Bature Thoughts

Hello my people! This post, as you can tell from its title, is going to be about my take, as a Bature, on the things that I have seen and experienced here.

Being white in Nigeria is an interesting experience. Having never been a minority before in my life, I find it very strange, and to be honest, a little unsettling, to stand out in every room I am in. For example, my professor for African Lit calls role every morning. He doesn’t know anyone’s name, and he always has to look up after each name he calls to see if the person is raising his or her hand. However, he doesn’t do that for me. He checks my name off as he is calling it, because my presence is more than a little conspicuous. It also means that my absence from class is very noticeable. Which is something that I will have to deal with since I am planning on ditching class on Wednesday and on Friday so that I can spend the day out in the bush with Dr. Tulika’s husband, Sumit, who does children’s and maternal health out there.

Anyway, being a minority is really an interesting experience. Here, at least, it means that I get treated differently everywhere I go. Sometimes, this is a good thing; people will go out of their way to help me out because I am clearly new and foreign. But sometimes, it’s not so great. Vendors in the market always try to charge me far more than my Nigerians counterparts, requiring me to always ask my roommates how much something should cost me before I leave for the market and then to say to the vendor that “my Nigerians friends pay ____ naira. Why are you charging me more?” Don’t get me wrong, I really do appreciate all the help people give me, and I know that people just stare and ask me bizarre questions because they are interested, but sometimes I just wish I could blend in. I think that’s the thing I am most looking forward to about my return to the US. I can be completely anonymous, and I don’t have to constantly say “No” to various vendors, marriage proposals, and beggars. As much as I love the market and going out here, it’s exhausting to always be constantly noticed.

Overall, though, I think its good for privileged, white, Americans to be minorities for a while. I’ve never in my entire life been so aware of my skin color. I can’t help but wonder if American minorities always feel so conscious of it too, or if being raised as a minority and growing up in a more diverse society tempers it a little. If you have thoughts or experiences related to this questions, please let me know by commenting or e mailing, because I’d like to hear what you have to say. I, for one, have never thought so much about my “whiteness” in all my life as I have in the last 4 weeks.

Along the race lines, one of the things that has surprised and shocked me the most here, is that people commonly refer to their bosses as their ‘master.” Every time I hear someone say something about their “master,” I am amazed and slightly uncomfortable. I’m pretty positive this is because of America’s history of slavery, and what calling someone your “master” in that context means, but I’m still shocked at how frequently it happens, because I just don’t think it ever would in the US.

Something else that surprises me is the sheer religiosity of the place (for those of you who read the Georgia Nicholson books, you may be surprised to know that this is actually a real word). Everyone here is either Christian or Muslim. There are, I think, a very small number of people who still practice the traditional pre-colonial religions, but I haven’t met anyone who does. People don’t seem to mind if you are a different religious sect, but you need to be religious. I get a fair number of long stares when people find out that I am not Christian. I never tell them outright, because apparently my biblical name, Elizabeth, implies that I am a Christian, and I find it easier to let then labor under this delusion. However, if they ask me point blank, I tell the truth. I soften it by telling them that being Unitarian is sort of similar to being Christian. All the Muslims just assume that I am Christian already, and I have never once that one of them ask me what my religion is or what sect I am. There’s a maintenance guy here who is trying to convince me to be a Pentecostal, which I find amusing, and I resist quite firmly always.

I seem to shock people left and right when I tell them that my parents are divorced. I don’t bring it up, but when they ask me how many are in my family, I explain the whole situation. Most of them sort of look at me sadly, but some of then will launch into a tirade about how terrible divorce is, and then proceed to bring in the Bible and tell me that God said that divorce is a sin, etc. I respond by telling them that I agree that Americans divorce to easily and too quickly, but that I do not oppose divorce. Sometimes, if they still push the issue, I proceed to shock them again. Most commonly, they emphasize the wives should forgive their husbands and they can change. I always say that I think forgiveness is great, but that women should be able to leave an abusive husband, which is sadly, not uncommon in some of the more traditional elements of society. I say this firmly, and I defend the point, refuse to budge, and this makes me a “feminist,” which I find intriguing for a number of reasons. I also think its funny the different reaction I get here, when explaining my family situation, than I get in the US, where no one even blinks an eye when I tell them about my blended family.

My co-workers and I were, one day, discussing Bill and Hilary Clinton, and I mentioned that I really like Hilary, but that I would have divorced Bill for all his infidelity if I were she. I was, once again, told all about how wives should forgive their husbands, to which I responded that I would forgive him, but I would not be married to him any longer if my husband did to me what Bill did to her. The whole conversation was light-hearted, and we laughed a lot, both at my “American-ness” and at one of the boy’s reactions (the one who told me I should forgive), when I asked him if he would be okay with his girlfriend having lots of boyfriends, or if his wife had an affair. I think I proved my point fairly well, and know that no one changed anyone’s mind, but because it was all in good fun, we had a great time, and now we all tease the boy (Linus), about his millions of girlfriends, which makes him super embarrassed, and we all enjoy. For those of you who are West Jr. High alums, think Mrs. Barnes, here.

Another interesting Bature experience has been pidgin English, which is basically a completely different language constructed with English words. Some of my friends and co-workers have told me that it came from Africans not wanting to have to use the colonial language in the same way as their colonizers. They are also quick to point out how their creation of a new language using English words shows how smart the colonized were and really stuck it to the colonizers. I, however, find pidgin frustrating. This is because I can, obviously, understand the words that are being said, but I don’t know what the sentence means, if that makes sense. The grammar, structure, and meanings are completely different, but the words and pronunciations are the same. For the most part, people don’t use pidgin when there are talking to me, which I appreciate, but sometimes they do, or some phrases are such a normal part of their life and their speech patterns that it sneaks in. For example, “how are you” in pidgin is “how far?” This absolutely baffled me at first, because, understandably, I had no idea what they were asking, but now I just respond “fine” and keep going. That’s something else here. You aren’t “good” or “well.” You are fine. If you feel sick, you are not feeling fine. This also surprised me at first, because in the US, if someone says “I’m fine” it’s often a sign that they are not okay, or that they are just being short with you. Here though, it means they’re well.

So, I am sure you have all been anxious to know how the years-long vegetarian is enjoying her time in this very meat-intensive country. Answer? I like Nigerian meat. I still plan, however, to be an American vegetarian, though. I thought that it would bother me here, to see the live chicken shortly before I eat it, but actually, I like this way better. I like that any chicken I am eating today was definitely alive yesterday. The chickens, cattle, goats, occasional pigs, turkeys, and ducks, here just rove about the countryside, eating the grass (and, in the case of the goats, pretty much everything else). They don’t live their lives smashed in cages inside factories, and they aren’t stuffed full of antibiotics, vitamins, chemicals, and other crap that I don’t want in my body. They run around outside, are cared for well by their owners (because their livelihood is so closely tied to the health and girth of their animals), and then they are eventually sold and quickly slaughtered. I enjoy knowing that chicken I eat in Yola, was raised in Yola. I have no idea where the frozen chicken breasts you can buy in American grocery stores come from. Is the chicken you eat in Minnesota from Minnesota, or is it from California? When was is slaughtered, and how was is cared for? Personally, after a few months of meat-eating in preparation for this trip, I can say that I vastly prefer Nigerian meat to their American (frozen) counterparts. I’ll continue to eat meat here, and I particularly like these meat pie things they sell in to-go cafes and a kind of beef called suya, and I like the chicken a lot too, but I am going back to my vegetarian ways upon my arrival in the US. If nothing else, this trip to Nigeria has reinforced my American vegetarianism.

This is how they transport cows to and from the cattle market in Yola. They are usually slaughtered and eaten shortly after.

This is suya, a sort of beef kebab cooked over an open fire and chopped up. It's very tasty.


This is the cow my suya came from. The suya guys plopped this down while I was taking a photo of the fire.

Now, what is to come next doesn’t really fit into the “Bature Thoughts” theme of this post, but as it happened yesterday, I think it should be reported in this blog post. I suppose, actually, that upon further reflection, this fits into more of a “Bature Embarrassment” theme. So, I go to the Eye Clinic Monday-Saturday. The clinic is basically shaped like a giant rectangle with a courtyard-type space in the middle that isn’t really used (though sometimes relatives will sit in there while they wait). The walkways are outside, but covered overhead to protect from the brutal Yola sunshine, and they have cement floors. There are railings and wooden benches along the edges of the walkways where the patients sit to wait until they are called into the Doctors examination room. So, anyway, I was standing outside interviewing patients that were sitting on the benches waiting. I had been outside for about 20 minutes, moving down the line asking them (through a translator) how the surgery had affected their lifestyle (ex: being able to go back to work, being able to things for themselves, etc.). I felt a little lightheaded, so I told the translator that I was going to go back to the air conditioned office and sit down for a second and drink some water. I don’t actually remember what happened next, but, based on my current bruise pattern, I fainted, and I fell into my left knee first and then collapsed flat on my face on the cement. It would appear that I passed out before I hit the ground, because, considering the fact that my hands have no scratches, bruises, or dirt on them, it would seem that I made no effort to break my fall. So I fell straight onto my face on the concrete. I have a couple scratches (very minor) on my nose and mouth, and the inside of my mouth is a bit of a bloody mess since my teeth smashed right into my lips when I fell. My bottom lip was swollen about twice its usual size yesterday, but it has since deflated. I also chipped one of my front teeth a little (it’s very small and hasn’t done any damage to the actual health of the tooth). Mostly, though, my pride is severely bruised. As I said, the patients were all waiting outside, and I think about 50 people in all may have seen the Bature fall flat on her face. Actually, when I try to picture what I think it must have looked like, it was probably quite an amusing thing to witness.

Across from this courtyard are the cement walkways I passed out onto. They were not particularly forgiving on my face.

Everyone was outrageously nice to me post-pass out, which I think actually increased my embarrassment. The translator was there immediately after I fell, and he helped me walk back to the office, where I sat down, and then Dr. Tanko came in and took my blood pressure, and Dr. Tulika came in right away, too. Long story short, it seems like I was just standing in one place for too long, and I probably locked my knees, too, for a while, which, in combination with the heat, meant my blood was pooling in my legs and not going to my brain. Apparently, this is quite common, and it actually happens to the patients a lot, so no one was really fazed by it. In the US, I would have been made to go home right away, but, fortunately, they let me stay, but kept me sitting down. I liked how much everyone was fairly nonplussed about it. It helped to alleviate some of my embarrassment, and I was able to just go back to interviewing rather than having to go home and dwell on it. I mean, they all made sure I was okay, but then it was back to business as usual. Dr. Tulika took me back to her house afterwards, though, and made me a delicious lunch of gooooood north Indian food, and then took me to the University Club to swim with her and her son. I had a good time, and I felt much better. Actually, I felt much better about 15 minutes after fainting, but there’s nothing like a good meal and relaxation to restore the spirits completely. I spent today sleeping and resting, and I feel much better.

This is Tulika, she's really awesome always, but was especially nice to me yesterday!

Anyway, you shouldn’t worry, I am feeling perfectly fine, I have decided to view the new chip in my tooth as a nice permanent reminder of my time in Yola. As I mentioned, I will be going out into the bush with Dr. Tulika’s husband, Sumit, to see his work on primary care, which I understand to mean mainly maternal and child health. I’ll be sure to update after that, and I’ll let you know what I’ve been up to recently at the Eye Clinic (apart from providing the entertainment for the waiting patients—both with my accented Hausa and with my fainting performances!). Let me know how you’re doing. I’m excited to see many of you soon; I get back in less than 3 weeks. I’m not sure I am ready to go, but it’ll be nice to clap eyes on you all again!