I have lived in third world countries, seen some of the worst poverty in my own country but nothing prepared me for this. The rural villages I had seen as a child in jungles and mountain villages seemed like Shambala compared to the village we rode through in an armored vehicle.

Despite its bourgeoisie standard, the Mercedes G Wagon was perfect for this part of the trip. He roads were not paved, only slim vehicles with significant ground clearance could have navigated through the bumpy roads which wound around clay shacks like a misshapen snake amongst native pottery.

Brown, not a chocolate brown but a hazelnut brown, is the color of the village. We were passing through the town to reach a crafts factory where locals make traditional clay pottery and crafts. It was obvious the clay was used for homes as well.

The juxtaposition of the Mercedes, a symbol of affluence, driven by an African man with a non-black passenger amongst such poverty made me feel uncomfortable. Not in the way that one would feel threatened but in a sense that my presence symbolized such a state of things, a state of inequality, of the push for modernization and the consequences of industrialization.

Our windows were tinted completely dark showing only the reflection of their poverty. I saw what I felt reflected in the eyes of the curious villagers; eyes which have seen numerous symbols of affluence pass by. I saw a sense of wanting followed by the setting of the reality of daily survival as we drove off, leaving the inhabitants gazing at the back of our black symbol of modernity. Much like seeing a dream manifest before your eyes, and disappear just as quick.

A sense of desperation come over me as we drove through the village, similar to an innate feeling to run away from this dire situation. There were naked children running in and out of huts, half naked women chasing after them, and trash everywhere. We passed through what seemed like the village center, where the locals were burning wood and gathering around. An elderly woman stood prominently amongst them, grey hair in disarray, topless and in torn dirty rags looking at the half a million dollar vehicle drive through her home. A hollow feeling lodged itself in my throat for the remainder of the afternoon.

The pure state of poverty was overwhelming. The opportunity to take many great shots with my camera presented itself on numerous occasions, but instead I held back. I felt that the only reason for the shots was to capture the poverty, not the beauty of the people. Several times I pressed the viewfinder to my eyes only to find that I could not bring myself to release the shutter. Who was I to do so? I am not an anthropologist, I am not a journalist; I am a visitor. I had no right to try and make any statements with my pictures because my audience would be a personal collection of people and the pictures I took would have been taken for the sake of entertainment not to change the situation. I am not that kind of traveler.

The beautiful smiles of the children who greeted us as we arrived at the crafts factory, run primarily by the local women, most likely their mothers, eased my soul like a glass of cold water on a humid day. The women gathered clay from the banks of a nearby river and shape their clay pots in the factory. When I say "factory" I mean to say a couple of small huts and about ten women. They designed the pots according to traditional customs and heated the pots under burning dried palm leaves and dried shrubs. The women were very confident in their work and seemed to enjoy creating their masterpieces. It is important to note that the prices were set by the women and not the factory owners. The factory served more as a marketing system as opposed to a company. All the work done here was delivered to arts villages which cater to tourists afraid to venture outside of the capitol. Translation: No tourists here.

After making some small purchases and taking pictures of the artists, Asimyu decided that I needed to unwind. He took me out for a drink at a local palm wine bar...err...road-side set-up...however you would label a shady area under a tree on the side of the road with wooden benches and two ladies serving palm wine out of two large blue plastic drums. Oh, not to mention that there were a lot of confused drunken faces.

Apparently this location had the best palm wine in Abuja. What exactly is palm wine? It is palm juice which ferments naturally in open air. It is warm and has a unique sweet but pungent flavor. It is served directly out of the large blue barrels and into a cup lying in a bucket of murky water. Wasps flew about eating up the sugar, you could see pieces of palm floating about with the wine. Everything in my body said ‘Don’t do it’ except that one small voice which defines every real adventurer. Never say no, it is rude, especially if someone buys you a drink. Cheers!

Asimyu was proud, so much so that he bought me a liter of the stuff which I was happy to present to my father when I returned to his home later that evening. I walked through the door, conquest in hand. I make my way to the kitchen and my brother follows suit. My father doesn’t realize what I have in my hand until I say ‘palm wine’ and simultaneously open the bottle. A look of shock and horror turned into a bellowing laugh and eventually a skewed look settled on his face as the contents of the bottle erupted in both my brother’s and my own face. A burst of noxious fume fills the kitchen instantaneously, forcing me and my family to temporarily evacuate. Apparently, when palm wine is bottles and capped, pressure builds up as the enzymes continue the fermentation process.

My experience in Nigeria was fantastic to say the least. I have such great hope for the country and hope that one day it is able to fully express its potential. The country is rich in culture and resources, beautiful tribes reign here. There is so much adventure to be had, I only wish I had more time. I have always believed that it takes a certain type of traveler to love Africa and they are the ones that the adventures are made for. There is little here to cater to convenience, make use of that, embrace it, it is Nigeria.

Labels: Africa, Destinatons, Nigeria