Professional Documents
Culture Documents
I'm writing from Nigeria -- not with an email that uses the word "barrister" and attempts to scam you
out of thousands of your hard-earned dollars -- but rather as a visitor to this country that regularly
turns up as a punch line on late night TV. It is not my favorite place to be, at least not in the capital
city of Abjua where I am working for 10 days.
While Nigeria is clearly an undeveloped country, here it attempts to hide behind flashiness. There
are broad avenues that sweep past tall, modern buildings that would be at home in the States. But
many of the cars on the roads are barely drivable, and there are few working stoplights. Battered
green taxis ply their trade everywhere; they are cheap but dangerous -- most lacking seatbelts -- as
they weave in and around other cars. Without crosswalks or stoplights, pedestrians appear to be in
mortal danger every time they cross a road. Most of the large buildings bear the names of
corporations or banks.
This is a nation made wealthy by the discovery of vast stores of oil, and it would appear by the
buildings and roads that its citizens are sharing the wealth. Unlike Nairobi, for example, there are
few slums and beggars evident. But, unlike the oil, much remains below the surface here.
The poorest residents of Abuja -- including many of the workers who staff the people who work in the
tall buildings -- have been forcibly moved to the outskirts of town where many live without running
water or electricity. You would see them if you gazed out the window of your car as you travel from
the airport into the city center. The women with infants strapped to their backs balancing heavy
bundles on their heads, the men sitting under trees looking at you with hollowed eyes.
Abuja is a planned city, designed by three American firms; while they may have gotten the
infrastructure right, they forgot about the heart. And because everything dates back only to the
1970s, this is a place devoid of much history or charm.
There are speed bumps in the middle of major thoroughfares that invariably result in flat tires and
disabled cars by the side of the road. The incessant honking of horns can be maddening. The oil
wealth has brought with it inflated prices. We visit Amigo Market where the expats and wealthy
shop and are horrified by the cost of food -- fresh fruit is prohibitively expensive and a small
container of yogurt is almost $4. Outside the market young men hawk everything from bananas to
pirated films on DVD. In a nation where some people are getting rich, everyone is desperate to make
some money.
And, on my last full day in Abuja, an explosion rocks the UN compound across the street from our
hotel. Black smoke billows from the building where people labor each day to bring peace and
development to this nation and others. Within hours, we're told, a suicide bomber with a radical
Islamic sect drove his bomb-laden car into the building. It is Ramadan. I suppose the bomber didn't
see the irony. Eighteen people are dead and scores are injured. The sirens that day seemed to go on
forever. And, as I head to the airport for the first leg of my flight home, the driver says there are
many people still trapped in the rubble of the building.
I am racing home, trying to stay ahead of Hurricane Irene which is predicted to lash my
neighborhood in Arlington, Virginia. I'm more than ready to face the destructiveness of nature; it is
the cruelty of my fellow human beings that is far more frightening.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tamar-abrams/abuja-nigeria-happy-to-le_b_939896.html