Waiting for customers

An okada is a  light motorcycle used as a taxi in Lagos. Their drivers, usually young men, take passengers to their destinations around town. Okada’s are very popular – they are cheap, quick and get you exactly to your destination. For the average Nigerian who does not own a car, public transport options are few: there are a few big, red public buses; there is an army of ancient white vans that take passengers along fixed, cross-city routes; and there are Okada’s.

Being an okada driver provides a livelihood to people who would otherwise be unemployed: drivers generally have a low level of education and very few job prospects. The entrance barrier to the field is quite low – all you need is enough to buy (or lease) a motorbike, you need to get and register the license plate, and that’s about all really. A driver’s license is required but many get away without having one. And anyway, getting a license is a question of paying for it – few take lessons and passing a driving test is, as far as I can tell, a theoretical concept.

So being an okada driver is a dangerous occupation. Like Dutch bicyclists, they obey no traffic rules – they don’t stop for red lights, drive on which ever side of the road is handy to them at that moment, weave through traffic like grains of sand sifting through a bucket of rocks. They swarm, like bees, through junctions using the safety of numbers for protection from the four-wheel drives on the road. There are many accidents, many deaths and worse yet, injuries to drivers and passengers who will have trouble paying for medical costs.

There are rules about driving okadas in Lagos. When I first arrived, the state government had decreed that everyone was to wear a helmet. Traffic wardens would whack at helmet-less drivers with their batons. Last year, the state government decreed that okadas are only to work within neighbourhoods and were not to cross on main arteries between them. The idea was that they would be stopped from driving fast on major streets and bridges where many accidents occurred. I was incensed at the time: the effect on the livelihoods of these young men was prohibitive. Wouldn’t it be better to insist on driving courses and real licenses rather than restricting their trade?

‘Just wait,’ advised my driver, Efe.

And he was right. The trend in Lagos seems to be that rules are decreed, enforced for a while, and then forgotten about. Many okada drivers no longer wear a helmet though they will have one dangling on their arm or on the handlebars in case a client wants one. Okadas once again swarm across Falamo Bridge right in front of the police who guard the intersection at the traffic lights.

Yesterday we (the driver and I) were just coming onto the bridge when an okada cut us off as he passed through his red light. On the back were not one but two military men in uniform, each with their rifle leaning on their thighs pointing to the sky. None wore a helmet. The driver swerved lazily to avoid us, looking neither left nor right, calm as a poolside tourist. Two police officers looked on… and continued their conversation.

‘This,’ I said to Efe, ‘is the law of rule when there is no rule of law.’ He liked that one.

Nigeria is not a tourist destination and yet many foreigners come here for business – either for short visits or to live for long or short periods of time. We come to this country that in many ways is so different from our own: under the surface of modernity is an ancient and complex system of behaviours, values and attitudes that influence the country’s vibrant social and business life. Many of us live in our relatively segregated communities, unable to meet Nigerians who lead busy lives with family and religious commitments, long work hours and arduous commutes.

But what is the point of coming to such a unique country if we don’t get to know a bit about our hosts?

This book, Culture Smart! Nigeria is part of a series of guides about the people of a country rather than the place (what to do, what to see and where to stay). This is but a mere introduction to the people of Nigeria – it is difficult to address such a diverse country, with 250 ethnic groups, 500 languages and only a 50+ years of living together as “Nigerians”.

Under the mango tree

The book is especially useful to newcomers: it gives an impression of the host culture; lowers the barrier in getting to know people; and provides a larger context from which to understand what we see around us. It is also useful for the family and friends of those of us who live here – it is an alternative source of information that counters the negative stories we read in the newspapers.

Just before I came to Nigeria, the publishers emailed to ask if I’d please write Culture Smart! Nigeria. I said that yes, in principle I’d love to research and write it. But I first needed to see if Nigerians were open to sharing their stories and points of view with me. Once in Lagos, I soon discovered that Nigerians are proud of their country and cultures and wonderfully welcoming and open to those who show a sincere desire to understand. My experience here is that if you ask anyone a question, you WILL get an answer.

Nigerians have a legitimate right to ask why this book is written by expat who has been here for so short a time. I spent my first year here doing research and then wrote it up in about four months.

There are two answers to that question. First, the publishers of this series never use locals to write the editions. It is assumed that it is very difficult to explain our own culture as we see everything as ‘normal’. These books are foreigners explaining a culture to other foreigners. I came to Nigeria armed with open-minded curiosity; I didn’t have an agenda or pre-conceived notions about what the culture would look like. I could get beyond the internal cultural difference and distil what is uniquely Nigerian.

Secondly, there is a sense in which I am merely the writer rather than the author of this book: I am the conduit for the voice of the many people I spoke to and read. It isn’t so much what I think of Nigeria but what I learned about Nigeria from Nigerians.

Inside for the signing

In the acknowledgement at the back is a list of people who I badgered during my research. In particular there are three people who not only read the manuscript before it went out to the editors but who have been pillars of friendship and helped form, to a large extent, my understanding of, and love for, this country: Azu Nuwabogu, Mojisola Ayanbadejo and Ayo Inika.

The event was a celebration of Nigeria to which many contributed. The guest speaker was Sandra Obiago, documentary filmmaker, social activist and patron of the arts. It was an honour to have her introduce me and the book. A special guest was Gerald Chukwuma, rising star in Nigerian art, whose work shines on the cover of Culture Smart! Nigeria. Ugoma Adegoke is the owner/founder of Lifehouse and the designer of the dress I wore for the event.

Others who helped were:

Karin, Bianca, Ghida, Carolee, Sigrid, Moji, Tiffany, Robin who all brought delicious canape’s;

Ugoma

Susan van Gorp helped and supported me in the organisation of this event. She also took some fabulous photos.

Ghida provided moral and emotional support as well as friendship and also videotaped the event;

Alex, my son, Nick, Matt and Michael helped with book sales.

Culture Smart! Nigeria is available online in such outlets as Amazon

Guest speaker, Sandra Obiago

Ndidi Nwuneli

‘I would describe myself as a social entrepreneur. I like to start things,’ says Ndidi Nwuneli sitting in the conference room at LEAP, one of the many initiatives she’s started.

Ndidi is deceptively petite and soft spoken, for her goals and ambitions are BIG. She has a Master of Business Administration from the Harvard Business School and  serves as a director for a range of nonprofit organizations in the United States and in Africa. In the 2003 she was recognised as a Global Leader of Tomorrow and Young Global Leader by the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland .

‘With LEAP we wanted to create an army of change agents. I started off thinking I could change the world. But look at Gandhi. He had lots of people working with him. For real change you need thousands of like-minded people who share the same values.’

LEAP stands for leadership, effectiveness, accountability and professionalism. The organisation runs several programme strands including youth and business leadership programmes through which they have already influenced thousands of individuals.

‘It’s about changing mindsets, empowering people and equipping them with the skills to enable them to make a difference. We started off providing direct training to business owners and youth. Today, we also train teachers to deliver our curriculum in public schools across Nigeria. Via its business leadership programme, LEAP has pioneered research on succession planning, governance and ethics and has published books on these topics.”

One of Ndidi’s sources of inspiration is her anger against injustice.

‘There are many things that upset me about our society. I don’t consider myself a very talented person, so I channel my anger to develop initiatives to change society.’

New ideas – in the form of possible solutions to social issues – come to her on a daily basis. She shares her ideas with friends, brainstorms about how to implement them. Some ideas are taken up by someone else and turned into a concrete project; some are still in the incubation stage.  Now that LEAP is running smoothly, Ndidi has left the daily management in capable hands in order to move onto her latest project. AACE Foods is a private company she established with her husband Mezuo. It aims to reduce Nigeria’s immense dependence on food imports. They source fruits, vegetables and spices from local farmers, process them and sell locally.

‘Even AACE is a social enterprise. Ninety percent of the processed food we eat in Nigeria is imported. So we want to replace food imports to improve the lives of people. By buying locally, we support farmers and create jobs, and we improve our health and nutrition by decreasing the cost of food and giving people greater choice in what they eat.’

And again, her ambitions are anything but small. ‘We want to eventually be the Nestlé of Africa.’

‘If I had to pick one thing that I love the most about Nigeria, it would be its great people. I didn’t really appreciate how much of an asset this was until I worked in other West African countries. Nigerians are very creative, innovative, hard-working, resilient people. They are really supportive, and that sense of community is something that I value.’

This article appeared in Wings Magazine, Issue 10

The article needs to be understood within the context of a raging political debate on development aid budgets in The Netherlands and elsewhere in the western ‘developed’ world. On the one hand, there are supporters of development aid who say that maybe we haven’t been as effective as we would have wanted, but we (the haves) have a moral duty to help the poor of the world. The other side of the argument is that we outsiders have little impact with our paternalistic approach to improving the lives of people in different cultural and socio-political systems: we have precious little to show for our more than 60 years of effort in Africa.

It is a complex debate with no easy answers. In Nigeria, there are many foreign and indigenous ‘aid’ initiatives that support one or another group of individuals (children’s homes, street kids, hospitals, training schools etc). Our initiatives do touch lives but it is a drop in the ocean in a country where government expenditure on education, on the social safety network and on assisting the most vulnerable members of society is negligible. Nigeria’s people will not be pulled out of poverty until the government decides to use the billions it receives in oil receipts to improve the lives of its citizens.

So what kind of ‘aid’ does work?

Sorry, I don’t have an easy answer. But I am reading a book that gives an example of one woman who did have an effect. Unbowed is the autobiography of Wangari Maathai, the Kenyan who won a Nobel Peace prize in 2006.

It isn’t a new book but is interesting in light of the Dutch article and the debate on development aid. The frustration of father and son is, I believe, the result of the fact that they never got public support for their work in the way that Dr Maathai did. The Dutchmen reflect on how the projects they established would begin to crumble the moment they left a village. On the other hand, Dr Maathai’s project continues, even after her death. Today the Green Belt Movement that she established in 1977 is active in 30 countries promoting action on climate change, community regeneration and equal opportunities for women.

Her book describes in an easy, unemotional tone, the problems she encountered in Kenya – environmental degradation, poverty and the deplorable state of women’s rights. And she portrays the complexity of the causes of these problems and how hard it was to campaign for and eventually effect some amount of change to improve the lives of ordinary Kenyans.

Dr Maathai is an unusual woman by any standard: the first African woman to receive a Nobel Prize, the first woman in east and central Africa to earn a PhD and head a university department in Kenya: mother of three, divorcee, politician, civil rights and environmental activist, she was beaten, jailed and vilified for her stance against established power structures and corruption. And yet she remained a simple and humble person, driven by a desire to solve problems, one at a time, day by day, step by step.

Her story shows that the causes of poverty in ‘developing countries’ are complex (with both national and international as well as current and historic roots) and entrenched: redressing these issues takes more than good will and money – it takes perseverance and, especially, communal support of the road chosen to affect change.

If you haven’t read about Wangari Maathai, you may want to pick up her autobiography. The book itself is a nice read, but more importantly, her story is a reminder to each of us that simple acts by simple people can lead to great change.

The old...

‘The best thing about Nigeria,’ said Theo Lawson, relaxing with a beer at the end of long day of work, ‘is that it affords me the opportunity to be creative and to be influential. I can do things that impact on something. I am not in a society where everything has been done. I am not a cog in the wheel – I am the wheel.’

Theo is the designer and principle driver behind Freedom Park on Lagos Island. His goal was to provide Lagosians with a place to reflect on who they were before colonialism, what they went through during those 100 years, where they’re at now and where they want to go in the future.

‘Freedom Park was conceived 12 yrs ago as a millennium project. I had this idea that Lagos was congested and needed a park. During the course of the research I stumbled on the history of the site of the old prison. It was built in 1872, eleven years after the Treaty of Lagos was signed. There is so much history there. I thought, if we could create a memorial park all that history would come back.’

The idea was presented to the city council at the time, but nothing happened. The idea of the park faded until two years ago Theo mentioned his plan to a

...and the new

chance acquaintance who then presented it to Lagos State Governor Mr. Fashola. Two weeks later Theo was asked to present the concept to the Executive Council.

The idea was to use the original plans of the prison to design a modern park which would be dedicated to cultural expression. Nothing was left of the old buildings. Everything had been demolished in the 1970’s by a developer who had been given permits to construct there. They had moved in with cranes and heavy equipment, but then the site was abandoned, cranes and all.

‘We were told that it was because of Obafemi Awolowo’s curse. He had been imprisoned there, and had cursed the site so that it would never be developed.’

Apparently Awolowo liked the concept of Freedom Park because it stands there, resplendent and well visited, today.

‘We overlaid the old plan of the site so that there is a symbolic relationship between the current buildings and the old ones. Where the gallows were we put a stage. The kitchens became the location for the food court. The records office became the museum. One block of the old cells are rebuilt with low walls to give the idea of the size of the cells. Another block is the red cage that looks like the skeleton of the cellblock being pulled from the ground. The Chief warder’s compound became our admin building.’

Theo Lawson’s firm, Total Consult, has been asked to oversee the management of the Park at governance level in order to establish the park’s legacy.

‘The long-term objective of the project is to to provide a tranquil place where visitors can meditate, find peace and reflect on life. It is also an art centre. We want to encourage musicians, artists to walk off the street and perform. People come, there is history all around – ghosts as well.’

(This interview appeared in Wings Magazine, Issue 10)

First Issue

A long-established Dutch-language magazine is finally ready to share it’s jewels with the English-speaking world. ZAM Magazine is a beautiful, intelligent and powerful read for everyone who is interested in African art and culture.

ZAM is filled with stunning, provocative and opinion-led photography as well as powerful essays and short stories. It provides a refreshingly edgy and contemporary perspective, free of the clichés, platitudes or romantic notions of ‘the continent’.

With their theme of ‘Imagine Africa …’ ZAM aims to ‘open minds, open mouths and open markets’.

Have a look: ZAM Magazine: www.zammagazine.com

I’m finding it harder as time goes by to see this poverty because I understand better what it’s caused by – corruption and mismanagement on a mind-boggling scale. But what makes living in Nigeria worthwhile are the opportunities I have to meet amazing people, especially those who dedicate themselves to making this country a better place.

One of these opportunities happened last weekend. Ghida, Carolyn and I had tickets to watch the filming of that TV show, Who Wants to be a Millionaire? What made the event so special is that we were given the tickets by the show’s Producer/Director, Femi Ayeni, himself.  We’d never seen a live recording anywhere in the world before – we had no idea what to expect.

On Saturday morning, we spent several minutes texting each other about what to wear. Knowing that Nigerian women are stylish and wear bold colours, we chose light and bright. In the car I looked at the invitations. Dress code: dark clothing.  We fretted: how big a faux pas was this? Would we be allowed on the set?

But no one commented on our inappropriate attire. Instead, a crew member led us upstairs to the room where contestants wait for their turn before the cameras – the green room I’m told it’s called though it was sparkling white. The filming of the first of four shows to be recorded that day was underway. As we waited, the General Manager of the studio, Tunji Adebakin, treated us like valued guests, answering all our amateurish questions. Such warmth and openness has impressed me time and again in this country where traditional hospitality towards interested and respectful guests has not yet been lost to the demands of a market economy.

Us with Nollywood Actress Patience Ozokwor

Eventually, we were led onto the sleek set – the cliché is true: it looked bigger on TV. Ghida was hoping for a spot behind the contestants so we’d be seen on the show. I was praying for a spot behind a pillar where no one would notice us. We were led to our places… right behind the good-looking and nationally famous presenter Frank Edoho – not a pillar to be found anywhere on the round set.

A comedian was in the middle of his act, entertaining the audience between shows. It was hard to understand him: his voice echoed off the high bare cement walls beyond the set and he sprinkled his English with heavy doses of Pidgin. We settled in noisily, asking our neighbours questions, poking at the audience handsets, craning our necks to find the cameras. I looked up and there was the round face of the comedian staring straight at me.

‘Hello.’ He was being cocky.

I smiled back and felt Ghida’s elbow in my rib. I prayed he’d move on.

‘So where are you from?’

I hesitated. Canada or The Netherlands? Which was the safer answer? I could be funny and answer Nigeria. ‘Canada,’ I said because it was shorter than saying The Netherlands.

‘Canada! Gba, bla dody blee do…’

General hilarity in the audience.

The set

I don’t know what Carolyn to my left or Ghida to my right did but I just sat with a stunned look on my face. I didn’t understand a word.

He tried again, articulating his words with exaggerated care. The audience guffawed. He said something about not being given a visa to Canada. I apologised for my country’s bad manners.

‘The camera is rolling,’ said Ghida helpfully.

‘No it’s not,’ I replied through gritted teeth.

‘Yes it is,’ Carolyn added. ‘See, the red light is blinking.’

The comedian moved on to another victim and I resumed breathing.

Then the lights went on – blazingly hot lights – the audience was asked to start clapping, and the show started.

On that Saturday, they were filming the Celebrity Charity Special of the show. In these programmes, an exemplary citizen who deserves support for a specific charity is invited along with a celebrity who helps answer the questions. That day’s contestants were Danladi Basharu, representing the Joint Association of Persons with Disabilities, assisted by Chief Tony Okoroji, musician, producer and activist in support of musicians in Nigeria. Mr Basharu, himself blind, was eloquent on behalf of people living with disabilities. With a little bit of help from the audience he and Mr Okoroji managed to answer enough questions correctly to earn Naira 1 million (nearly Euro 5,000) for the Association.

When the recording finished, Femi gave us a tour of his studios. The building – the only purpose built TV studio in Nigeria – is still under construction. His intention is to rent space out for independent producers and in this way support the development of Nigerian TV. In fact, I was impressed that this man, who could have chosen to produce any type of programme he wanted, chose to make Who Wants to be a Millionaire and Project Fame – Nigeria’s version of idols. Both of these shows have added value far beyond their entertainment value.

With Frank Edoho

Femi and his crew told us stories of how some people’s lives have been changed by being contestants on the programme, how viewers study the answers: one man was given a promotion for his self-developed erudition. They have a special edition for children – rather than earning money, the kids earn the equivalent amount in school fees. One boy’s mother broke down in tears after her son won enough to pay his school debts and his fees to the end of high school. And the Celebrity Charity Special gives organisations not only the chance to earn some money, but to also gain well-deserved publicity for their organisation.

It was a fun outing, one that gave us a glimpse into the complexity of Nigerian society. Now that we know what to expect and what to wear, we hope to get tickets during the next Idol season.

For more on the Joint Association of Persons with Disabilities see: www.jonapwdimo.org

For more on the work done by Tony Okoroji see: www.cosonng.com/tony_okoroji.html

Photo by Carolee Weber

Prince Omooba Yemisi Adedoyin Shyllon is a great, great grandson of the King of Abeokuta, a city around 1.5 hours north of Lagos. At the age of 19, he says, he began collecting Nigerian art – ancient sculptures, modern paintings and contemporary works of all types. More than three decades later, his passion for Nigeria’s artistic heritage has clearly become an obsession.

On Saturday 17 March I joined a group of Nigerian Field Society members on a tour of his museum-esque home. In the Maryland neighbourhood of mainland Lagos, a high ivy-covered, barbed-wired wall was broken only by a gigantic black iron gate. Inside, a sculpted garden was alive with Crowned Cranes from Uganda, parading peacocks – one a rare pure white male – a flock of geese and a pool-full of catfish. Bronze and iron statues – from the largest Eyo statue in Nigeria to life-size human figures and assorted smaller modern pieces – posed among real trees and a few artificial ones, fountains and garden chairs. The large house at the bottom of the garden was studded with sculptures and vases. Life-size workmen in red hard-hats lined the roof. A massive crucifix hovered over the main door and a stylised grandpa figure leaned on the balcony enjoying his garden view.

Inside the house, every room, every toilet, bathroom, bedroom, nook and cranny was filled with art.

Photo by Carolee Weber

‘You will see that there is more room for art than people,’ said a jovial Prince Shyllon pointing to two couches cowering along the living room wall.

The house was in fact constructed around his collection. Marble floors, wood panelling, indoor fountains and elaborate chandeliers frame what he claims to be Nigeria’s largest, private art collection.

To be honest it was difficult to appreciate individual pieces because of the sheer volume of what there. I didn’t know where to look and by the end of the second room I ceased to retain anything I’d seen. I was blown away by the audacity of each room, navigating my way through what was meant to be a bedroom or a study. The Prince would lead our dazed group through a door, turn on the lights and the air-conditioner and walk about, answering individual questions. As we left, the lights and airco were turned off. I thought that art required controlled temperatures and a dry environment but here the closed-in humidity was palpable.

I noticed the works of artists I already knew, but the rest blurred. The walls of the TV room, for instance, were covered in Bruce Onobrakpeya’s work (see my earlier blog on his work). I’d need days with an audio tour to gain a true understanding of the value of what I had seen.

Prince Shyllon by Carolee Weber

The Prince, though he seems content to live in the gaps among the artwork, is aware f the greater value of his collection. In 2007 he established OYASAF (the Omooba Yemisi Adedoyin Shyllon Art Foundation) in order to protect and share his portion of Nigeria’s cultural heritage. He now dedicates his full-time attention to the foundation (having stopped or slowed to a bare minimum his activities as barrister and solicitor of the Supreme Court of Nigeria, a chartered engineer, stockbroker and licensed art auctioneer among other things).

His goal is to share the beauty and value of Nigerian art with Nigerians and the world: ‘to be the leading resource on Nigerian history, heritage, culture and art’. He currently has around 6,000 pieces and he buys works of art every week.

The Foundation, and the expansion of the collection, is entirely self-funded through the selective auctioning of pieces from the collection. There are plans to build a museum for the collection in order to protect it and improve its accessibility to a wider public. I could already envisage having a cold drink under the awning at the back of the garden, beside the swimming pool and sculptures…

For more information of OYASAF see: www.nigerianartoyasaf.org

I took this quote from the Amazon review of a book designed to support young children to move abroad. I haven’t read the book so I can’t comment on it. But the quote got stuck up my nose and this blog is my sneeze to dislodge it.

Let me start by confessing that I am myself a product of ‘uprooting’; I dug up my children’s roots; I’ve met thousands of de-rooted children in international schools throughout my nomadic life; and a large proportion of my close friends have also experienced deracination in their youth.

In my long journey as an internationally mobile person I can count on one hand the number of people I know personally who feel that they suffered negative ‘long-term consequences’ as a result of their international upbringing (Note: I have read about unhappy adults who moved as children but have personally met very few – I wonder if it is only those who have regrets that write of their experiences.) Consequently, I find it offensive that the author of the quote above, like so many people who write about international childhoods, begins from the assumption that moving children from one country to another is inherently bad.

I would argue the exact opposite: that moving children during the ‘crucial stages of their development’ is to offer them a range of positive opportunities that will benefit them for the rest of their lives. Children learn empathy, tolerance, languages and are exposed to the wider world and to other ways of doing things. They learn personal skills like how to deal with change, to meet new people and make friends quickly.

These skills and experiences are ‘added value’ in today’s global village. Despite the rise of nationalistic attitudes, people are moving across national boundaries like never before; and the fates of nations are inextricably intertwined. In this environment, children who have lived in more than one country have an edge over their ‘static’ peers.

Having said this, there is indeed an obstacle that can hinder a child’s ability to take advantage of the potential benefits of living internationally: their parents’ attitude to and support during the move. I agree with the author that there is a ‘need to adequately prepare youngsters’: however, I think that this need is obvious – no ‘research’ is required to come to that conclusion.

Furthermore, I disagree with the author’s underlying assumption that to ‘adequately prepare youngsters’ is enough to ensure that a child’s experience is positive. Parental support needs to go further than reading a helpful book to one’s child; it must be more than emotional support and good communication ‘through the hard times’ of the move.

Parents must themselves want to move and be positive and open to experiencing the benefits of the move. Why? Because children do as we do and not as we say. If parents would really rather be where they were before, or are fearful or negative about their current location, then chances are their children will feel the same. I’m sorry parents, but it really is the bottom line: if you want your children to come out positively from the process of an international move, then you need to show them that, though it may at times be difficult, it is worth the effort.

Another problem I have with the quote above is this obsession that non-movers have with roots. People who do not move think that roots have to be permanently placed in the ground – they see identity and belonging as something related to the vague concept of nationality and habituation – as if you have to see the same buildings, the same people, the same street all your life to be a happy, well-balanced person.

This concept is misguided. Having ‘roots’ is about the people you are attached to and the cultural meanings that underpin your life. Here again we see the importance of the parents in raising happy, well-balanced internationally mobile children. Parents ground us in our roots: they give us our values and beliefs, they teach us our manners and social rights and responsibilities. Through international moves, the family unit can continue to give loving support, cultural continuity and a strong sense of ‘self’. Parents can provide continuity with the past and with other physical locations by providing time to visit extended family members and re-visit familiar places and favourite haunts.

The roots of internationally mobile individuals are just as strong as those of non-mobile people. The difference is that our roots, like those of orchids, are grounded in clumps of earth that we carry with us wherever we go.

‘Research now proves’ that the most difficult move is not moving internationally but trying to return ‘home’, however you want to define ‘home’. Moving from being an international person among other internationals, to living with people who only know one way of life is the most complex and emotional of moves. If internationally mobile children have difficulties as adults it is generally in trying to ‘fit into’ life among non-travellers. They need to find ‘their place in the world’ whether that is at ‘home’, a third country or in an international lifestyle.

But today, that process of finding one’s place in the world is becoming easier for two reasons. Firstly there are an increasing number of us internationals around. When an adult from one nationality moves to another country, they will enjoy the company (at least sometimes) of other people of their nationality – they are kindred souls who share certain things in common, cultural references that make social contact effortless. Us internationals experience the same sense of familiarity among ourselves. So the more of us there are, the easier it is to find others with similar experiences.

Secondly, as the author of the quote above hints, much has changed in the last 40 years in the support given to the global nomads of the world. When my parents started their international career in 1967, there were no books, no self-help materials and no counsellors, professional interculturalists, or expat trainers around. My parents moved us around the globe and raised us as best they could, using common sense and strong family values.

Today, I look at the kids in the international school here in Lagos, and see healthy, happy kids. The school is well aware of the nature of their student population: one of the guiding principles is precisely to bank on the diversity at the school to create internationally aware, empathetic and tolerant people. They know that the first weeks of a child’s arrival are difficult – and they deal with it. I can guarantee you that there are fewer unhappy, un-adjusted kids in this international school than at many ‘normal’ schools in any country where kids don’t move internationally.

Raising children internationally may bring with it a special set of issues to be dealt with, but so does raising children in one place: drugs, alcohol abuse, getting in with the wrong crowd, boredom, divorce, death in the family and moving house are all elements that make bringing up happy, well-balanced children more complex. It is time that we stop thinking of moving children across national boundaries as a dangerous, abnormal child-rearing strategy and see it for what it is – a common 21^st century approach to family life.

I use the term ‘emancipation’ here in terms of the ‘goal’ of many western feminists that women should be financially independent and self-reliant. Nigerian women, by tradition and cultural practice are expected to work in order to provide for their own needs; the husband provides the home. Beyond these basics, who pays for what – education for the children, food and other elements of the joint household budget etc – is a question of negotiation, most often initiated by the wife trying to increase her husband’s contribution. Most Yoruba couples do not have joint bank accounts.

This ancient custom came as a surprise to many of the foreign ladies at our last African Book Group meeting. We were discussing the autobiography of Hilda Ogbe, Crumbs off the Wife’s Table.  As a young adult, Hilda, of Jewish descent, emigrated from Germany just before the start of WWII. There she met her future Nigerian husband Tommy, whom she then followed to Nigeria where she spent the rest of her life. The book is not a great literary work: it reads more like oral history, as if you were sitting across the table from Hilda with a cup of tea, listening to her reminisce. In fact, we could have been. Hilda passed away a few years ago, but several women in our group were friends of hers and a few were fellow ‘Niger Wives’ – a support group for foreign women who marry Nigerian men.

Discussing this book was, to our group of foreign and Nigerian ladies, like reading the private diaries of a member of the group. The book isn’t primarily about emancipation: it is the example of an extremely resourceful and talented woman who, wherever she was, applied her skills and talents to not only provide an income for herself, but also to improve the lives of people around her. It is about a woman who accepted the consequences of her decisions unflinchingly. The title refers to what Tommy openly told Hilda his mistresses would receive (the crumbs, while Hilda, as the wife, would have the big piece of cake). She is willing to accept his affairs, but when Tommy’s secretary eventually gets the whole cake, she decides to separate from him though she remains his official wife and friend. I believe that throughout her life, she refused to give in to the emotional toll her husband’s infidelity took on her life: Hilda’s book is an admission of her pain.

But in our discussion of the book, the cultural expectation of women’s financial independence became an important theme. Ayo, one of our Nigerian members, tried to explain the complexities of marital relations in south-western Nigeria. Marriage in Nigeria is not a union of two people but of two families. An example of how this plays out in real life is the fact that, upon the death of the husband, the wife has little guarantee of inheriting her husband’s wealth and possessions. (The idea of a couple building a joint ‘wealth’ as a team is uncommon here.) Traditionally, the husband’s family, his parents and siblings have a greater claim than the wife.

‘The hope of every woman is to marry into a family that will do right by the wife,’ said Ayo.

Let me just point out that there is gender equality here: if the wife passes away her husband would not automatically have a claim on her inheritance.

Inheritance in Nigeria is, to put it simply, messy: details and conditions vary from tribe to tribe, village to village and family to family. There are matriarchical ethnic groups in Nigeria where wealth is passed down through the female lineage (now that’s emancipation).  But in all of Nigeria, few people have formal wills. Recourse to the legal system is possible – women’s rights are enshrined in the country’s constitution and common laws. In practise though, court proceedings are expensive and so lengthy that most feel they are of little use.

There are (a minority of) cases where women are left penniless after the death of their husbands. But in general, Nigerian women who marry Nigerian men know what to expect and have their own families to fall back on. For the foreign women who marry into this culture, the need to become financially independent can be more difficult.

‘Most of the Niger Wives of Hilda’s generation were incredibly strong and independent women,’ Ayo informed us.

Yep, nodded several ladies around the table who were either themselves Niger wives (from India, Norway, Pakistan and the UK), the children of Niger wives, or best friends of Niger wives.

This discussion during our meeting of the African Book Group was fascinating for two reasons. Firstly, it allowed us foreign ladies to deepen our understanding of Nigerian culture – that’s the main reason why most of us joined. But it was also a moment of self-evaluation and reflection. Many of us expat wives give up our ‘careers’ to follow our husbands around the world. We probably all agree that women should be financially independent and self-reliant, though most of us are not. And here we were confronted with a model of ‘emancipation’ that many of us felt uncomfortable with. The discussion forced me to think about my attitudes and beliefs and the decisions I’ve taken in my life. I have come to the conclusion that while I admire Nigerian women and the Niger wives, I don’t envy them their level of emancipation. Are Western women really ready for financial independence?