Saturday, December 03, 2005
Maiduguri, Nigeria
I sometimes think that this trip is making me forget that I am a woman. For example, our favorite pastime among the team is nightly games of poker. Sometimes, I go weeks without washing my clothes, other times I have forgotten to brush my hair and it looks like a rat's nest. I do not generally fuss over my appearance and I am not uncomfortable with dirt. This is already a part of my personality. But sometimes, when I have the opportunity to interact with women, I begin to realize how much this trip has constrained my feminine side. When I meet women in bush taxis, on the street and in the markets, I realize that many spend a lot of time and energy looking glamorous and well-kept. Sometimes, I have a moment of embarrassment when I realize that I am walking around in stained clothes.
It is when I compare myself to the African woman that I begin to question whether I am neglecting my feminine side. But this comparison is a catch 22... the conception of femininity in African and western cultures is so different. But yet, I think about it often: where do I fall in this equation? I am a woman in Africa drinking beer, wearing pants, traveling with two men, maybe even (gasp!) unbathed for several days? For most people we encounter, the color of my skin excuses most of the differences in appearance and behavior. That I am female is only a minor detail in the greater differences in cultural standards of dress, propriety and appearance. But to tell you the truth, I am beginning to wonder whether this is what is best.
Today, I realized something. While this trip has made me tougher (camping and staying in hotels that charge by the hour) and I certainly feel the daily influence of my travel companions (I love them, but they don't like to talk about periods and pedicures), I also realized that I have been missing entire parts of myself.
I noticed this as I had my hair braided by Jamima, a woman that we have met here in Maiduguri. Jamima is a journalist who is doing a feature on our trip on a Nigerian television broadcast channel. After spending a few nights with us, she decided that we were much too interesting to keep a secret from the Nigerian public. She is doing a feature on our project for a Sunday magazine news program. Jamima is outspoken, thoughtful, observant and intelligent. She also noticed that I was in need of a little attention, so she suggested that she take me to have henna painted on my hands and feet.
We drove her car to the Shehu's (sultan's) neighborhood, essentially the oldest part of the town. Here, the streets are reminiscent of towns in the northern Sahel. There are mazes of dirt paths and mud brick walls, children outnumber the adults, and the peppery smells of the day's cooking linger in the narrow paths. The many children that were playing in the alleys we walked through decided to follow the strange visitors, keeping an awe-struck distance. We arrived at the henna artist's house, walking into a carpeted room with a television blaring Arab music videos. After exchanging greetings, the three women sitting in the room began to mix the henna, while talking excitedly about the latest news. Meanwhile, Jamima thoughtfully stroked my hair and told me to sit down on the floor in front of her. And she began to braid my hair.
To tell you the truth, at first I was distraught. During my time in Africa, I have seen many white women plait their hair in the African style and look positively ridiculous. Others visit Africa to learn traditional dancing as a form of exercise, shocking villagers that happen to pass by to see their gyrations. Others wear traditional cloth at cultural festivals only to stick out like sore thumbs. Worse still, there is the 50 year old wrinkly woman on the beach with their young African buck of a boyfriend.
I have always been careful to distinguish myself from these groups of tourists. I have always insisted that my wish is not to become African. But even while all these images and protestations rushed through my head, Jamima's hand just relaxed me. I realized that it felt really good to have a woman touching my head. The henna painter grabbed my foot and began drawing designs with incredible artistry and skill. My white skin provided an intense contrast to the black henna paint.
The attention was a little disconcerting. Since we started the trip, I don't recall one instance when I was pampered so thoroughly. Actually, the last time when someone paid any attention to my body was when the guys nursed me with back massages in Dogon Country, when I thought that my kidneys were going to fail me.
As I sat on the floor, absorbing all of the attention, becoming mesmerized by the swirls of the paint brush and the gentle tug and pull of Jamima's hand on my hair and scalp, I felt a sudden urge to sob. I had lost and regained female intimacy. I felt humbled by the opportunity to be where I was sitting.
There are many linguistic and cultural barriers to interacting with women in their homes. In Maiduguri, we are in the heart of an area ruled by sharia law, a place where women were supposedly locked up in their houses. A few years ago, the international news media even highlighted a story about the stoning trial of an adultress in Northern Nigeria. As I sat there, it seemed incongruous to my understanding about this region that this is where I would have the experience of being so intimately connected with women.
In fact, most everything about my understanding of Nigeria has changed. Before we arrived, we were concerned about the safety of our vehicle, we worried about people trying to steal our things, we strategized on how to work our way through the infamous police check points where we were sure we would have to pay bribes. But after spending almost three weeks in Nigeria, nobody has stolen anything from us, I have never had a concern about walking around the streets at night and the biggest bribe we paid was three bags of water to a police officer who bemoaned that his team does not have a well by his checkpoint. The man was thirsty, so we offered him some water.
A big part of why we have had such a wonderful time in Nigeria is because 1) it is not as unsafe and unstable as the international news media makes it seem, and 2) the people we have met have always generously welcomed us. Police officers, military men, airforce commanders, and now these two women focusing all their attention on me, had all bent over backwards to make three scraggly tourists feel at home in their country.
Cynics will say that the people we have met treated us with kindness because they had a lot at stake for bringing forth a positive image of Nigeria to the world. But the warmth of the receptions was unmistakable. The honesty of their intentions was demonstrated by the fact that most of them, from senior officers in the military to people on the street, were not afraid to open up to us and speak to us candidly about the corruption that is present in their society. For example, they admitted that the reforms that the country must implement to succeed are currently failing. They prayed for a change. But nevertheless, they also had immense hope and an overwhelming pride in their country.
The most disappointing admission about the state of corruption came from Miss (emphasis on the miss, please; she is unmarried and proud to be so) Tina, who worked within the field of HIV/AIDS in Borno State. She is another example of a remarkable woman that I encountered in an area where I thought women had no place in politics. She reported to us that the state government continues to squander entire yearly allocations of AIDS program money; this is money that is supposed to be used for education and treatment of the disease. But Tina talked so passionately about her work and grabbed my hand with a remarkable and captivating energy, that I saw that the financial stranglehold the government was placing on her work meant very little to her. Yes, she admitted that it was extremely hard to do her work. Yes, at times she was discouraged and wanted to scream. But her character insisted that she was not helpless. She told us about the eight children in her house, and how only one of them was hers. I understood that she and other Nigerians have the capability to be happy and fulfilled in the most remarkable conditions, as long as they have a passion and a strong drive. A recent poll showed that Nigerians were the happiest people on earth.
Needless to say, Jamima's experiment with hair, henna and cultural understanding was a success. As I walked out of the Shehu's neighborhood once again I felt renewed, feminine and happy. I felt renewed from all the female energy I had just soaked in. In fact, I felt like hugging her for seeing so clearly what I needed. But more importantly, this experience made me realize the extent of my admiration for Nigerians. Many people have gone out of their way to welcome us (Jamima had to ask her boss directly for permission to take me for my beauty treatment). And in the end, it was I who was close-minded: I almost let my prejudice about Nigeria prevent me from visiting the country altogether. I feel lucky for these interactions, as I now leave Nigeria with a more complete understanding of the troubles that the nation is facing, but also a hope in how generosity and warmth of Nigerians can begin to overcome these troubles.
I sometimes think that this trip is making me forget that I am a woman. For example, our favorite pastime among the team is nightly games of poker. Sometimes, I go weeks without washing my clothes, other times I have forgotten to brush my hair and it looks like a rat's nest. I do not generally fuss over my appearance and I am not uncomfortable with dirt. This is already a part of my personality. But sometimes, when I have the opportunity to interact with women, I begin to realize how much this trip has constrained my feminine side. When I meet women in bush taxis, on the street and in the markets, I realize that many spend a lot of time and energy looking glamorous and well-kept. Sometimes, I have a moment of embarrassment when I realize that I am walking around in stained clothes.
It is when I compare myself to the African woman that I begin to question whether I am neglecting my feminine side. But this comparison is a catch 22... the conception of femininity in African and western cultures is so different. But yet, I think about it often: where do I fall in this equation? I am a woman in Africa drinking beer, wearing pants, traveling with two men, maybe even (gasp!) unbathed for several days? For most people we encounter, the color of my skin excuses most of the differences in appearance and behavior. That I am female is only a minor detail in the greater differences in cultural standards of dress, propriety and appearance. But to tell you the truth, I am beginning to wonder whether this is what is best.
Today, I realized something. While this trip has made me tougher (camping and staying in hotels that charge by the hour) and I certainly feel the daily influence of my travel companions (I love them, but they don't like to talk about periods and pedicures), I also realized that I have been missing entire parts of myself.
I noticed this as I had my hair braided by Jamima, a woman that we have met here in Maiduguri. Jamima is a journalist who is doing a feature on our trip on a Nigerian television broadcast channel. After spending a few nights with us, she decided that we were much too interesting to keep a secret from the Nigerian public. She is doing a feature on our project for a Sunday magazine news program. Jamima is outspoken, thoughtful, observant and intelligent. She also noticed that I was in need of a little attention, so she suggested that she take me to have henna painted on my hands and feet.
We drove her car to the Shehu's (sultan's) neighborhood, essentially the oldest part of the town. Here, the streets are reminiscent of towns in the northern Sahel. There are mazes of dirt paths and mud brick walls, children outnumber the adults, and the peppery smells of the day's cooking linger in the narrow paths. The many children that were playing in the alleys we walked through decided to follow the strange visitors, keeping an awe-struck distance. We arrived at the henna artist's house, walking into a carpeted room with a television blaring Arab music videos. After exchanging greetings, the three women sitting in the room began to mix the henna, while talking excitedly about the latest news. Meanwhile, Jamima thoughtfully stroked my hair and told me to sit down on the floor in front of her. And she began to braid my hair.
To tell you the truth, at first I was distraught. During my time in Africa, I have seen many white women plait their hair in the African style and look positively ridiculous. Others visit Africa to learn traditional dancing as a form of exercise, shocking villagers that happen to pass by to see their gyrations. Others wear traditional cloth at cultural festivals only to stick out like sore thumbs. Worse still, there is the 50 year old wrinkly woman on the beach with their young African buck of a boyfriend.
I have always been careful to distinguish myself from these groups of tourists. I have always insisted that my wish is not to become African. But even while all these images and protestations rushed through my head, Jamima's hand just relaxed me. I realized that it felt really good to have a woman touching my head. The henna painter grabbed my foot and began drawing designs with incredible artistry and skill. My white skin provided an intense contrast to the black henna paint.
The attention was a little disconcerting. Since we started the trip, I don't recall one instance when I was pampered so thoroughly. Actually, the last time when someone paid any attention to my body was when the guys nursed me with back massages in Dogon Country, when I thought that my kidneys were going to fail me.
As I sat on the floor, absorbing all of the attention, becoming mesmerized by the swirls of the paint brush and the gentle tug and pull of Jamima's hand on my hair and scalp, I felt a sudden urge to sob. I had lost and regained female intimacy. I felt humbled by the opportunity to be where I was sitting.
There are many linguistic and cultural barriers to interacting with women in their homes. In Maiduguri, we are in the heart of an area ruled by sharia law, a place where women were supposedly locked up in their houses. A few years ago, the international news media even highlighted a story about the stoning trial of an adultress in Northern Nigeria. As I sat there, it seemed incongruous to my understanding about this region that this is where I would have the experience of being so intimately connected with women.
In fact, most everything about my understanding of Nigeria has changed. Before we arrived, we were concerned about the safety of our vehicle, we worried about people trying to steal our things, we strategized on how to work our way through the infamous police check points where we were sure we would have to pay bribes. But after spending almost three weeks in Nigeria, nobody has stolen anything from us, I have never had a concern about walking around the streets at night and the biggest bribe we paid was three bags of water to a police officer who bemoaned that his team does not have a well by his checkpoint. The man was thirsty, so we offered him some water.
A big part of why we have had such a wonderful time in Nigeria is because 1) it is not as unsafe and unstable as the international news media makes it seem, and 2) the people we have met have always generously welcomed us. Police officers, military men, airforce commanders, and now these two women focusing all their attention on me, had all bent over backwards to make three scraggly tourists feel at home in their country.
Cynics will say that the people we have met treated us with kindness because they had a lot at stake for bringing forth a positive image of Nigeria to the world. But the warmth of the receptions was unmistakable. The honesty of their intentions was demonstrated by the fact that most of them, from senior officers in the military to people on the street, were not afraid to open up to us and speak to us candidly about the corruption that is present in their society. For example, they admitted that the reforms that the country must implement to succeed are currently failing. They prayed for a change. But nevertheless, they also had immense hope and an overwhelming pride in their country.
The most disappointing admission about the state of corruption came from Miss (emphasis on the miss, please; she is unmarried and proud to be so) Tina, who worked within the field of HIV/AIDS in Borno State. She is another example of a remarkable woman that I encountered in an area where I thought women had no place in politics. She reported to us that the state government continues to squander entire yearly allocations of AIDS program money; this is money that is supposed to be used for education and treatment of the disease. But Tina talked so passionately about her work and grabbed my hand with a remarkable and captivating energy, that I saw that the financial stranglehold the government was placing on her work meant very little to her. Yes, she admitted that it was extremely hard to do her work. Yes, at times she was discouraged and wanted to scream. But her character insisted that she was not helpless. She told us about the eight children in her house, and how only one of them was hers. I understood that she and other Nigerians have the capability to be happy and fulfilled in the most remarkable conditions, as long as they have a passion and a strong drive. A recent poll showed that Nigerians were the happiest people on earth.
Needless to say, Jamima's experiment with hair, henna and cultural understanding was a success. As I walked out of the Shehu's neighborhood once again I felt renewed, feminine and happy. I felt renewed from all the female energy I had just soaked in. In fact, I felt like hugging her for seeing so clearly what I needed. But more importantly, this experience made me realize the extent of my admiration for Nigerians. Many people have gone out of their way to welcome us (Jamima had to ask her boss directly for permission to take me for my beauty treatment). And in the end, it was I who was close-minded: I almost let my prejudice about Nigeria prevent me from visiting the country altogether. I feel lucky for these interactions, as I now leave Nigeria with a more complete understanding of the troubles that the nation is facing, but also a hope in how generosity and warmth of Nigerians can begin to overcome these troubles.
3 Comments:
Tuuli, it was so good to speak to you!
How happy I am as your mom to know that some woman pampered you. Wait when you are at home and I take you to our Finnish Sauna ! Much love, mom
How happy I am as your mom to know that some woman pampered you. Wait when you are at home and I take you to our Finnish Sauna ! Much love, mom
Everytime I come to the website, I immediately go to your blog, Tuuli. Itching to hear what you have learned, and satisfied when I don't see anything new, because I know you are out experiencing Africa. Your most recent blog was very poetic and moving. It is interesting, when we are out of our own culture (i.e. north america or finland) that we forget issues of gender - even though these are of prime importance to us when we are 'home.' It reminds me of a wise Nigerian woman, a woman's studies professor, who taught me more about feminism than I ever could have asked. Phil always said that we have to look beyond issues of gender: race, religion, ability, etc. all impact us and are all sources of oppression. But the fact is, we are still women, although you were given the opportunity to forget it, when you got in touch with it again - it sounds like it was a much appreciated reconnection.
With that said I think that you continue to challenge your readers to look beyond sterotypes and see the broader picture, be it our views of west africa in general, Nigeria, and victimization.
I recently went to a presentation on "women, hiv, and domestic violence" it was interesting. i couldn't anticipate the connection, but from what I gathered it was the violence women experience when they ask for their husbands to use protection. What are your thoughts on this? Perhaps you have already written on this - and I should look a little more closely at the content of the website, beyond your blog, Tuuli.
Thanks for keeping my wheels turning, outside of my north american bias.
Teresa
p.s. I have a friend in Namibia, and another in South Africa awaiting you.
With that said I think that you continue to challenge your readers to look beyond sterotypes and see the broader picture, be it our views of west africa in general, Nigeria, and victimization.
I recently went to a presentation on "women, hiv, and domestic violence" it was interesting. i couldn't anticipate the connection, but from what I gathered it was the violence women experience when they ask for their husbands to use protection. What are your thoughts on this? Perhaps you have already written on this - and I should look a little more closely at the content of the website, beyond your blog, Tuuli.
Thanks for keeping my wheels turning, outside of my north american bias.
Teresa
p.s. I have a friend in Namibia, and another in South Africa awaiting you.
This was the first entry I read of yours, Tuuli, and I thought it was beautiful. I lived in The Gambia for six months, arriving around the same time your companion Nate did, in the summer of 2003. I felt that I lost my identity as a woman for the first several months I lived in Africa- but not because I was camping or because I didn't bathe for days at a time- just the lack of hair styles or makeup or, more likely, the amount of sweat for the first month I was there made me feel like I didn't want to be a woman because I felt gross.
I had friends come from up country and visit me and they'd always get their hair cut or their legs waxed. Eventually I started doing my makeup before going out at night and caring about my appearence more, and it improved my mood and my views on Africa just because I was able to relate to who I am as a person. I realized quickly on that even though I was living in Africa, I'd always be looked at as an outsider- so I stayed away from the hair braiders too!
Anyway, I just wanted to say that I can relate to where you're coming from. Thanks.
G.
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I had friends come from up country and visit me and they'd always get their hair cut or their legs waxed. Eventually I started doing my makeup before going out at night and caring about my appearence more, and it improved my mood and my views on Africa just because I was able to relate to who I am as a person. I realized quickly on that even though I was living in Africa, I'd always be looked at as an outsider- so I stayed away from the hair braiders too!
Anyway, I just wanted to say that I can relate to where you're coming from. Thanks.
G.
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