say one or two things about my experiences in Port Harcourt too, and how different it is from how I remember it from the 1970s and 80s.

Gidan Makama Museum, Kano

Photography and video making are not my strengths, but this is the place I visited.

"Once upon a time in 1440 AD, a magnificent structure known as Gidan Makama was built by the powerful Sarki (King) Abdullahi Burja. Initially intended as a temporary palace, this architectural wonder has since transformed into a captivating museum. The story of Gidan Makama begins with its creation for Prince Rumfa, who later became the legendary Sarki Muhammadu Rumfa.

Over the centuries, the original Gidan Makama has been divided into three distinct sections. One part now houses the Gidan Makama Museum, where visitors can marvel at the rich history of the Hausalands and beyond. Another section is home to the Gidan Makam Primary School, educating the young minds of Kano. The final part remains a residence for the successive Makaman Kano, carrying on the legacy of this historic site.

The Gidan Makama boasts a stunning display of traditional Hausa architecture, making it an iconic landmark in Kano. Today, it proudly serves as a national museum and reference library, boasting an extensive collection of manuscripts and historical artifacts that offer a fascinating glimpse into the past."

Courtesy Kano Chronicle on X

There was much equestrian activity in the vicinity of the Kano Emir's palace.

Cairo

There are relatively few trees in Cairo, but there are lots of palm trees that ornamentally line major boulevards and avenues. 

Alhough downtown Cairo was planned by European architects, throughout the city is a mix of different architectural styles. I was taken aback by how European the downtown area was. I had seen it with my eyes before going to read up on it, then I understood why the downtown is the way it is.

The beauty of this downtown area is fading now, but it must have been splendid at some time in the past. It still is beautiful though, but there is something uniquely Egyptian about it. And not just the downtown. 

Despite the conflicting styles and influences, the European style buildings, as with the modern ones, almost all have subtle Egyptian touches and finishes, which, together with the use of Arabic signage, include unique features like hieroglyphs, pharaonic motifs, ancient Egyptian imagery, and other ornate detailing, everywhere you look; this including inside the elevators at my hotel; small details that constantly reminded me of where I was. And I haven't mentioned the even older traditional North African and Arabian architectural styles. I found the mixture of the ancient, modern, and everything in-between, very interesting. I would have loved to have stayed a bit longer to roam around more. 

This made me feel that in sub Saharan Africa, and in Nigeria in particular, we have abandoned our traditional building styles, such that there is little in modern architecture that can be termed as a uniquely Nigerian style. Our traditional building styles and practices, except perhaps for Hausa traditional architecture to a limited extent, have been largely relegated to a past era. What I've seen in Egypt is the opposite. The Egyptians have brought their traditional styles with them into the 21st century, taking advantage of new technologies to advance that unique style of theirs. This made for a cultural richness and depth that we could have had in Nigeria too, but don't have today in our buildings.

Soft spoken?

So I've been accused, for the first time in my life, of being soft spoken. Me? Soft spoken? Well, I call this an accusation because it is a description of myself that I do not recognise, but this claim has come from two different unrelated sources. The first time I heard it was when I went to meet my friend at a location that we had agreed to meet. I arrived early, so rather than enter into the building I went to sit with a woman selling snacks and drinks by the roadside under a commercial umbrella.

"Madam I beg, make I siddown, I dey wait for my friend, give me Coke make I drink", were the words I said to her while gesturing that she kindly make room for me on her bench where she sat. "Oga, welcome o", was the reply as she moved aside creating room for me to sit while at the same time digging into her cooler to fish out my Coke. "Your friend know say you dey here? You don call am?" (Meaning, does your friend know you're here? Have you called him?). "I go call am again to tell am where I dey", I replied, and all this while I thought I was trying to be very Nigerian, embracing my Nigerian roots.

So I called my friend who said he had already arrived and that he was inside the building looking for me. Our arrangement had been for us to meet at the building, not necessarily inside it. Our plan was after meeting, to proceed somewhere else together. I then told him that I was outside sitting by the roadside among the stalls where people are selling things. As I sat I had my back turned to the building, which likely explains why I had not seen him when he arrived, so even as I was still on the phone with him I turned around and saw him emerge from the building. "I can see you, just look straight ahead, you'll see me." 

I understood that he would not have expected me to be sitting by the roadside, but that's where I was, and try as I did to steer him towards me while calmly speaking to him on the phone, he seemed to be resolute in his belief that I could not possibly be sitting by the roadside. The woman, the stall owner, while sitting next to me had also turned around to see my friend approaching us, but whom she could see was staring in a completely different direction. So she stood up, waved both her arms, and shouted at high decibel levels, "Brother, na here, na here o", which finally caught my friend's attention. 

After my friend and I were reunited, this woman now turned on me and accused me of speaking in a soft bedroom voice when trying to communicate my location to my friend, saying this in jest, mockingly. But I had seen no need to raise my voice or put up a theatrical display. My friend had his phone clutched to his ear and I believed he could clearly hear the instructions I was delivering to him.

The second time I was accused of this was by my own brother. Last year on my previous visit to Nigeria I never heard the accusation that I am soft spoken, so did something happen between that time and now? That said, I cannot but attach a lot of weight to my brother's observation. He would know, and he himself put it down to me having lived in England for as long as I have. Could it be true that I might be losing some of my Nigerianness?

Meeting new people

Having been travelling around the African continent for the best part of twenty years, I want to take stock and reflect on the lasting impressions those experiences have had on me. I believe I can safely claim to be in a position where I am able to fairly and objectively compare the impressions I've had, one against the other, city by city, country by country, or even region by region. What I shall be comparing is how easy it has been, or not, to talk to people and form new friendships. 

Starting with the good, East Africa as a whole, for me, proved to be the most liveable region, and I have visited all five regions—North Africa, West Africa, Central Africa, Southern Africa, and East Africa. Both Kenya and Uganda have left positive impressions on my mind. I did not stay long enough in Rwanda to form a substantive impression, but there is nothing negative to be said from that short stay. I have found that in all of my travels on the continent, Kenyans, in particular, are the easiest to talk to and to get along with. I always look forward to having a conversation with a Kenyan because you're almost guaranteed that they would be open and forthright, and be without restraint, even if they're not telling you the truth, which is rare. Ugandans too are easy to talk to, but to a somewhat lesser degree because they tend to be more formal and restrained.

In Southern Africa the conviviality I saw—and I saw a lot of it—was not extended to me to the extent that I might have wished. This caused me to be constantly reminded of my status as an outsider. It was the same both in South Africa and Botswana, save for one exception, Mandla, the Zulu gentleman in Johannesburg with whom I engaged in lengthy conversations that I secretly wished would go on forever for being so delightful. Most other times the language spoken around me was not English, so I found myself almost always on the outside and not able to engage and participate, and for this reason was unable to make new friends. Nevertheless, my Motswana friend whom I had gone to visit in Botswana was outstanding. He saw to it that I did not have a single lonely moment.

Central Africa is represented here by the Republic of Congo, or Congo Brazzaville. It was here that the disadvantage of not being proficient in the main language(s) came into full effect. The predominant languages here are French, Lingala and Kikongo, and as an English speaker one might as well be invisible. I did try to assert myself though, by demonstrating my limited French language skills, but to no avail. I guess It was fortunate that my friend was keen to practice and improve on his English, so he took me under his wing, acting as a shield against the barrage of incomprehension that I had to confront. No, it was not easy meeting new people and making new friends here, but mainly because of the language barrier. In attitude, the people were just as convivial as any others, and had my French been that little bit more practiced, I might have fared better. 

North Africa presented itself to me not as warm and friendly. Instead, the feeling was one that was cold, almost as if any friendliness from my direction was unneeded. I came away feeling that I would not be keen to return, and in fact, that I would avoid this part of the continent.  

West Africa has more variation in character than can be described in a single paragraph. There is little similarity in establishing social contacts between, for example, in Togo, and The Gambia. Etiquette and temperament are different. So is language. Some societies are more tolerant and liberal; some are overtly religious and downright conservative. It is not an easy landscape to navigate, a lesson I learned the hard way having arrived in The Gambia with expectations that later proved to be misplaced. 

In my experience though, it is West Africa that offers the warmest friendliest people, in Nigeria especially, but also in places like Benin and Liberia. The warm boisterous nature of the ordinary Nigerian makes him or her an easy friend to make. I could say the same for the Beninese, and the Liberians, except for them not being quite as direct and assertive as the average Nigerian, who normally is a pleasure to be around. Ivorians might possibly fall into this category as well,  but those not mentioned specifically here are those whom I have found to be somewhat complicated. In saying all this, I speak for myself alone, and am informed solely by own personal observations. Peace. 

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 seeing 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 that I visited on my own, it felt as if I fit right in as 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 it, 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. 💔

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.