Africa, are we preparing for a rapidly changing climate?

It is not in dispute that the world's climate is changing. Hand in hand with this change is environmental degradation on an industrialised scale, the rate and extent of which has never before been known.

As a young child growing up in Lagos, Nigeria in the 1970s, the country was in the throes of putting up an impressive show titled the Festival of Arts and Culture, or FESTAC as it came to be known. Part of the grandiosity of the event was the construction of a brand new town on the outskirts of Lagos, supposedly to provide accommodation for the thousands of participants at this festival. Along with this FESTAC town was to be constructed a 4-Lane motor way between Lagos and Badagry close to the country's border with the Republic of Benin. The road would continue into Benin, to Cotonou, that country's largest city. We lived in Surulere, which itself was then still a newly developed area of Lagos, having been built up for the first time in the 1960s. The Badagry Expressway led from somewhere behind where we lived, on towards the FESTAC town and then further on still for tens of kilometres to Badagry. FESTAC town and the Badagry Expressway were projects that would cause the breaking into of virgin land.

We were children, and this newly constructed highway which was yet to opened because several bridges along its length had not been completed, presented itself to us as a huge adventure playground. And of course, my brother and I took full advantage of this, going for long walks along the newly laid tarmac. What is vivid in my memory is the dense rain forest on both sides of the road, thick foliage, even wild monkeys in the trees. And this was just a few minutes walk from the bustling cosmopolitan city that was Lagos of the 1970s. We would walk down that empty road for what seemed like miles, but which in reality was no more than half a kilometre, and come to the first bridge on that motorway, a bridge across a river which flowed from the Yoruba Highlands to the north of Lagos into the Lagos Lagoon. My memories of that river and its bank, are of a pristine environment almost exactly as nature had intended it to be, crystal clear water with countless shoals of fish visible in the water, swimming against the force of the current. Although I now know better, at that time it seemed like fun when the few fishermen we did see at this place would sprinkle a few drops of IZAL disinfectant into the water, and the fish reacting to the effect of the IZAL in the water, would leap out in their hundreds unto the riverbank. This was such a cool way to catch fish, my brother and I thought, and we would help the fishermen pick up the fish and put them in baskets that they had placed on the riverbank for this purpose.

My family moved away from Surulere a few years later and it was not until many years afterwards that I went on a deliberate mission to find out what had become of that magical place of childhood memory. It took hours of wandering back and forth along the now very busy Badagry Expressway, before I finally realised that what I was looking at was in fact that river of 20 years ago. First of all, it was no longer a river. Secondly, there was no sign of forest anywhere within sight. What was once dense green vegetation was now what seemed like hundreds of rusting corrugated iron shacks of the kind to be found in any auto mechanic's workshop in Nigeria. That river had been turned into a refuse disposal area, where the mechanics dumped waste engine oil, old tyres, broken engine parts. The water, if you could all it that, was black. In fact it contained more oil than water. Having seen what this place once was, seeing it as it is now just 20 years later came as a complete shock, and the experience has forced me in a more acute way to confront the reality of the damage that we humans are doing to our environment.

In Africa in particular, the basic needs for survival are paramount in peoples' minds. Thoughts about the environment and conservation are far removed from the issues that people have to deal with on a day to day basis. But ironically, apart from the direct environmental change of the kind I have described above and further down in this post for which we Africans are responsible, most of the environmental changes that we will have to confront in the near future are not of our own making. According to the United Nations Environment Agency, while Africa accounts for only 4% of the world's CO2 emissions, it is said that it’s inhabitants will suffer the most from the effects of climate change. The huge environmental impacts of climate change and local non-sustainable practices are matters that African governments must from now start to pay more serious attention to.

In Nigeria and several other African countries, unplanned urban sprawl, rapid population growth and consequent agricultural expansion has meant that much of the forest has been lost. Deforestation is a word I've heard being mentioned in Nigeria for decades, but I have no confidence that the seriousness of the problem that it represents has been appreciated at the right levels of government. The remaining woodlands are being degraded by over exploitation for fuel wood and non-wood forest products. To compound the area's problems the land is being farmed nearly continuously, with a shortened or no fallow period for the land to recover fertility. And as the population continues to grow the problem is going to continue to get worse. As Marthinus Van Schalkwyk, South Africa’s minister of environmental affairs and tourism states…“Africa is one of the regions least responsible for climate change, and is also least able to afford the costs of adaptation.”

Climate change knows no territorial borders and recognises no man-made boundaries or lines drawn in the ground. The changes to the world's climate will affect the entire population of the Earth. The poor people of the world are the most vulnerable to natural disasters, the most reliant on harvests coming at the right time, and the least able to adapt or move away from dangerous places. That is why climate change hits poor people hardest. Changing weather patterns are increasingly bringing devastating floods, drought, failed harvests, malnutrition, increased disease and death. Climate-change induced mass migration of entire populations from devastated areas, has the potential of becoming one of the more serious issues that the world will be forced to tackle in the 21st Century. In the meanwhile, African leaders are mindlessly still busy enriching themselves, regardless that their tenure on this earth is temporary and paying little regard to the state of the world that they will be bequeathing to their children's children.

Got him out at last

I made it a point when I started blogging that I would never write about my work, not only because I am aware of my duty of confidentiality, but because I think work should remain where it belongs, at the office. Blogging for me is a hobby, something I've come to enjoy doing. But today something happened at work and I feel the need to share it here. 

My client had been in custody for well over a month. He has been refused bail twice in the last two weeks. First it was because the sureties had failed to attend court with their up-to-date financial details, the second because the name of one of the sureties appeared on the Police National Computer for some misdemeanor going back 15 years. The judge was not satisfied therefore that this was a suitable surety and in the meantime my client continued to be detained, much to my chagrin.

Today I was determined not to walk out of that courtroom with my client still behind bars. Conversely, it appeared that the judge was equally determined that bail was not to be granted and that my client would be spending this holiday weekend in jail. It was a battle of wills, the judge's against mine, and to cut a long story short I won in the end, because with the arguments that were put forward the judge's hands were tied. He had no choice but to grant bail, albeit grudgingly. The fact that the bail was granted reluctantly does not appear on the bail sheet. Bail is bail, reluctantly granted or not. My client is out, and that is what matters. And I feel just great.

Images brought with love from Northern Nigeria

15th Century Hausa building

Traditional Hausa Architecture

Market Scene

Argungu Fishing Festival

Street scene at sunset

Entrance gate to the Palace of the Emir of Kano

Entrance gate to the Palace of the Emir of Zaria

Reception room of Palace of the Emir of Kano

Bauchi Harmattan Sunrise

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

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

Garba 1

Author's Note: The idea behind this story is to provoke, and to be thought-provoking at the same time. The story is based on real events, I did get stranded in Bauchi when reporting for youth service, and was rescued by a fellow passenger whom I had assisted before we departed from Jos. I also failed to turn up with my call-up letter, and was told that I could not register without it, which meant that I had to go all the way back to Lagos to find the letter. The Garba character, too, is based on a real person, but the story itself has been fictionalised, (taking real people, events, or historical facts and rewriting them as a story (book, film, or play) by adding imaginative details, altering facts, or changing dialogue to enhance the narrative.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anengiyefa at 10:09 am

That blue car

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

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