Week 1: The Road to Abuja

Dear Friends,

I left my home at 5am Thursday, Sept. 24th and walked into the Guest House in Abuja, Nigeria at 1pm Friday the 25th, exactly 24 hours later. Nigeria is 8 hours ahead of Phoenix.

My flight was due to leave at 6:20am but due to President Obama and other world leaders, flying in and out of JFK for the G-20 conference, all air traffic was halted for 90 minutes including our flight that hadn't even left and was 4 hours away. When we finally took off, we still circled twice for "Presidential Movement" and once to be directed to another runway due to a wind change. As the pilot said, "I couldn't make this stuff up folks." We landed 90 minutes late and my connecting flight to Dakar, Senegal was due to depart in 15 minutes. I was told that the flight had left and I would need to make alternative arrangements but fortunately, the flight was also running 90 minutes late due to "Presidential Movement" so I was fine.

I sat at the boarding gate in the midst of two groups: Senegalese and Nigerian's returning home, all dressed in suits or their best African finery, little girls in pink ruffley dresses and beads in their hair; and a group of older, stout, polyester clad, caucasian ladies on a tour with several Roman Catholic priests, headed to Lyon, France. I just sat in the middle and watched all of them eye each other. All things being equal, I was glad to be with the African group.

When we finally boarded, I was one of only two non-African people on the plane and was promptly told that my carry-one would not fit under my seat. Oh great I thought, African men already telling me what to do. I said that it would fit fine and promptly put it under my seat. So there!

We sat for one hour on the taxi-way and heard multiple announcements from the Flight Attendants concerning the H1N1 flu and ways to protect ourselves. They spoke of the importance of washing our hands whenever we used the toilet, coughed, sneezed or blew our nose; and how to dispose of tissues after blowing our nose. We were also instructed to always wear our shoes on the plane!!!!!!!!!

We flew 7 hours overnight, landing at 5am in Dakar, Senegal, in the dark, on a not so well lighted runway. Our flight was only partially full, so with my jammies, U of Washington hooded sweatshirt, eye shades, unplugged headphones and pharmaceuticals; I stretched out on 3 seats, and slept like a baby for 3 hours.

Because I was flying on to Abuja, as were 40 others, we were not allowed to leave the plane or change seats. Airport personnel came onto the plane and asked each one of us to identify all of our carry on luggage and then to step away from our seats. Each seat was pulled up and inspected, I am assuming for anything suspicious. We then sat down and the plane was sprayed with a World Health Organization approved "mild insecticide" to kill any mosquitos. Malaria is endemic to Nigeria.

We flew 5 hours to Abuja, landing at 11:30am. From the plane, the land looked green and lush and I wondered what I was doing here. I have no great affinity or passion for Africa, did not particularly enjoy Lesotho, loved Viet Nam and wondered just how committed I still was to the HIV cause. But here I was.

Abuja is a city of 1.5 million in the center of Nigeria. Nigeria is a West African country with a population of 140 million; the most populous of all African countries and ranked with China and India as most populated in the world. It is the political capitol of Nigeria; Lagos was the previous capitol and is still considered the commercial center of the country. Abuja was built "from scratch" in 1989 to put the capitol in an area that was populated by both Christians and Muslims, unlike Lagos that is primarily Christian.

The air was steamy but less so than Singapore. I breezed thru Customs, not knowing that the Protocol Officer for IHV Nigeria, who was at a training and not able to collect me, had spoken to Immigration about just looking at my documents and not hassling me. Excellent I say!

For those of you who have traveled internationally, you know that there is that period of time when you walk into Baggage Claim and are approached/surrounded by baggage handlers, all wanting to help. You do not speak the language, have no country currency, were told that "someone" would meet you but no one is holding a sign with your name on it, you don't know who to trust and you have only a phone number with many more digits than you are accustomed to but no phone. That was me.

I put off 2 handlers but finally consented to one man who spoke enough English to understand that someone was waiting for me. He whisked me through all of the other stops and we walked into the waiting room and a large man stood up with my name on a sheet of paper and I said, "That's him!" Mike extended his hand and said, "Welcome, how is my Brother Obama?" Swear to God.

Mike than escorted me, with our baggage handler in tow, into a small room, a closet really, that had 2 men who are the Money Changers for the terminal. There is a great deal of money changing that occurs here and none of it is done in banks. The Central Bank of Nigeria has licensed men, all of whom are Muslim, to stand on street corners or sit in small rooms in airports, to change currency. Both the men were in traditional dress of a long tunic with pants and a small hat. One man was reclining on a mat, the other at a small desk. He and Mike haggled about the exchange rate which fluctuates daily and apparently was low today and then I received my first handful of Nari. 100 Nari equals about $1.50 US. The larger the bills, like 100 dollars with the "big heads" ? Ben Franklin gets the best rate.

We then drove 45 minutes into Abuja. There are mainly cars here, lots of new Honda's, Toyota's, VW's, Mercedes Benz, Peugeot and some Ford's. Driving is CRAZY. There is the Right lane, the Left lane and the imaginary Third lane that straddles the dividing line for the Right and Left lanes. Cars just weave in and out, dodging potholes that could swallow a small car, or drive on the shoulder either way, it doesn’t seem to matter. Most cars have so many dents from being hit that they look like Rent-a-Wrecks. If the accident is really bad, the cars are just abandoned on the side of the road to be used for parts and possibly torched.

The Guest House is in the center of Abuja that houses several Embassies and major family or company compounds. The Mexican Embassy is right across the street; the Indonesian and Belgian embassies around the block. As are the Japanese and Canadian ones. The US Embassy is several miles away, all by itself. I will speak of them later; just think "Poor Customer Service."

All of the buildings have high walls with barbed wire, some electrified and guards, and some with really big guns. It is not uncommon to see and hear police cars, sirens blaring, soldiers sticking their guns out of the windows, escorting some very important person, to their office.

Our Guest House is a 3 story building with 6 Flats, each with 3 bedrooms and bathrooms. There is a living room, dining room and kitchen in each Flat. There is a TV with several stations including CNN, A Prayer Station, a station in English with Arabic subtitles and a whole lot of soccer. I showered, slept for an hour and decided to go looking for dinner.

I was advised not to go out by myself until I had been shown the neighborhood during the day, by one of the driver's. IHV-N provides driver's to take us wherever we want to go, especially after dark when we are not allowed to go out by ourselves, unless we are in a large group and we are close by. Of course, when I ask the driver's if there are any kidnappings or special issues, they all say, "very safe, no problems." Uh huh. Estavinus, the main Housekeeping man, drove me to a restaurant that he thought "I would really like." Southern Fried Chicken, "Lip Licking Flavour" "All the Flavours of the South." Their logo is a paddle boat on the Mississippi! For this I flew half way around the world. It was OK but KFC is better.

I went to bed and slept 13 hours, waking up at 4:50 am with the Call to Prayer from the Mosque and the sounds of the next door neighbors having sex.

Saturday morning, still alone in the Guest House until the other mentor's arrived that evening, I decided to walk outside for some fresh air. Hot, humid air but fresh, none the less. The door squeeked as I opened it and IMMEDIATELY a guard appeared. "Did I need something?" "The driver will provide everything." As I tried to explain that I just wanted to get some air and say Hi, 2 other guards casually walked up to the first guard. "Was I OK?" Yes, I said and walked back into the house. I am not accustomed to having someone do everything for me, including accompanying me around the neighborhood. This will take some adjustment. I had no phone, phone card or internet access and felt very isolated. But God knows, I was safe!

A few hours later, one of the driver's drove me to a street near the Hilton, haggled with the money changers and got me a great exchange rate! It was probably Ben Franklin’s big head that did it! We drove thru a small park and saw birthday parties and a wedding reception. There was music and dancing; kids playing in one of those big blow-up things; people arriving with food in covered dishes; and the wedding party posing for pictures. What in the world am I doing here? This looks like any other big city.

That evening, I drove with Mike, the driver, to pick up Brenda and Janet, the doctor and nurse arriving from Canada. They also wanted to change money but the men on the corners were gone so we down some dark streets into another neighborhood, down a hill, into a gravel covered courtyard of a 3 story ghetto building. Out of the darkness comes 3 men in Muslim dress, to change our money. Swear to God.

Sunday afternoon we finally got to go out. Estavinus said that we must have an escort the first time we are out because we are not known. If he walks with us, the people will see that we are OK to be in the neighborhood and not to be bothered. OK.

The streets are very tropical looking: large green, lush trees and bushes. Many tropical flowers; fruit trees; birds singing. and piles of rubbish everywhere. Piles large enough that you have to walk into the street to get around them. And several large McMansions in various stages of construction; but many more abandoned McMansions with vines and weeds growing into the abandoned buildings. Bizarre.

Around the corner from us is the Indonesian Embassy and on the street corner in front of the Embassy, are several spread out mats for Muslim people, all men it seems, to kneel and pray when the Mosque calls. There are several small, pastel colored, plastic tea kettle shaped containers on the curb that the men use to wash their hands and feet before they pray. There were about 20 men kneeling and bowing and we quietly walked by. As we walked by, I turned to look at the back of the group, thinking about taking a picture of the beauty of the scene, when a LARGE man started to walk towards me. I took a picture of a street sign instead, Salt Lake Ave, turned and looked at him and he walked away.

A block away, we walked past a small building that I realized was a Mosque, based on the shoes and pastel colored tea kettles in front of the door. No sooner had we walked by the building, a soldier came out with an AK-47 (I am told) and just casually stood there, indirectly looking at us. Alrighty then.

We later "escaped" from Estavinus for pizza and beer at a restaurant down the block, but he found us! Busted!

Monday, the 28th, the 3 of us, Treeny had not arrived from Australis yet, drove with our mentor Sara, to the University of Abuja Teaching Hospital in Gwagwalada, about 1 hour north of here. This was the Africa I was expecting: people walking everywhere, cars, motorcyles and buses, cheek by jowl. Open air stalls selling everything and then women carrying everything on their heads. One woman curtsied to us with a large cardboard box full of cleaning products on her head. HOW!!!!

We spent the morning at the HIV clinic, touring and being introduced to everyone it seemed. Non-African faces are rarely seen so we created quite a stir wherever we went. We planned on arriving at the hospital by 10am but the bridge that would take us the final mile to the hospital, had been washed out in the last few weeks so we had to take an HOUR detour. No one has any idea when it will be fixed. Maybe not even this year! This is sooo Africa!

We arrived in time for the question and answer period after Grand Rounds, the physician's weekly presentation of an interesting case. 50-60 people all in one room and 4 Westerner's walk in the door. Quite uncomfortable for them, I am assuming, but they graciously carried on.

Nigeria is a formal society. The men all wear suits or minimally, shirts and ties. The women wear African dress: bright, long skirt with matching material wrapped around their head; or casual business wear. But use of deodorant is not a cultural practice here so any gathering of people can be "fragrant" in 90 degree heat with corresponding humidity.

Most people speak English very well but with a British/African accent with several words that I am not familiar with but I am understanding most of what is being said.

Sara, our coordinator, wanted to stop at a neighboring orphanage to give the nun's some needed medicines for one of their women so off we went. The 4 of us plus 3 physician's that we were taking back to Abuja. For those of you who have read my previous Viet Nam tomes, you may remember that I visited several convents and met with many nuns and priests. So here I was again, going to a convent to see the nuns.

The "Poorest of The Poor" orphanage was started by a nun from Africa who wanted to minister to the prostitutes in Gwagwalada. These women, numbering about 25, are not necessarily HIV infected but are obviously at risk for any disease transmission. They can stay at the convent to get off the streets and if they become pregnant, they can stay to deliver and then move back to their homes. There was one 13 year old girl with a baby that can only go home to her aunt's house if she relinquishes the baby, which she will not agree to do, so she and the baby are living at the orphanage.

The grounds are dirt packed with several brightly colored, one story buildings. There were a few chickens, one rooster and a tired looking dog milling about. Several women ran to Sara and then us, to give us the universal welcome here: "You Are Welcome." It always sounds like I have said "Thank You" and they are corresponding with "You Are Welcome" and I work to not quizzically look at them when they speak. Many of the women were sitting on walkways, using old heavy, manually operated Singer sewing machines to sew clothes. I have seen these same sewing machines carried on men's heads to make "house calls" for mending. The orphanage was a bright, joyful place.

We returned to Abuja and the 3 of us decided that we should visit our respective Embassies to register our presence in the country. Yes, it can be done on-line but with spotty internet and 10-12 power outages/day, a trip to the Embassies seemed more practical.

Ah yes, the US Embassy. I am assuming that pre-911, it was fairly easy to get into the compound. But now...there are barricades guarding the barricades on either sides of the sidewalk and a guard stading at the end of the sidewalk. Unlike other Embassies, there are no identifying signs and no US flag visible from the street. I was disappointed and not impressed though it is the largest, most modern building around.

I had to tell the guard what I wanted so he could check inside if that was OK. He then let me into a seemingly bullet proof glass door. I immediately walked thru a metal detector and put my bag thru screening. Then one on the guards came over, opened my bag(no asking) and took out my phone, camera, make-up, dental floss, calculator, gum, half bottle of water and Tylenol. Obviously ALL WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION. I was left with my money, glasses, Tic Tacs and a pen. They let me out through another bullet proof glass door and I walked up a long, hilly concrete path, to the back of the main building. I rang the bell and was buzzed in to immediately walk thru another metal detector. The surly guard mumbled something about why I was there and pointed to a chair in a small, empty waiting area behind him. In the other larger waiting room far across from me, were many Nigerian nationals sitting in chairs, gazing at...

We all sat there silently for 10 minutes until I said to the guard's back, "Excuse me but do they know..." "Yes, they are coming." Another 10 minutes and he said, "they are here." A woman appeared in the window and said, not pleasantly, "Yes". You should know that I am silently screaming, "THIS IS MY EMBASSY, WHY ARE YOU TREATING ME LIKE THIS?

I walked up to the counter that came to my shoulders so I was able to rest my hands on my chin and gaze appreciatively up at this woman. She gave me the paper that I needed; I filled it out and returned to the window to again gaze and wait for her presence. Two personal phone calls later she returned to the window, examined my paper and said that she needed my phone number. "I don't know my phone number." "I need your number." "I don't know my number, it is written on the phone." "I need your number. Where is your phone?" "You have my phone in Security." "Why don't you know your number, I need your number." "I have been here for 3 days, I don't know my number." Might I add, that I continued to rest my hands on my chin and gaze appreciatively at this employee of the US Embassy. To her credit, she wrote down her name, Mary Ann, and her number and asked me to phone her in Security. I walked past the surly guard on his cell phone who just pointed me to the door and I reversed my trek to the guards. they said, "Welcome Back!" and returned my contraband. I offered them a piece of my confiscated gum and walked out the door. If I didn't already belong, I don't know if I would want to join.

Our 4th mentor, Treeny, arrived today from Australia. She is a physician, born in London, England, raised in New Castle, Australia and swears as only an Aussie can.

Tuesday was our orientation day to the Institue of Human Virolog thru the U of Maryland. In the interest of time and power outages, I will elaborate later. Suffice it to say, the US is loved here and Brother Obama is beyone words. Several times a day, I am asked "How is My Brother?" And have heard more stories about how people stayed up all night to view the election results and cried when he won and was inaugurated.

Two days this week we have visited the 2 clinics where the four of us will be mentoring. Janet and Brenda will be at Gwagwalada clinic that has 12,000 patients enrolled. They see 150 people/day and have managed to decrease the waiting time in the clinic from 10 hours to 6 hours. A guard with a really big gun stands outside the open air waiting room that seats 100+ very weary, sad looking people.

Treeny and I are assigned to the clinic in Keffi, about 1 hour south of Abuja. Keffi is in the state of Kasawara and has a population of 1.4 million. We are their first clinical mentoring team and they have NEVER had non-Africans in their area let alone their neighborhood. We do not blend but people will smile if we say hello first.

The clinic has 6000 people enrolled and also sees about 100 people/day with 2 doctors. It is beyond words to say that the clinic is small, dark and dirty. The Emergency Room aka the Casualty Unit, is a dark room with 4 beds. At least that is what I saw during our tour of the complex. I have asked to spend a day there. Many offices were dark with people working in them but no one can afford the light bulbs. This is the Africa that you see on TV.

Thursday was Independence Day, the 49th anniversary of freedom from British rule. We celebrated by going to the Hilton for some "real" coffee and later an Arts and Crafts Fair.

I apologize for any grammar, spelling and any other mistakes that you see in reading this. I cannot tell you how many hours this has taken to compose, save, loose power, loose internet, loose sentences supposedly already saved. This is sooo Africa and I am liking it!

Talk with you next week.

Kathleen