The Crackpots and These Women

Happy June! I can’t believe that my time here is almost half over. I’m surprised by how much I have really gotten used to my life and routine here. I’m loving my work at the Eye Clinic, and I have bonded with my co-workers there, which makes being there both interesting and a lot of fun. A couple of them have taken it upon themselves to teach me Hausa, which I am very pleased with.

But, I digress. As those of you who are as obsessed with The West Wing as I am will know, the title of this blog post is also the title of one of my favorite episodes of the show. The basic premise is that Leo McGary, the chief of staff for President Bartlet, once a year invites people who might otherwise have trouble getting the attention of White House senior staff to come to the West Wing and meet with them. It’s known among the staff as Total Crackpot Day. The episode also serves as a sort of ode to the women of the West Wing. And, while the topic of this post is not about unusual lobbyists, it is about total crackpots and these women.

Who are the crackpots, then? Nigerian drivers. To be perfectly honest, I am half convinced that I am going to either (a) die in a horrific car crash or (b) witness a horrific car crash. Dad, you, of course, remember the driving in Georgia, and I have told some of you about it in the past. Well, Nigerian drivers make Georgian ones look like little old ladies puttering down the road. I think there might officially be lanes, but they are universally ignored, and the rules of the road are that there are no rules of the road. People zoom around one another, with barely a centimeter to spare, swerve into the other lane when the road gets too bad in their path, and just drive on the wrong side of the road for a while rather than being forced to do a U-turn, which would take, you know, a whole 2 more minutes.

Adding to this insanity are the achabas, which are basically just motorcycles, which zoom around everyone, on both sides of the road, going in all directions. There is, technically, a helmet law, but it is generally ignored by everyone, except on days when the police randomly decide to enforce it. I don’t actually know how achaba drivers know when the police are out checking, but they all seem to find helmets and wear then on the days when the police are checking, but they promptly disappear again the next day. I’ve never seen it, but apparently, right after the law was enacted, the police were fining people all the time for not wearing helmets, so some people started wearing calabashes on their heads so that they had something that looked helmet-ish on their heads and wouldn’t get pulled over. Anyway, besides the simple danger of weaving in and out of traffic every which way without a helmet, its absolutely incredible the number of people and objects they will pack onto one achaba. Passengers will carry wood, iron bars, huge gas cans, and even mattresses, which stick out a few feet on each side and in front and behind. Of course, because they are holding onto their belongings, they are not holding onto the driver or the motorcycle with anything but their legs. To really add to my anxiety about the roads, they will also pack on far more people than should ever be on one achaba. Imagine a regular sized motorcycle. It should be able to safely and comfortably seat 2 people, a driver and a passenger. However, that is not exactly how Nigerians see it. They pack on as many people as they possibly can. The most alarming thing I have ever seen here was FOUR school children, ranging in ages probably from 5-12 (ish), in addition to the driver. I hold my breath, cross my fingers, and pray that they all stay on the achaba as I drive past.

Basically, as best I can tell, there’s a bit of a code for the drivers. You honk when you’re passing someone. You honk when you want to pass someone. You honk if you’re close to an achaba, you honk if someone looks like they might crash into you, you honk if you’re passing a friend, you honk at the Bature girl whose walking on the side of the road (in and of itself a bit of a life-threatening activity), you honk if you want to be noticed, and you honk if you are feeling like you haven’t made enough noise recently.

Interestingly, Nigerians will stop for goats and cows because if you kill one, you have to pay its owner for it. And, if you kill a female, sometimes the owner will try to charge you for all the kids or calves she would have had. They especially like to do this if you’re a Bature of if there’s one in the car.

Aside from the crackpots, this post is also dedicated to the women of Nigeria. This sounds corny, but I am just going to barge on regardless; Nigerians women are some of the most amazing, confident, beautiful, well-dressed women I have ever seen. I love that most, if not all, still wear the traditional dress at least half of time. The bright colors, head wraps, and beautiful tailoring are amazing, and I love the mixture of colors, patterns, and styles you’ll see on the streets.


Rachel is wearing traditional clothing. Rachel, and most other educated women, really wear the Nigerian clothes as much or more than they wear western clothing. I love the colors, patterns, and cuts.


Also, traditionally, many of the communities and societies within Nigeria are very patriarchical, and you’ll still find this rigid male-dominance in many places, especially out in the bush. You can see it in the way the men and women from the bush act and interact at the Eye Clinic, and it’s also still true (though to a lesser degree) in the towns and cities. But that doesn’t stop these Nigerian women from being confident, outspoken, and strong. You can see it in the way they walk and the way they talk to each other and others in the market.


These women work in and shop in the big Fulani market in Ngorore.

They have also proved to be some of the warmest, kindest, most helpful people I have ever met in my life. They go out of their way to help me out, and they often shoo the various people and kids who stare or follow me around in the market away. They are also the ones who try to talk to me at the Eye Clinic, and the little old Fulani women have proven to be the most adorable people I have every encountered in my whole life.

They cook, clean, farm, give birth (which is no easy feat in Adamawa state, which has the highest maternal mortality rate in the world), raise children, take care of their husbands, and do it all with dignity, grace, and pride. They are just incredible, and I am fairly well in awe of them all the time.


Nigerian mothers waiting to get their children immunized.

Today’s Hausa Lesson:
-One—Daya
-Two—Biyu
-Three—Uku
-Four—Hudu

Ali, the man who drives me to the Eye Clinic every day (and who speaks 4 languages—English, Hausa, Fulani, and Yungur Song) has promised me that I will be able to count to ten by the end of the day tomorrow. I would also like to learn to say “yes” and “no.” I’ll keep you posted on my Hausa progress, and you should keep me posted on how you are all doing, what’s going in your lives, etc!