Kano
Kano bursts on to the scene. After the laid-back and sleepy air of Niger, it’s rather a shock to the system.
Kano is about Nigeria’s third largest city, but given Nigeria boasts the second biggest city in the world – Lagos – Kano is still a giant in its own right, home to about 10million people.
Our taxi drops us right in the middle of the mayhem of central Kano. Laden down with our heavy bags, and the only white people visible in the sea of black humanity swirling around us, we feel exposed and slightly vulnerable. Nigeria carries a fearsome reputation for – literally – daylight robbery, so we’re keen to get out of the crowd and put our things somewhere safe.
A young man shows us to a taxi, expecting, naturally, a ‘dash’ in return for the favour. Dashing is a way of life in Nigeria, and it’s something we’re going to have to get used to.
The taxi carves its way through Kano’s unrelenting traffic. Everywhere there are vehicles, and a palpable haze of sickly brown pollution from the thousands of exhausts kicking out thick fumes into the atmosphere.
There’s no order. As we’ll quickly discover, in Nigeria, any rules that exist for road traffic appear to be wholeheartedly ignored. Motorists weave circles around each other, paying no attention to what little road markings there are. And around the cars swarm scores of little ‘okadas’ – motorbike-taxis for passengers with sufficiently large balls. I come to formulate the theory that with just about every public institution in Nigeria in the process of falling to pieces, the Nigerians’ reckless driving is symptomatic of a general disregard for rules – mainly due to a lack of faith in a system that, on every level, is letting the country down. It’s a tragic state of affairs and seems so unjust to a people who, aggressive as they may seem, on an individual level are some of the kindest I’ve ever met.
Beside the traffic, the staggering thing about Kano is the sheer crush of humanity. There are people selling, people begging, people walking, running, eating, sleeping, arguing – Nigerians like to argue, over anything.
Sometimes the view of mankind on display is a harrowing one. Worst of all is the profusion of lepers that abound in Kano, looming out of the shadows with bandaged stumps for hands, begging, pleading. It’s impossible not to recoil in horror at the sight of these wretched people.
But the immediate impression amidst all this madness is one of warmth. We’re met with nothing but friendliness and respect. One or two of the men we encounter initially treat us with suspicion, but this soon turns to smiles when they learn that we’re not, as they presumed, American, but British; Americans clearly do not get good press out here, particularly in this overwhelmingly Muslim area of Nigeria. Mainly I think because of the steady diet of Premiership football consumed by the average Nigerian rather than any lingering respect for the old colonial master, Brits are held in high regard in this part of the world.
In Kano, we meet up with Yusif, a local who I first befriended in Niamey where he was on business. Yusif agrees to be our guide around Kano, something for which we’re extremely grateful considering the chaos that seems to prevail.
Our first stop is Dala Hill, a sandstone outcrop to the west of central Kano that offers great views over the city. To get to the hill, we must first negotiate the inevitable pile of filth. From the top, however, Kano is a staggering sight, an endless urban patchwork spreading out below us and disappearing into the smog of pollution that obscures the true horizon. The mind boggles at what Lagos is going to be like.
After the hill, we head for the town’s central market, a vast and sprawling quarter of town that covers 16 hectares. It’s more of a small town in its own right than a single market, a twilight world of winding alleys, booths, stalls and open drains. When we arrive, it’s still comparatively early, and the traders have not yet got into full swing. This is something of a relief, as it offers us the opportunity to wander the market relatively unmolested and soak up its atmosphere without having to battle against an incoming tide of people.
Next to the market are Kano’s famous dye pits where colourful indigo cloth has been produced for the past 500 or so years. The pits are privately owned, and have been under the control of the same family throughout their entire history.
They’re a fascinating sight, a series of huge clay-lined vats sunk into the ground. Each one holds several gallons of the dye, a solution made of water, indigo, ash and potassium. The cloth is dipped in the vats and left to ferment for up to three days. Once the dying is complete and the cloth dried, it is then pounded with heavy wooden mallets to soften the fabric and leave it with a light sheen.
On the evening of our first day in Kano, Yusif takes us back to Dala Hill to get some sunset shots of the city. As our okadas pull up at the foot of the hill, two boys sidle over, tugging at our sleeve, telling us to follow them.
‘They say we need permission to go up,’ says Yussif. This sounds to me like a scam to a bit of money out of a couple of white blokes; you get this kind of thing all the time in Africa. We ignore the boys and carry on towards the hill.
‘No stop,’ says Yussif. ‘They say there have been some Area Boys in this part of town who’ve been causing us some problems.’ This stops us in our tracks.
Area Boys are a particularly Nigerian phenomenon. They’re basically urban thugs, unemployed youths who roam the streets of big cities extorting money out of passers-by through threats – and administration – of violence. Area Boys are a particular problem in Lagos, but it seems they’ve made their way north too.
As a safeguard, we agree to be accompanied up the hill by an elderly man who it seems is its unofficial guardian. At the top there doesn’t seem to be anyone around, other than a couple of inquisitive teenage boys. They approach us and, probably more for effect than to avert any real threat, our guardian shoes them away with a stick.
I ask Yussif about Area Boys. ‘They’re a problem because so many people in Nigeria are poor,’ he replies. ‘They’re young boys, sometimes as young as 14, who haven’t been to school and haven’t got jobs. They are violent and try to take small money and phone handsets from people. Sometimes they’re into drugs.’
Yusif explains that the state government in Kano is trying to tackle the problem. ‘They’re arresting people but they’re also trying other things, like finding jobs for these boys, even giving them money so they won’t attack people.’
Unfortunately the government’s efforts weren’t enough to help one European girl whom we learn was the victim of an Area Boy attack on Dala Hill only a couple of weeks before we’re there. ‘She came up here on her own,’ says Yussif. ‘She came up without a guide, just followed the path, and when she got up here to the top, some guys approached her and stole her money and camera. The police arrested some boys, but they’re probably innocent and not the real attackers.’
Yusif wears a look of disgust on his face as he tells us about the Area Boys. ‘This is Nigeria’s biggest problem,’ he continues. Some people are rich but they’re often currupt, so it means many people are living in abject poverty. They don’t have jobs, so they think that they only way they can get money is to rob people. It makes me angry.’
Tags: Travel
djnorwood