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.

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, 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.

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.

Journey Journal

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. 

Berekum, Ghana

The Berekum roundabout is a roundabout in the city of Berekum, Ghana. The roundabout is located on the main Berekum-Sunyani Highway. The statue of the woman with a baby on her back and a basket on her head is the most iconic symbol of this pleasant regional city.

Based on oral tradition there were three Akan people groups who originally migrated and settled in the area now known as Berekum. The first branch to arrive, known as the Awasu people, are said to be migrants from Denkyira now residing in Biadan. (I visited Biadan yesterday).

Berekum, nicknamed "The Golden City", is the capital of Berekum East Municipal in the Bono Region of Ghana. The city had a population of 62,364 as of 2012. The native language of the Berekum people is the Bono Twi. This nickname of Golden City was coined by Queen Elizabeth II upon her arrival here on the invitation of then President of Ghana, Kwame Nkrumah, during her visit to this country shortly after its independence. The name has stuck since.

The city is located in the Berekum Traditional Area in which the paramount chief or the Omanhene is Daasebre Dr. Amankona Diawuo II.

These photos of the roundabout were taken from a moving vehicle yesterday, but I've walked past it several times, mostly in the evenings. Berekum is 32 km from Sunyani, which is close to where I'd had my first month-long sojourn in Ghana just over a decade ago. These regional towns and cities offer a more intimate appreciation of life in Ghana.

Banjul, Gambia 7

The Boeing 737 MAX 8 has a range of approximately 3,550 nautical miles (6,570 km). This allows it to operate on medium-haul and some long-haul international routes, thanks to its improved fuel efficiency compared to previous models.

Definitions:

Medium-haul 1,500 – 4,000 km

Long-haul more than 6 – 7 hours and more than 4,000 km.

My flight from Banjul to Istanbul will cover a distance of 5,367 km. It is a long-haul flight. This particular aircraft with reg. TC LCN is the very one I will be flying on. It was delivered to Turkish Airlines in June 2021. This is the first time I'll be flying on such a long flight, 7 hours, in a mid-sized airliner, although I've previously done 4 – 5 hour flights on the 737-800, and 5 hours on the even smaller Embraer ERJ190 regional jet from Abuja to Nairobi. 

The world’s longest scheduled commercial Boeing 737 MAX 8 route is operated by Brazilian carrier GOL Linhas Aéreas, flying nonstop between Brasília International Airport  in Brazil and Orlando International Airport in the United States - Distance 3,777 miles (6,079 km), Flight Time approximately 8 hours and 15 minutes.