Some Like it Hot - Jessica Killingley

Ikotun Market

Dare (pronounced “Da-ray”) said two things when it comes to traffic and Westerners. One, a six-year-old could drive in the US because there are signals for everything, all the cars are automatic, and everyone follows the rules -- for the most part. Two, Westerners are obsessed with seeking adventure, but for Africans, day-to-day life is adventure enough. Case-in-point, in regards to the latter statement: a man on a ladder propped on the power lines he is fixing with partial wooden crate as a barrier to traffic.

Man on ladder in middle of the road fixing power lines

Walking on the median

I arrived before Paul, Jenny, Caleb, and Ben since I was flying into Lagos (pronounced “Legos”) from Johannesburg with an overnight layover in Addis Ababa (fortunately Ethiopian Airlines puts you up in a hotel). Dare, the pastor in Lagos, met me outside the airport and, after we dropped my bags at the hotel, we walked around the corner to the main street to a Tastee Chicken, a Nigerian fast food restaurant. Per his suggestion, I had chicken and jollof: rice cooked with tomatoes, peppers, and other seasoning. Both were spicier than I expected -- an enjoyable level of spicy.
 
We had a nice conversation about the significance of names. Dare is short for Oludare which is actually short for Oluwadamilare, meaning “God vindicated me.” His wife’s full name is Oluwatohungbobo which means “God is sufficient for all things” -- she goes by Tohun (pronounced “Tone”). His children’s full names are Oluwadurotiwa, Oluwatomiwale, and Oluwanifewa which mean “God stood with us,” “Blessing of God follow me home,” and “God loves us,” respectively. Their shortened names are Rotiwa, Tomiwa, and Nifewa. Tomiwa also has an English name -- Emily -- but I didn’t hear anyone call her that. Nifewa’s English name is Roberta but goes by the shortened version of that -- Bobbi. Bobbi took a liking to me, and I to her. I think she had a radar out for me -- she could seem to always find me. At camp, she and her friend Joy would vie for my attention which often resulted in us walking somewhere holding hands, one on each side. It was nice to have two fans.

            Bobbi, Jenny and me making faces                        Last night of camp: Bobbi (asleep), Joy, and me

If I had just gone to Nigeria on my own, I would not have had the incredible experience I did. It really is the people that make travel so amazing. Talking to people about their country and culture, eating the local food, and picking up some local phrases are what I enjoy about travelling. Knowing locals is really what has made most of my travel experiences so spectacular.

Dare, his family, and all of Nigerian brethren were very friendly and accommodating. On Friday, before camp, Marie, Funmi (Dare’s sister), and Ralphael took us on public transport and to Ikotun Market in Lagos. They handled our wandering graciously and sought good deals for souvenirs Ben and Jenny wanted to purchase. The market, plus the rides on the minibuses and a maruwa (auto rickshaw), were a highlight of pre-camp time. The minibuses have wooden benches for seats and pack as many people will fit -- if you’re willing to sit on your neighbor’s lap, even better. The busses wouldn’t pass inspection in the States but they get you where you need to go affordably.

Funmi determining which bus we should take

Friendly women sitting on each other’s laps on a minibus                      Riding a minibus

Marie looking lovely with maruwas in the background   A maruwa and woman carrying supplies on her head

Part of experiencing a place is travelling like and shopping where the locals do. Granted, plenty of people travel by car and there are shopping malls and grocery stores just like in the States, but we don’t have the variety of transport or the maneuvering skills -- even travelling by car is a different experience. Another difference is all the selling that happens on the road. On Thursday, Dare drove us to Victoria Island, a wealthier part of Lagos. All along the roads, or rather in-between cars, are people selling snacks of plantains, boiled peanuts, or gum. This makes sense -- you’re stuck in traffic and may want a little something to tide you over. But, hey, traffic can be really bad -- maybe you need a USB cord, or a doormat, or even a globe -- learning happens everywhere! You can buy it all from the comfort of your car. The sellers will even jog alongside you if need be to complete the transaction.

Snacks purchased while driving in Lagos traffic

Back to Ikotun Market: Just like other developing countries, you can buy everything at markets. Produce, grains, and meat for sure but also clothes, shampoo, housewares, etc. We stood out as the only “oyinbos,” or white people, around. People called out, waved, smiled, even asked for their picture to be taken. One woman was especially excited to see Ben as he wrote in his post. Now there were a few who asked for money when I took a picture. I get it. One, you might not want to be photographed -- you’re a person, not a spectacle. Two, white people equal money for many (culture, aka movies and music, is America’s number one export) -- they can spare a bit. When I was in markets in Bolivia and Peru, people actively turned their heads or told you “no” if you were taking a picture, even if it was of the whole market and not of someone individually (although I was definitely trying to do that, too. They know the tourist “tricks” -- like me telling my sister to stand somewhere while I was actually try to take a picture of what was behind her). Overall, people seemed more amenable to pictures. Due to my previous experiences, I asked Marie or Ralph if I could they take pictures and they either asked people or just told me it was ok.

       Ralph taking a group selfie at Ikotun Market       Paul, Caleb, and me by a plantain stand at Ikotun Market

                      Alleyways in Ikotun Market                                     Watermelons and plantains

            Grains and beans at Ikotun market                                Tomatoes and chiles at Ikotun Market

The vibrant red of the chiles and tomatoes stood out in the market. Their prevalence makes sense as they are used a lot in Nigerian cuisine. After church on Saturday, we went Dare’s house and enjoyed a dinner of jollof rice, chicken, and plantains. Dare said they had turned down the spice of the jollof for us -- one scoop vs four. He said his father wouldn’t even eat the rice because it didn’t have enough spice. Spicy food for many Americans means chips and salsa. Yes, there are those who enjoy Tabasco or a good curry but in general we aren’t that big into spice. Perhaps you can handle the spice -- Paul, Caleb, and Ben all ate the goat pepper soup on the night of the bon fire. I just had a taste. I saw how other campers and staff needed sodas between spoonfuls and so I figured I probably could not handle a whole bowl. I like a little spice. I want a zest but prefer not to overwhelm my tongue to the point that I can no longer taste the food. One of the staff asked me afterward why I had not eaten the soup. I was somewhat apologetic although he was mostly curious and teasing a bit. It may be cliché but I try to have a “when in Rome” mindset when travelling which involves eating the local food -- I explained about my spice tolerance and felt the need to qualify that I had been eating all the rest of the food -- I had tried everything at least once and was a fan of almost all of it. Even though we were all adventurous eaters, or so we liked to think, the kitchen staff seemed to know we were a bit wimpier than we thought we were and one day cooked us our own “white staff” which included, surprise, French fries. Although I try to minimize my American-ness, I did really enjoy those fried potatoes.
 
Fortunately Tohun and Dare made sure we had some spices to take home and so I used some to make jollof for potluck. I made it with more water than they do in Nigeria and it wasn’t as good as the great camp chef, Funmi, made it, but at least three people commented on their appreciation of the spice.

Jollof I made for potluck

Another difference of Nigerian cuisine -- not many sweets. Dessert was not typical and if there were sweets it was often a milk-based lollipop. The meals were so flavorful and satisfying, I felt fine without much sugar. Dare said sugar is making its way more and more into the Nigerian diet -- his youngest, Bobbi, has quite the sweet tooth but his eldest, Rotiwa, thinks even the non-alcoholic beverage Maltina is too sweet. Before we got on the boat to camp, Dare’s brother-in-law, Paul, bought pieces of sugar cane for some us who were waiting. Using your teeth, you peeled several layers before getting to the sweet part, which minimally sweet compared to what we are used to in the States.

Bobbi, Jenny, and I with our sugar cane before departing for camp

Paul getting us sugar cane

The “work” to get to the sugar was nothing compared to what the kitchen staff did at camp. Everything was cooked from scratch on a small stove. They -- and Dare and Tohun -- are very hard workers and serve others so willingly. It's one thing to have a camp where there is running water and electricity. Yes, there are still logistics to work out but it is another thing when you are dependent on a generator, there’s no fully waterproof place, and you must plan ahead to ensure you have all your supplies including drinking water. Dare, Tohun, the staff, and campers did this and did it well.