Boys on teaching practice

Now that the 4th year boys are out for their month of teaching practice I find the days even slacker than usual.  I didn’t teach until 12.10pm today and finished at 1.30pm.  Fortunately there are lots of things to do in the lab, sorting out boxes and generally blowing the Sahara dust off everything.  There’s still no constant running water and no sign of the problem ending.  Rumour has it that the pipes were sabotaged by workers who were disgruntled about their wages.  The lab is stocked with a huge variety of equipment which was provided by the British Council.  Sadly, most of the equipment is too sophisticated for the students and so it’s never used.  I have to follow the general science curriculum and rarely does it mention anything about using scientific equipment to show the students anything.

I went back to school with Huseini to be with the prefects for a meeting on school discipline.  He showed me a termites’ nest and it was fascinating.  There were so many of them on the surface that it seemed as if the ground was moving.  It’s amazing how nature can provide us with ants that work in the day and termites which are active in the dark.  One morning I watched the termites by looking down the long funnel-like extension they build up from the ground.  The hole was about 2 cms across with one centimetre thick walls to the chimney so it must be a labour of love.

Teaching practice time is hated by the students.  The Kumbotso Teacher Training College sounds posh but actually it’s a school for male students who are not academic.  Instead of being destined for university the government sends them to us to be trained as village teachers.  While they are with us they have electric light and running water but, when they are in the villages the conditions are far more primitive.  I hear that most of them leave school and never go into teaching because the conditions are not good and the pay is poor.

Huseini goes market shopping

Huseini did some market shopping for me today.  He came home with a mountain of vegetables.  I commented that he’d got far more for the same price I usually pay.  He said, “That’s because you are white.”   He definitely comes in handy and luckily I like him.  It’s unusual for a man his age to be single in this part of the world.  I’m too shy to ask him why.  Maybe he’d end up asking me the same question as I think I’m older than he is.

While doing the dishes, and staring into space through the window, I was jolted into action by the sight of a small Tuareg camel train ambling across the dried river bed.  I dashed madly about, looking for my camera, and I managed to take a photo of the Tuareg dismounting and leading the camels to drink at the nearby water hole.

Filling in income tax

I was over at Huseini’s learning about filling in income tax forms when Wilma arrived with another Canadian teacher from one of the eastern states.  While we were talking I could hear the welcome trickle of water as it dribbled spasmodically into the bathtub.

I was eager to tell her my story of Joseph and so, as soon as I could, I began to tell her of our meeting.  “Not you too!” She said.  “It sounds like the same man who visited the McLeans.  He managed to get N25 from them.  Then the next day they came home just in time to prevent someone from breaking in.  Whomever it was had almost got the door broken down.”  Wilma said they believe it was the same man as he had visited with them and had had a chance to see the house.  I told her that on my walk back to the highway with Joseph I had told him of our new security system; maybe the prospect of 1000 boys charging on the illegal entrant put him off paying me a second visit.  Wilma said she would have to pay a visit to the Ministry of Education as it was obvious that he was getting information from our personal files concerning our families, home address by working there himself or having a friend there.  He wouldn’t have got much from my place as there was nothing lying around that he could have eyed to steal later.  This is a test of my faith to see if it turns me sour against all Nigerians.

I went back home with Wilma and was happy to turn on the bath tap and have water coming into the bathtub with great force.  This happens later in the evening and I think it’s tied in with the end of bath time for the Africans.  I’m at the end of a long row of houses and so I get a trickle when they are using a lot of water.  I also play safe by putting water in the bath just in case it goes off again.  It means I can’t have a bath but I have a wash cloth bath instead.  I’ve realised how little water I need.  In the morning I scoop a mug of water from the bath and I run it over my hair.  It’s always stuck up when I get up so I need to dampen it down.  I catch the water in the sink and I give my hands and face a wash.  Then I use the water for my shave.  If there’s a serious water shortage I capture the water and chuck it into the loo.

After saying goodbye to Wilma I came back into the house and found myself paddling through water which was overflowing from the bath.  It was in the kitchen, hall and bathroom and so I had a mopping up job to do.  I didn’t mind as I told myself the floor needed washing anyway.

My jumping spider friend

Still no water.  It’s been off for three days.  I’m worried about our thousand boys as they are walking miles with buckets looking for water.  Apart from needing it to wash their clothes they also need water to perform their religious ablutions prior to praying.  I will give my neighbour Hussaini some of my water if he hasn’t any for his prayers tonight.  The village boys are coming to the tap in steady streams, tying up their donkeys, fixing the hose pipe, turning on the tap and finding no water.  It’s amazing how little we can manage with if we have to, but on the other hand, it’s amazing how we suddenly want to drink as soon as we know there isn’t any.

It’s dusty and warm again today.  I’d love to. jump into a cold bath.  The goats are out there busily stripping a little bush of its leaves - they never last long once the goats see them.  I fed the lizards with some carrots today.  I felt sorry for them.  They are like little dogs, scampering after peelings when I throw them something.  There is a real pecking order and the big lizards drop from the wall with a thundering slap, onto the cement, and chase the little ones away.

I’m amazed at the tenacity of the plants here.   The morning glory flowers brightly each day, only to shrivel up at the end of the day.  I have a bush with bright yellow flowers on it today.  I hope the goats will leave it alone until I’ve had a chance to take a photograph.  The wind and dust are blowing it all over the place so I’ll have to wait until tomorrow.

I’m intrigued by the toilet rolls.  As the roll gets smaller, so do the size of the sheets.  For a while they were only about 2cms wide and now the roll is almost at an end and there are no sheets at all, just a continuous piece of paper.

I’ve discovered another animal friend in the house.  It’s a jumping spider.  I bent down to have a closer look and was taken by surprise when it jumped up and almost hit my nose.  It is fun chasing it across the floor and watching it jump along as if on springs.  It will be company for my flat spiders.  They are so flat when they move around a corner they practically slither around rather than walk.

Masses of braids whirling all over the place

While visiting Alexander, a number of Africans came in.  Their hair dos were a sight to behold.  Masses of braids whirling all over the place - and I thought Western people spend too much time on their hair. 

One lady opened a handkerchief and poured out gold-looking jewellery with prices such as N250, N1500 started floating between the women.  I didn’t believe it was gold as it looked so bright and cheap but I learned later than different parts of the world prefer different looking gold so most likely it was genuine.  On the way, I said that the women should be careful as we’d been warned about risky deals over gold and that we should only deal with recognised dealers.  I nearly flipped when the saleswoman came into the house.  I wondered if she was the second wife that I’ve been hearing about.  So far I’d only seen the one who goes out with him all the time.  This one seems to prefer the kitchen. 

I’m fascinated by their situation as I’ve been told he has two wives and he is a Christian.  I’ve asked a Muslim teacher about Edwin’s wives and I was told that Christianity has many doctrines and, depending on your doctrine, you could have one wife, many wives or no wife at all.  I asked what these doctrines were and my friend said, “Oh they are such as Catholic, Baptist etc.”  I wonder if my Catholic and Baptist friends know of these broader horizons that are available to them?

Do something kind to another person

I was finally able to get to town to price a car.  I would like a Range Rover but, seeing as I can’t afford the N22,000, I have decided to settle for the cheapest, a VW Beetle.  It will be nice to have a car and then I’ll be free to visit people and do my shopping.  People are very generous, especially the Filipino teachers; they have taken me into town when I’ve run out of things.  I’m still not sure about using the public transit as I really don’t feel like paying three times more than the local people. 

Mila is especially kind to me.  One day she took me into town to buy fabric to make curtains for my house.  When I asked her how I could pay her back she said, “Do something kind to another person.”  She has about 5 children but she has only two with her in Kano; the other 3 are at home in the Philippines with family members.  Her husband is in Saudi Arabia so they meet when they both go back home.  When she returns to Kano she brings a different two children.

The Filipino teachers have a dog and these dogs definitely dislike the Nigerians.  I think they go by body odour and they know they are close to a Nigerian when they can smell the spicy food coming through their body pores.  They don’t bother me that much.  Maybe it’s because I’m British and we have the saying, “Men sweat, women perspire but the British, they glow!” 

I was very proud of myself in the market today.  While I was buying vegetables from my favourite Alhaji there was a young man who kept pestering me to buy baskets.  I seem to be buying a lot of baskets lately!  I ended up with one that’s so big I could hide in it during a student riot, which seem to happen quite frequently.  The boy reminded me that I would be paying a lot more than his price if I was at the hotel.  I told him that that was why I was at the market and not the hotel.  I was even more proud when a Nigerian friend told me how much he’d paid for a similar basket - it was the same price that I’d paid.  So was it my bargaining skills or luck? 

Hussaini told me that when he gets a ride with a friend to the market he asks to get out of the car so that he can walk into the market.  In this way he can buy more cheaply than if he arrived at the stall in a car.  I’m glad that there is a hierarchy of prices among the native people.  I don’t feel so bad having to pay more than most people because I am getting a good salary so I can afford it.  In the beginning I would stand behind the people bargaining and I would watch what they were paying.  I would then offer to pay the same amount.  No way!  The seller aways laughed and said that we had to start all over again.  This meant I always ended up paying more than the local folk.  Another thing I’ve learnt is never to discuss prices with people who have bought a similar item.  If you do, you are either disappointed because you’ve paid more or happy that you’ve paid less.   

You should have heard the teachers in the staff room today when we were told that our teaching load was being increased.  I have one of the heaviest loads at 16 1/2 hours per week.  They muttered even louder when I told them we were in school, in Canada, for around 35 hours a week.  I am still amazed when I see monitors coming into the staff room to tell a teacher he should be in class.  Why anyone doesn’t want to teach these boys is beyond belief - they are lovely, and I’ve never had such a good time in the classroom.  They never misbehave and so I can relax and enjoy being with them.

It seems that the staff have been living in the school houses and not paying any rent.  Now they are being caught for six months arrears and, although it only comes to N180, they are insisting it should be paid in instalments.  There were the usual complaints about the state of the furniture, which I suppose is a bit fragile, but I can’t complain.  I went to visit Edwin last night, for a game of scrabble, and found his little daughter merrily sawing her way through the arm of a chair.  None of the furniture has backs so before long, if the daughter carries on, they will have nothing but legs and a few cushions.

When I packed my bag in Canada I should have used rags instead of paper to wrap things.  I need dusters!  The Harmattan wind blows constantly and covers all my furniture with a fine dust.  The wood is mostly plywood and so it’s not smooth.  When I polish anything my rag ends up torn to shreds.  One good thing about the dust is that I can pick something up and I know exactly where to put it back.

Nigerians are smart students

I must have been sitting too close to the Pakistani teacher as I’ve managed to catch his cold.  I never thought I’d get a cold when the temperature is in the 90s.  It couldn’t have come at a worse time as I have to give an oral test to five classes today.  In each class I had to speak for 40 minutes and I kept thinking my voice was going to fade into oblivion or my cough would erupt.  “What is 7 times 5; 7 times 5?”  This went on for 40 minutes, class after class. 

In each class I had to remind the students not to write down the questions, which they kept on doing, not to calculate on the palm of their hands and not to look at the multiplication tables at the back of the book. 

Nigerians are smart students - they know lots of ways to find the answer and to avoid having to think.  I thought, “Lord, give me strength.  I’ve got 20 questions and four more classes to repeat this in.

I’ve been taken for a ride

No Joseph and no money!  If I have been taken for a ride it is the most fascinating thing that has happened to me in a long time.  No one believes me but they still sympathize with me, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve been taken for a ride. 

I swear now that I will write a book just in order to put in this episode.  I was so caring!  I remember telling him not to come in the dark as the boys would attack him.  Maybe that saved me from being robbed by him at a later date.  I have a feeling he worked at the post office.  Our mail was still sitting in the bag because the rental bill hadn’t been paid.  He could have easily seen a letter from my mother and maybe he’d learned something about CIDA.

I was stung today by what may have been one of the tiny black ants that I’ve been watching.  Maybe they have it in for me now.  My leg is swollen, hot and itchy.  I didn’t think such a tiny thing could show its presence so powerfully.  They have an enemy now; I’m going to stop watching them and I will clobber them instead.

The phoney postman's knock

It’s so funny when I start typing this memoir.  I’m doing it in 2018 and I keep wanting to put that date instead of 1981.  I should have done this earlier as my original typing, which I did on a borrowed old clunker of a Remington, is starting to fade and before long I won’t be able to read any of it.  So Tempus Fujit.  Is that how you spell it?  My computer doesn’t think so but then it’s mind may not go to Latin.  Anyway, stop rambling!

I am cheating because it is actually a week later, but I didn’t want to write about today’s events as I was hoping for a happy ending.  Now I must write before I forget anything although I doubt if I ever will.

A knock came at my door and a Nigerian called Joseph appeared.  Do you know a Mr Alan and a Mister Miller of CIDA?” He asked.  I said I didn’t.  “That’s funny”, he said, “They are coming from Lagos to Kano tomorrow and they are bringing parcels for you from Alberta and also mail from someone called Heyes with a first name like Doris.”  “That’s my mother”, I said.  “But how do you know me?”  Hoseph then told me that he and six other students were staying in Kano, waiting for these Canadians so that they could go with them to the experimental farm at Dambatta.  He said that the students were from the University of Ife and were going to be based at Dambatta for a few weeks.  He then told me that he was hoping that I could help them financially as they needed 28 Naira for two rooms for the night until their money came on Monday morning.  He said that an Indian businessman had helped them out but couldn’t any longer.  Then Joseph told him about me, the CIDA people and my parcels, the Indian then phoned the Ministry of Education and they had told him where I was.

I was fascinated by the story and the possibility of getting mail.  Joseph even knew that I hadn’t ben here long and didn’t have much money but he promised to bring the money with the Canadians on. Tuesday.  I loaned him about 30 Naira and then walked him to the road to catch his bus back to Kano.  I told him I had to take him because of the recent instruction from the principal that strangers on the school compound had to be attacked and clobbered with the long poles we’d been given.  I asked him if he had money for the bus and luckily he had.  I waved him off and said I was looking forward to seeing him again.

Marching, fully clothed, in the bath tub

It was my washing and ironing day.  I have a super washing machine.  It’s known as my bath tub and my legs.  I soaked the clothes for a while and then I step into the bath and march on my clothes.  It works quite well and the clothes dry very quickly in the heat.  I don’t have an ironing board so I iron on the kitchen counter.  I brought a travelling iron from Canada and luckily I enjoy ironing - I love the smell that comes from the clothes as I iron them. 

Twice during the afternoon the boys came over for a visit.  They make themselves at home so I’m hoping they don’t decide to live with me.  At least I learn a Hausa word every time they come.  Nowadays I know the numbers and how to say all the greetings.  These go on for such a long time.  You ask a standard question, you get a standard response and you shake hands and then touch your heart.  Barka da zuwa!  Barka da zuwa is the reply.  I wish I could type properly all the different forms of greeting in Hausa but I can’t so my diary will have to put up with the English.  “How is life?”  “Life is fine”.  “How is the news?”  “The news is good”.  “How is work?”  And so it goes on for what seems an eternity.

I remember visiting another school and not knowing where I was going.  I saw two men talking so I thought I’d ask them.  “Good morning.  I wonder if you can help me?  I’m trying to find the staff room”  They both started to laugh.  One said, “We’ll tell you because you are a foreigner but, if you’d been a local we’d have been very angry.  You didn’t bother asking us how we were, or about our family and the news.” 

I’m enjoying seeing the wildlife.  There’s a bird that walks and acts like a starling but it looks more like a North American robin.  The crows are black and white, like a magpie, but the magpies are totally black, like a crow.  It reminded me of that expression, “All blackbirds are black birds, but not all black birds are blackbirds.” 

A Chinese flying pigeon with no gears

A strange sight this morning; a boy riding a ‘flying pigeon’.  Now I suppose you have a mental image of a little lad sitting on the back of an enormous pigeon.  Well, you are wrong.  A flying pigeon is a heavy weight bicycle with no gears that’s imported from China.  He rode over the rough ground balancing a one metre diameter enamel bowl on his head, filled with his laundry and a radio.  He got off his bike, turned it around and headed in the opposite direction without even giving a thought to what was on his head. 

I wish I had that kind of balance.  The children start practicing at a very young age; the smallest children are often walking up and down outside their homes with a glass pop bottle balanced on their head.

We had a sports afternoon and students came from the Federal College in Kano to play football against our school.  The boys at the college come from all over Nigeria so many of them don’t speak Hausa.  Our boys were shouting instructions to each other in Hausa and so our opponents had no idea what they were saying.  This really frustrated them and they kept shouting to tell our boys to stop doing it.  During the match, one of their teachers marched onto the field, picked up the ball and declared the game was over.  It was a wonder there wasn’t a riot; there was plenty of whistles and howls coming from the students.

In love with my sky blue VW Beetle

Life could never be boring here.  If I do get bored with myself I need only look through the window at all the life going by.  I’m fortunate being the last house on the compound because people from the nearby village take a short cut past my home to get to the main road.  They come to my tap for water and the young men often bath in a hole that’s filled up with water just outside my house.  Behind my home is a small home which houses some of the young Nigerian volunteers so I often see them sitting outside chatting or cooking.

I have a car!  It’s a sky blue VW Beetle and I love it.  The Kano government gave all the Canadians a loan to buy a car if we wanted to.  Don didn’t bother so he has to use public transport.  I don’t envy him as he’s in a rural school which means he has to use the local buses.  He’s very tall so I’m sure it can’t be very comfortable for him.  He’s become a bit of a recluse so I don’t see much of him.  I suppose it’s a tiring job for him as he has to catch more than one mini bus to get here.  I’m lucky because I live close to Kano and I have our field officer living on the compound plus some teachers from the Philippines and India.  Others in the group are more isolated, living in rural villages.

I went to the vegetable market today to buy from the alhaji.  “Alhaji” means he’s been to Mecca.  One obnoxious habit among the Nigerians who do go to Mecca is to have their incisor teeth changed to gold.  It looks creepy.  I’ve no idea if their original teeth are pulled or if they just have a gold coating put onto the tooth.  My alhaji hasn’t done that.  My friend the school messenger came with me.  He is a great help because he helps me to bargain.  I was very brave this time and bought all sorts of things I haven’t bought before - paw paw (which is papaya in other parts of the world), mango and pineapple.  A cheeky young salesman tormented me to buy some baskets.  I really didn’t have any intentions of buying them but I couldn’t help liking him.  I know, I’m a sucker for people who talk nicely and smile.  I don’t know if I got a good deal but I came away with both his baskets.  One of them looks a nice size for practicing snake charming and the other is big enough for me to hide in.  We had fun getting them into my car.  (I kept it for over 30 years and then I gave it to a friend who teaches weaving with willow.  I met Caroline when Betty and Chris Harvey’s ashes were scattered on their property.  Betty used to visit Caroline and they’d sit together in a shaded bower of trees for coffee and a chat.)

This afternoon I decided to do some tidying up around the house.  No sooner had I started working when the friendly watchman appeared from nowhere, took the branches from me and started to do the tidying up himself.  Why won’t people let me do things around my own place?  Before long I’ll have forgotten what it is to work and then I’ll be useless when I get back to Canada.

A group of students came for me this afternoon.  They just came to say hello but I decided to go with them on their walk.  They really are the nicest lads and I learn a lot from them.  They teach me about the environment, the plant life, village life and they are quite open to discuss aspects of their own lives, such as the clan marks many of them have on their face and body.  I can’t help being fascinated by the marking; many of them are attractive and add to the boy’s character rather than detracting from it.   The tattoos are not like the modern day tattoos that are enormous and in your face.  These are delicate, with dainty, narrow lines forming patterns on their cheeks.

68 letters sent, just one reply - and that was mother!

At our morning assembly the principal told us that there had been a practice of the school alarm system during the night.  He had blown his whistle and managed to gather together three teachers and about 700 students.  Seeing as we had around 30 teachers and 1200 students it looks as if we teachers are lazier than the students.  I didn’t hear a thing.  The principal has now threatened us with another rehearsal.  I don’t see how I can be expected to show up, being in the last house on the compound, when those living much closer to the whistle don’t get up either.  Maybe they hear it but decide to roll over and go back to sleep.

I’ve been muttering under my breath that I have written 68 letters since arriving in Nigeria and only Mother has bothered to reply.  I heard today that the post office is withholding our mail because the school hasn’t paid the rent for the mailbag.  The joys of bureaucracy!  We were told that our messenger could look into the bag but he couldn’t take anything.  He announced that there were letters for me in the bag which made me frustrated.

Here’s a story I heard today about a mother of a primary school girl who went to see the principal.

Mother:  Would you please expel my daughter from school as I must get her married before she is too old.  She is a beautiful girl and there will be many men wanting to marry her.

Principal:  No one loves your daughter more than I do.  Allow me to marry her and I will expel her.  If you refuse to let me marry her I will demote her to form four and keep her there forever and then no one will want to marry her.

She was expelled and in due course she married the principal.  Ah, romance!

I was pleasantly surprised when I came home this afternoon; two students whom I have been tutoring in biology came in, in their words “to greet me”.  I was quite touched.  I was due to meet them in an hour’s time.  They came in and we talked about life in school and I was able to learn from them about something that I’d been curious about.  I had taken a photograph of dead corn stalks, high in a tree, but there was no one to tell me why they were there.  Dauda told me that they were put there to keep insects and cattle away during the dry season so that they could be used to make fences at a later date.  I am beginning to feel welcome here.  Some of the teachers are knocking on my door and coming in for a chat so it’s making the school feel more like home.  Because it’s a Muslim area I can’t have a lady visiting me and so my visitors are always men.  The vice principal is a Christian from the south, so he’s free to visit me.  There are also young men working at the school as teachers because they are part of a Nigerian national service which sends graduates from university into different areas to teach, help in hospitals etc.  Mohammed Kankarofi, who lives across the path, is a single man so he often comes over.  He’s always very elegantly dressed and holds himself proudly.  He’s quite skinny with a goatee.  His clothes are always immaculate and I often see him walking by with his head held high.  Other male teachers are far more conservative, in an Islamic way, and some of them don’t even allow their wives to come out of their homes.  It’s sad seeing one particular lady peeking out through her curtains to see what’s going on outside. 

A visit from one of my outdoor lizard

I’m glad I don’t have a thermometer.If I had, I’d learn how hot it really was and it would just make me feel hotter.  Walking across the school compound, in the heat of the afternoon, is like opening an oven door and feeling the warm blast from inside.

I went for a long walk in the evening.  Everyone is so polite and they always speak.  I’m going to have to get over my English reticence and start speaking first instead of always waiting for the Africans to start the conversation.   It was so still, with the birds singing and the bats beginning to fly.  Boys wee doing their washing and spreading it out on the ground to dry.  Solitary individuals and groups of boys were having their bath in the pool by my house.  I’ve been warned to avoid all “wild” bodies of water because of the dreaded diseases they carry - it makes me wonder what sort of illnesses are already ravaging the bodies of these young men.

From my kitchen window I saw a young boy collecting water from my outside tap.  He had an atrophied leg and walked with a crudely fashioned crutch yet he managed to walk with dignity, carrying the bowl on his head.

It’s strange, coming from North America and being in a society where it is bad manners to tell an elder that you haven’t understood what he had said.  Before each class I ask the boys to turn to the back of their exercise books where I would start giving them rules for arithmetic.  I explained everything, in a variety of ways and yet, when I looked around I found them all writing at the front of their books.  I didn’t have the heart to tell them they were wrong.  It’s not because they have no brains; it’s my problem thinking they understand my English.  One boy today admitted he didn’t understand.  I found myself saying, “Good”.  At least it gave me a chance to explain again to all those who daren’t admit they didn’t know.  Generally, when they are asked if they understand, they politely say, “It is all right, sir.”

I am grateful that I have known the indigenous people in Canada.  Many African traits are like those of my Indian friends and so they don’t frustrate me as much as they would those North Americans who have never had the pleasure of knowing the “original people”.  When I set a time for a meeting I can expect some people to be on time but the rest will drift in during the next hour.  I am getting used to it and it isn’t bothering me so much which impresses me no end.

One of my outdoor lizards came in today.  He popped in under the door, nibbled a few ants and then left.  I am totally fascinated by them and never cease to be amused by the way they scurry around, with with their heads bobbing up and down and turning their heads sideways to peer with one eye at something crawling in front of them.  I love it when they sit on their rear elbows with their front feet up in the air, looking for all the world like a teenager trying to be sophisticated.

I learned another Hausa word today - Babban Baturi, which means ‘important white man’; it might come in handy when I face officialdom or have to bargain in the market. 

Heaven help us!  Some men tried to steal the principal’s Mercedes last night.  He came to school limping because he’d hurt his foot trying to defend his car.  Our compound is quite exposed as we are on a main road to the city and there are no fences.  The principal’s home is the first house on the compound so he’s easy prey.  He called a meeting for staff and students as he’d come up with a plan.  He announced that we would all be provided with a large length of stick and, when he blew his whistle, we would all come running to help, armed with our weapon.   The principal said that he’d blow his whistle at 3am.  I thought this was a daft idea because we’d all stay awake ready for the practice drill.  I suggested he should blow his whistle at any time of the day.  When I went home I stored my stick under my bed so that I’d be ready to perform.

Keeping an eye on my time

I was enjoying my time at the school and had worked hard to get my home clean and comfortable so it was distressing to hear that I might be transferred.  I whispered the rumour in the principal’s ear and I was pleasantly surprised with his reaction; he immediately wanted to go to Kano to protest to the minister.  I had to quieten him down by suggesting that we didn’t want the Minister to know that we. Had been told of the rumour. 

I had a good conversation with the principal regarding the setting up of a school garden and farm and he even offered me a partnership in his own personal farm that he wants to start next to his house.  Looking back it’s interesting how all of these offers disappeared and faded into the woodwork, never to be mentioned again.

I’m going to have to keep my eye on the time.  Today I forgot to go to a class and only gave the students half my time.  The heat must be getting to me.  The air is so still with no wind blowing.    Today was a big day.  I decided to break with Western teaching tradition and I went to school the African way, without my socks.

Valentine's Day in Kano, Nigeria

Valentine’s Day!  It’s everywhere.  We Canadians spent it sitting in the new Top Rank Hotel, right in the middle of the old part of Kano.  It seemed such an incongruous place.  The outside guarded by a couple of sleepy Hausa watchmen while inside we had flashing strobe lights, shaking bodies and violently loud music.  I was fascinated watching the dancing which was accentuated by the colours flashing onto the dancers’ clothing from the strobe lights.  Their movements were also heightened by the glowing of the men’s white shirts brought about by the ultra violet lighting.  The disc jockey stood behind a glass partition wearing a small trilby.  He kept up a constant patter thought the playing of the records and it might have been interesting to listen to, or even amusing, if it hadn’t been for the loudness of the music.  It reminded me of a visit I had made with friends to an African students’ social evening at the University of Alberta in Edmonton.  I had been expecting displays of native dancing, or even African music, but instead we were subject to music which had the same effect on my ears as the roaring of a jet engine.  I swore that at one point the disc jockey saw us trying to talk to each other and he promptly turned up the sound.

I surprised myself by joining in the dancing.  I find it impossible to take such jiggling and shaking seriously and so I tend to treat it as a way to get physical exercise.  At one point a man came over to me and said, “Would you like to dance bone to bone”.  I gathered he wanted me to get up and dance with him, which I did, but I dared ask for an explanation of the “bone to bone” bit.  The one redeeming fact about the disco was the fact that we could sit and drink non-alcoholic drinks with no pressure put on us to do otherwise.   I couldn’t help smiling, when we left, as the manager asked us if we had enjoyed ourselves and he hoped to see us again.

Two car loads of us set off for our lodgings in varying states of tiredness and sensory shock.  We got lost twice but managed to reach home.  David had not driven the car before and so he sometimes had gear problems.  At the gate to the college we were told to move back a bit so that the watchman could open the gate; we promptly shot forward and nearly crushed the poor man.  Then, as we said thank you and goodnight to the watchman, we pulled away from the gate - backwards.

The other car load was less fortunate. They got lost a number of times which is a nerve-wracking experience when one is in a strange country.  Kano is poorly signposted; you have no idea where north is.  Every time you stoop you stand a chance of being attacked and robbed or the car stolen from you.  Their anxiety was heightened by the stupid behaviour of one of our friends.  He scared the daylights out of the rest of the passengers by insisting on shouting to anyone he saw to come over and help.  Back at his home he locked some of the people in their rooms and went around ranting and raving.  I think they were all glad when daylight came and they could get away from him.

I never thought I would be glad to get away from my friends, but after all the events of the previous day I was glad to be dropped off at my own quiet home with the cattle grazing outside and the boys bathing in the quarry pool.  It was such a beautiful warm evening so I went for a walk.  The savannah reminded me of walks I had made through the farms of the Alberta; the horizon always so far away, and an endless sky.  The boys were playing football and, through the air, came the sound of some of them singing African songs.  It was such a peaceful scene compared to the earlier part of the day.  Even the sky reminded me of Alberta as it seemed to respond to my daydreaming by providing me with a beautiful hazy pink glow.