#7 - Returning to the Riots

MASSIVE MISSIVE # 7

Jesuit Residence
PO Box 223
Surulere, Lagos NIGERIA
011-234-1-832743 (Voice * FAX)

17 August 1993

Greetings from the Dark Continent!

Or at least a slight shadow. News Flash – John is alive and doing well, the revolutionary activities have enlarged his repertory of exciting stories, but left his corpulent self largely untouched.

For those who are terminally confused about things geographic, I thought I would include a little visual aid, to help re-enforce exactly where I am (was? Will be?)

Above you will find the map of Africa. The country of Nigeria has been outlined and has 4 little numbers stuck inside it. The other country outlined is Ghana.
#1 is approximately where Lagos is,
#2 is Ibadan,
#3 is Benin City (actually not quite so far east and a little further south, but close enough) And #4 is Kaduna and just south and a little east of Kaduna is Abuja.

Now give yourself a test – see how many of the other countries in Africa you can actually name and locate. Don’t be too red-faced. Many Nigerians cannot name all 30 of their states. And even fewer can spell the ones they can name.



NEWS FLASH!!!

The New York Province has officially given up on Nigerian Post. From now on, there will be a weekly courier pouch going over from New York, and family and friends may send mail to be included. Send to me, c/o Kohlmann Hall
501 East Fordham Road
Bronx, NY 10458
ATT: Fr. Wood

The next several pages are going to be a basic lesson in Nigerian politics and current events, trying to make clear exactly what is going on over here. We get CNN, and occasionally news from “the outside”, and besides the highly dramatic pictures of burning cars and reports of tanks rumbling through the streets, these reports do little to clear up what this fuss is all about. I have been in the middle of the rioting, have been stoned and chased, and talked to a lot of knowledgeable folk, so I have a smidgen of a notion of what’s happening. If politics and high adventure is not your interest, skip ahead.

Obviously, the central topic of conversation here is the elections. Presidential elections were held on June 12th, and there was much wondering in advance if the present regime would actually let the elections be held. Right before the elections, the US Information Services officer at the Embassy issued a statement saying that anything that interfered with the process would not be acceptable to the United States. For that, he was asked to leave the country. But some feel that that strong intervention actually helped make it possible for the elections to go on.

The day before the elections a small group, dedicated to keeping Babangida in power, filed suit in a district court of the federal capital district, to stop the election from taking place. Now the elections are taking place under Decree 93, a military decree, part of which says quite clearly that the electoral process is free and may not be interfered with by any court in the land. So it would seem there is no jurisdiction. Additionally, the petition was filed in a district rather than the Supreme Court; again, jurisdiction would seem to be an issue.

However, the judge (newly appointed, only having been sitting for around two months) did not feel so constrained and issued a restraining order against the election. This was June 11, the day before the scheduled elections, and it was widely reported in the media. Later in the day – after all the major newspapers had printed their Friday editions – the NEC (National Election Commission) came out and said that the court had no jurisdiction, and the elections would be held as scheduled.

June 12 – Elections are held, and the turnout is very small, some estimate as low as 12 million, others as high as 19. But low, nonetheless. (One remembers, that over half the country is under the minimum voting age, and voting requirements were stiff and very difficult to meet.) But there were no riots, disturbances, or major indications of fraud, no military interventions, and the Sunday papers were full of major officials and dignitaries complimenting the Nigerian people (and themselves) on the well-run elections.

In a country with lots of small villages and many polling places, results are not instantaneous, and final results were not expected until the middle of next week. But on Tuesday, the NEC (National Electoral Commission) announced that they would not release any partial results, but would the results until all the ballots were in and tabulated and verified. Newspapers and broadcast media were prohibited from publishing any partial reports they might have obtained.

Despite all the precautions, the word was quickly out that Abiola had come in with a significant win, not only in the south, which is where he was from, but also in the largely Muslim north. Abiola and his opponent Tofa are both Muslims, but Tofa is from the north, and many believed that the “Kaduna mafia,” a group of powerful, northern politicians and shadow government movers and shakers, would not allow a southern president. Sonofagun, next thing we know, there are rumblings about fraud in the electoral process, and the high court in Abuja has issued an order prohibiting releasing the results of the election. The same NEC that said the court had no jurisdiction five days before now bowed before the order, and refused to release the results. Another petition, meanwhile, was filed before the court, asking that the election be declared invalid, and a new election scheduled.

Accompanying all of this, mind you, we have banks and financial institutions failing at an alarming rate, inflation continuing to erode the economy, the universities all shut down, and the Assembly, the representative houses of government, postponing opening their session because the government has run up a bill of over 1.3 billion Naira for accommodations for the representatives and the hotels have refused to extend any more credit. So the government is closed, the universities are closed, the fuel shortage keeps people from doing much in the way of travel, and the media have been heavily muzzled.

Personally, I think we should take all our money out of the banks, and start hoarding canned goods.

Wednesday, 23 June – The military government today nullified the election. In one sentence, a whole country has been disenfranchised, a whole future put in jeopardy. It is certainly an interesting time to be in this country. I keep saying that we should take all our money out of the banks and start buying canned goods. More seriously than I did a couple of days ago. The US government has said that they are “outraged” by the events, and both they and Great Britain have said they will have to “re-evaluate” their relationship with the military government. The US quite pointedly added that they would be reviewing aid to Nigeria. So much for the US grant for our proposed school in Abuja.

Someone said that that what has really happened is that Babangida has pulled off a coup against himself. It certainly is a coup – but the transitional process that has been abrogated is the one that IBB put in place himself. Most people are assuming there will be some kind of trouble, but at the same time, most are hoping it won’t happen, so while there may be some sparks, I don’t think that the kindling is there for it to take root. So to speak, mixing my metaphors dreadfully. The government has warned that any disturbance will be dealt with harshly, and that the State governors will be held responsible for whatever takes place in their state. Some cars are on the road with branches on their windshield, he national sign of unity (unity with what is a little unclear, but it tends to make it less likely that the rampaging crowd will break your windows or your windscreen.)

Thursday – The evening news was interrupted with a special announcement from the government that Babangida had uncovered a “plot” by the United States and Britain to interfere in the internal working of the Nigerian government, and that they were trying to influence other EEC nations against Nigeria, and that he would not let the forces that had provoked disruption in Somalia and Liberia and Poland and Croatia and Yugoslavia wreak their havoc here. (Logic is not one of his strongest assets.) Of course, this is the week that the ASHA grant proposal for the new school is supposed to go before Congress – it is hard to imagine the circumstances in which the timing could possibly be worse.)

Saturday, June 26 – Jerry Menkhaus called from Benin City, and said that the U.S. Embassy had contacted them to alert them to a travel ban (or warning) for US citizens going into Nigeria, that they were advising that dependents be evacuated and that they were urging US citizens to consider retuning to the US or at least leaving the country. We heard nothing from the embassy. Maybe they’ve forgotten we’re here. Maybe they’re busy. Maybe they’ve left (!!) IBB spoke – we all watched – basically he stayed with the June 12 annulment, accused both candidates of major malpractice in the conduct of the campaign, and assigned a new election, with the political parties to come up with candidates by the end of July. A new list of restrictions for candidates, which eliminates both of the men from the last election, but he “unbanned” those candidates he had banned in the prior primaries. Promises to be an interesting month.

Since then, the reaction across the country has been uniformly negative. Church leaders, labor leaders, other politicians, lawyers’ association, student groups, right across the board. But one has to be careful with a ruler who quite literally has the power to have you shot. A number of people have disappeared, including the head of the National Election Commission, and a prominent journalist who was spokesman for a small tribal group being oppressed by the government. Abiola, the “President-elect,” has reported two attempts on his life, both unsuccessful. So on the one hand, heavy intimidation by the government, on the other, strong public opinion. Makes preaching a very interesting exercise.

Monday, July 5, 93 – A most interesting day. Everyone was more than a little edgy. The morning sky got dark, and it started to rain. At that point, you could hear cheers and shouts from Western venue, and at several points, gunshots. Dark smoke from burning tires and cars could be seen over the buildings in several directions. The rain started hard, and kept it up for some time, until after 1. Our front yard disappeared under water, and the football field was a lake.

We were trying to get some of our guys out of the country. The travel agency said no one could get downtown today, so Bill and I went to the National Theatre complex, where their office is, to get refunds. Several sections of the road were under water, but passable. At the circle, the road was filled with debris. The police stand at the corner had been overturned and burned, remnants of burned tires in many places, very few cars moving, and lots of pedestrians. All public transport had been taken off the road, so people walked. At one traffic circle, a huge metal pipe had been dragged out to act as a barricade, and along the way, we had seen stones and debris pulled out to block off sections of the road. At one point, we had to dodge a car coming at us, going the wrong way on our side of the road. The travel agent was closed. They – like sensible people – had gone home. Going home, gangs were out with sticks and rocks, stopping cars and asking for money. We were chased, hit with rocks – one boy saved his life by jumping because Fr. Sheehan had decided he was not going to stop the car. We hit one roadblock - with about seven guys in hot pursuit - so Fr. Sheehan jumped the curb and ran across the circle, pulled into the ongoing traffic going the wrong way, terrified one poor driver who thought for one benighted second that he had the right of way at that moment, and we were away from one danger. And into another. Surrounded by a large group of men with sticks and leaves, who asked us for money. We said we hadn’t brought any with us, and so we’d have to turn around and go another way. They decided to let us through, and opened the gates. We found water up to the bottom of the door, and a lot of people wading in the water in the road, but we made it home.

Now sane people would have stayed home. Not the Jesuits. At least, not these Jesuits. We got more money. (Yes, going out into a riot, one should be sure to have several thousand naira in the trunk of your car.) and went out again to CKC. Just passed LUTH, the traffic slowed to a crawl, and we soon encountered several large groups, chanting and singing and waving greenery. Some asked us for money, but most were satisfied with protestations of support for Abiola. One leader kept telling us we shouldn’t given anyone any money, that this was a peaceful protest. One of his cohorts on the other side of the car was insisting that Bill give him some money. Finally, the leader went over and whacked the guy with a heavy bamboo stick. And a second later, whacked him again for good measure. The look on his face was one of decided surprise, and as we finally drove off, he was standing there trying to figure out exactly what had gone on.

We picked up Cyril, got passports for the two going to Ghana, and headed for the airport. We ran into several groups, one or two fairly intimidating, but we made it through with only one serious attack (with large two by fours, and the left rear of the car will never look the same again). Airport very quiet, Ghana Air cancelled all their flights, and the office was closed. Back to CKC - fewer out, and on the trip to Surulere there were no groups. Lots of tires burning and debris. Bill came in after me, and he had some major problems. The circle was virtually closed, with a large telephone pole dragged across the street. One of the men knew Bill, so he got through. The word is that it is going to go on all week. The 6pm BBC report said that Lagos was virtually closed, and that here were armed clashes with police, tear gas, buses and cars set on fire, and several cars hijacked. Christopher called from Benin City, trouble there as well.

We had first-hand experience with the troubles, and news reports that suggest it is even worse than we have seen. So what do we do? Stay home? No, on go the soutanes and out we go, to take Okure to Bagada. On a normal night this is about a 30-minute ride. We left around 6:30 and got back at 9:30, and like the Holy Father, I kissed the ground when we returned.

I am not a person easily scared, spooked, or even intimidated. But imagine yourself in a car, in the middle of a long line of single file traffic, surrounded by young Black enthusiastic men, carrying sticks and rocks and bottles of beer, in a landscape heavily dotted with rocks and cement poles and piles of rubbish, and burning tires and debris at frequent intervals. The young men are all shouting and talking and giving directions and at the least provocations, pounding on the car. There are people in front of you, people coming in the windows, people putting things on your window and writing things in your hood – and there is nowhere you can go, no turnoff or escape. Now imagine this going on pretty much on-stop for three hours.

As we left Surulere, a burning car rather set the tone for the rest of the evening. At one point we were on the expressway, and came up against a group of around 70, who informed us with great energy and enthusiasm and on the part of some what might reasonably be interpreted as displeasure, that the road was closed and we would have to turn around. With which direction I had no argument whatsoever. But the people were pressing in on the car with a certain antagonism, and turning and/or reversing were out of the question. They started to rock the car, and we did get several fairly serious smashes to the body of the car. But they did not break the windows or cut the tires, and after a couple of truly tense moments, we managed to get off the expressway and onto the service road. Rioters had simply closed major expressways into and out of Lagos, and nobody was going to use them. All the traffic was single file on the service road, and at regular intervals we were subjected to interrogations, demands for money, and warnings not to come out tomorrow (Tuesday). Apparently the goal is to shut everything on Tuesday. We assured all who asked that we had no intention of going out on Tuesday (or maybe ever again – well, actually, I have to go out and say the morning Mass).

The worst moment – one road bock where the gathered clan was less sober and more hostile than most. One man was inordinately interested in my wristwatch, and he had several friends who did not seem at all please with my presence on the planet, much less my presence at their roadblock. Suddenly Bill said in a most determined tone of voice, “John, move the fucking car.” He had a man whose hand was actually in Bill’s pocket, and the situation was not improving. As we drove off, the man threw some liquid at Bill, and his first reaction was, “Oh my God, he threw acid at me.” There have been a number of acid attacks in Lagos recently, and it has become a serious and recurring problem. Turned out the liquid was only beer, but it was a scary moment. Or two.

Adventure after adventure. At our destination, the car refused to re-start. We popped the hood, and one of the battery cables, at some point in the day’s excitements, had simply snapped off. We rigged a contact, and got the car started, but I lived in absolute dread that we would get in the middle of one of these groups and the car would stall.

May I interrupt this narrative for a personal statement, just for the record? I do not now have, nor have I ever had, the desire to be one of the martyrs of the church. I would hope that if circumstances ever arose I would behave honorably and courageously and with faith, and if martyrdom were to come, I would hope I would accept it. But that in no way should be taken by any reader, earthly or celestial – especially celestial – to even remotely suggest that I want to be a martyr. Not by the remotest stretch of anything approximating anybody’s imagination. Realizing that that may prejudice any future proceedings for canonization, I did want to get that on the record.

The trip home was much like the trip out, except that we were now heading in what I, at least, considered to be the right direction. Frequently one or more in a group would realize we were reverend Fathers, and became our protectors, beating away those blocking the road and getting us through blocks. A little after 9:30 we pulled in, at and breathed.

Were we in danger? Yup, although not as much as it would probably seem to most in the States. It was a day of almost absolute anarchy – anybody with a stick was in charge of their little section of the road, and the mentality of the crowd was dominant. There were signs, however, of organization. Many of the roadblocks were identically organized, the questions and slogans and directions were completely he same, and while the presence and energy of so many people gathered together could be (and was) intimidating, at the same time, they were basically friendly, optimistic, and encouraging.

President Babangida came out with a statement later in the evening, warning the rioters that because no actions were taken today, tolerance and patience should not be construed as weakness, and he assured them that the government would take strong and decisive steps to restore order. The rioters seem determined to close everything down on Tuesday, and since this is a protest that is particularly against him, Babangida cannot, in my opinion, afford to let it continue or seem to be a success. My fear is that he will react very strongly, and most probably violently and randomly. It would not be beyond the pale to have helicopters strafing the streets.

Tuesday, 6 July – Babangida met with leaders of the 2 political parties and told them if they did not participate in the elections he has called for on 31 July, he would dissolve them and all democratic institutions, including the National Assembly, the state assemblies, and the state governors, and would replace them with a transition government he would appoint, composed of military and civilians. They have until Thursday to make a commitment. By 8:30 am, rioters were already setting up roadblocks and barricades and had several tires burning already. An Army Land Rover came by the barricades with two men inside. They took no notice of the barricade, simply drove around it and went on. And the demonstrators took no notice of the Army vehicle. Our world is filled with invisible people.

By 10:30, more shouts and chants from western Avenue. Fewer dark smoke pillars than yesterday, and more rain. In the afternoon we went to see what the situation was in the neighborhood, and to see if there were any place open to buy food. There is a market about seven houses down from us, but the front of the store faces onto Western Avenue. It had been thoroughly trashed – looked rather like a bomb had been thrown. Talking with some of the people around there, we learned that it was rioters who simply took the place apart. There were two dead bodies lying on the ground. The police had arrived after 90 minutes of looting, and everybody scattered. The police grabbed one man, who happened to be there. He showed them that he had nothing, no loot or goods. They talked with him for a couple of minutes, then one of the police simply pulled out his gun and shot him. You could clearly see the bullet hole in the front of his head, his body sprawled out in the street. The other was off on the side, and we did not hear the story of his killing. It has been another day of serious trouble, and with the ultimatum hanging over the country and the parties, it is not going to get any calmer before it gets worse.

So naturally, we went out in the evening, to take two guys to the airport. Very quiet. No rioters, no blockades. Well, right after we left CKC, before we got to the expressway, suddenly there were around 200 people running at us, and motioning for us to go back. Seems soldiers or police were up ahead, and they were shooting. So we turned around, went a different road to the airport, no problem.

As we were going about last night, I was reminded of the B movies of the 50’s and 60’s that had nuclear wear or other devastation as the theme, in which the breakdown of society led to the forming of tribes and gangs, etc. And certainly the streets of Lagos yesterday were reminiscent of those sets. But it also occurred to me that he model ere is not completely accurate, because much life in Lagos, and throughout Nigeria, operates at a level that an American would see as a deterioration of society. Here, of course, it’s not that simple. On the one hand, it is a deterioration, a running down of the social and governmental and corporate machinery that was in place when the British were here. On the other hand, it’s not so much a running down as a building up, as Nigeria tries to find her own road, one that is not simply the British remnant or an American imitation, but something that is hers, that comes out of her people and her visions and her economy. Unfortunately, a large part of what has come out is driven by greed and self-interest and corruption, and so social progress, group advancement, is a continuing casualty.

But it is, I think, a mistake to see it simply as a deterioration. There is contained within the dirt and the desolation also a growing discontent. It has a long way to go, and the current political turmoil reflects a large part of that. Democracy works when people are interested in advancing the country, the people, the entire entity. Democracy becomes easily manipulated when individual greed and self-interest are the dominant passions. And certainly here, democracy in any meaningful sense is in serious danger.

Another interesting dimension of all this is what many I have talked to feel is an unannounced alliance between the Ibo and the Hausa. To refresh- there are three major tribal groups in Nigeria. The Hausa are in the north, the Ibo in the southern east (the scene and moving force of the Biafran civil war) and the Yoruba in the southern west. The Ibo are ambitious, intelligent and after the war have managed to move into number two spots in most of the federal and other governmental offices. Power is held in the north, and the number one slots are all filled by Hausa men. As someone said, it’s a perfect arrangement – the Hausa sign the papers and sit in the big chairs. The Ibo actually run the country, they make happen what the Hausa sign.

Now Abiola, the unannounced winner of the June 12 election is Yoruba. And his election was hailed because he carried states in all areas – he carried northern states as well as southern, he carried Christian communities as well as Moslem, he carried Ibo territory as well as his own tribal regions. But the power brokers up north were not willing to have a southern leader, which is why we are in the crisis we are now experiencing. If there has been an alliance between the Ibo and the Hausa, then it would seem that the Yoruba, and Abiola, have been isolated, and the demonstrations and the protests and any hope of obtaining justice here are in vain. Babangida will either have his election, rigged carefully so that his man will win this time, no mistakes, or he will intervene militarily and dissolve the existing “democratic” institutions and rule directly through his appointees. If you find it hard to see the difference between these two notions, you are in good company with thousands (and I suspect millions) of people here in Nigeria.

Wednesday, July 7 – Several guys left around 5:30 am to try to get to Ibadan. Didn’t make it. They got as far as Ileja, the MMM hospital, and they are staying there. Large gangs in the streets, back roads as well as expressways. Some traffic sounds here, but blockades up and some fires starting again. Tomorrow is the crucial day. Benin called, blockades through the city, large gangs. The Army has officially been asked to help the police in Lagos, and IBB has given the Lagos governor 24 hours to bring things “under control.” We expect the local equivalent of martial law in 48 hours. Seems I came back to Lagos at exactly the right time.

Tuesday, 13 July – Latest moves – Babangida has announced that despite both political parties agreeing to forming an “interim national government,” he has decided that the country will go ahead with new elections on July 31 (when most of the Jesuits will be out of the country, at the ordinations in Ghana. I, of course, will be here, holding down the fort Interesting phrase, in the circumstances.) The SDP has already announced it will not take part. Back to buying canned goods.

Wednesday, 21 July – The political situation continues to deteriorate, and the movement of families and children back to the east continues at such a pace that the government has come out with a statement assuring people of their safety. Which, of course, assures no one. Fuel shortages are getting worse, and the NEC has for the second time extended the deadline for a tri-partite meeting (NEC and the two political parties) to set the “modalities for the coming election,” because the SDP has simply not shown up at the first two scheduled meetings. If they continue to refuse, what will the government do? In the meantime, the government propaganda program continues, and to me seems to be increasing. Soyinka made a public statement that to him IBB looks like a man with serious mental problems, and advanced some telling evidence to support his theory. The NTA (Nigerian Television Authority) has become so blatant in their simply delivering government releases as “News” that even the most pro-government people are mumbling.

Capsule – as I write this (on the 17th of August) we have gone through a national 3-day shut-down of virtually everything, and the fuel situation continues to worsen. A 7-hour wait to get petrol is not extraordinary. Babangida is rumored to be ready to propose something this week – what seems to have emerged is the notion of an “Interim Government,” named by him, of course, that would then go on to plane for some sort of election process some time in the future. All a smoke screen to keep denying the June 12th election.

There are armed soldiers still around the streets, and heavily armed troops at all the power stations. A number of newspapers and at least one broadcasting center have been shut, and yesterday two “Press Decrees” were released by the government. One said that those newspapers shut were going to stay shut, and the second instituted a 250,000 naira licensing fee for any paper that wants to print, and an additional non-refundable 100,000 naira fee. Any paper can be held liable for publishing “lies, rumors, or facts detrimental to the national well-being” and punishments include heavy fines and imprisonment. The government decides what is a rumor or “detrimental” and legal process is not mentioned at any point in the decree- Gives you a great hope for the future, eh?

The exodus of people to the villages has continued, and there continue to be rumors that Abiola, the winner of the June 12 election, will have someone proclaim him president on or before August 27th, which was the scheduled day for handover to a civilian regime. It promises to be an interesting time.

I, rather like the country, continue to chug along. I finished working on the Mission History, and have sent that text off to others to make decisions about graphics and layout. I’ve been asked to give a retreat to priests of the Okigwe diocese in late September, a week-long preached affair, so I have been working on that. And you’ll be glad to know that I finally got the new curtains up in the chapel. Our electrician has been busy, so the new lights aren’t in yet, and I still haven’t found a good man to re-do the chairs in the living room. But we now have a cook, who is a learning, and a driveway, so bit by bit, the elements of civilization are creeping in.

The return trip from the US back to Lagos was relatively uneventful. The lady at the Alitalia desk gave me a break on my excess luggage - by their reckoning, I had 2 1-2 extra bags – she charged me for one. Bless you. I had volunteered to go out to JFK early so my driver would have a fighting chance of getting back to Manhattan before the traffic became unlivable, so I had rather a wait, but I walked and read and reflected and got myself into a “travel” mode. The plane was packed – full of Italians and Italian-Americans who were at that point strongly favoring the Italian side. In concrete terms, that means that they don’t sit down if they can stand, they don’t stay silent if they can talk, and whatever there is to eat or drink, they would like something a little different, a little more, a little sooner. (There are more than passing similarities between Nigerians and Italians.) All night long there was talk and movement and visiting. Someone said it is because Italians basically don’t like to fly, and so all the activity distracts them. Whatever the underlying psychological ground, this experienced traveler blew up his inflatable pillow, stuck in his ear plugs, slipped on his eye shades and actually got a relatively decent snooze in. Except for the three times during the night that the little old couple next to me had to visit the facility. Of course, with all that artificial isolation, if the plane ever goes down, I’ll wake up dead.

I have an announcement to make. After due consideration and reflection, I would like to go on record that I don’t like Alitalia Airlines. I don’t like their magazines, I don’t like their food. I don’t like their seats, I don’t like their procedures or their personnel or their passengers. I don’t even like their logo. I don’t like their schedules, their apparently regular and extreme over-booking of flights, and their casual disregard of passengers. Nope – I don’t like Alitalia.

I feel much better now.

The Rome airport has not increased in fascination since I was last there, although the place is full of interesting people, starting with the strolling soldiers complete with automatic weapons slung casually in their arms. And looking like they’re about 19 years old. The Duty Free shops are also nothing particularly exciting, so the temptations are minimal. As the time for departure got nearer, I went out to the waiting area, and found it as exotic as a day in downtown Lagos. Perhaps most striking was a local king who was traveling with us, a very striking man with a sizeable retinue and an equally impressive wife. How did I know he was a king, you ask? Well, the red and gold crown he was wearing rather tended to give it away. I doubt he was trying to travel incognito. There is a particular kind of brandy that has a crown on it - that’s precisely what this guy was wearing. Most impressive- and I imagine it played hell with the metal detectors. When he approached the line for boarding, everyone waiting stepped aside and let him pass to the front. The Alitalia crew, however, was not quite so deferential, and several of his larger bags were immediately hustled off to the luggage hold. “I don’t care who you are, those bags are not going inside the pane.”

(An aside - the deference increased once we landed. People were literally pushed aside so that his kingliness could get through Customs. I am singularly pleased to report, however, that my bags came off the plane first, and I was well out of the luggage area before the crown, and the large body underneath it, left.)

The plane was not full, although in typical fashion 95% of the passengers were all crammed together in the front section of the plane. My seat was toward the rear, and delightfully isolated. Several of the more astute travelers made their independent ways back as well, one of whom was a bishop. When he saw me in my clerics, he came over to introduce himself. When he learned I was a Jesuit, he sat himself down on the other side of the aisle and we had a delightful talk. Turns out he is the Bishop of Calabar, a diocese in the eastern part of the country, and was returning with another bishop (seated more toward the front) from Spain, where he had been attending a Eucharistic Congress at which the Pope was also present. (I think they call that keeping in touch with the Boss.) Later on the other Bishop came back, head of the Okigwe Diocese, and he plunked himself down next to me for about a40-minute chat. Both were very interested in hearing more about Kaduna (apparently our leaving was a hot topic throughout the Bishops’ Conference) and I politically gave them a carefully expurgated version of the events. Both feel very strongly that the Church in Nigeria needs to do more in communications, a sentiment I strongly applauded. And encouraged. Before we parted I made sure both had my card. You never can tell, eh?

My bags came off the luggage carousel so quickly I almost missed them. One trunk, one computer monitor, one large suitcase, one small shoulder bag and the computer. Not nearly as impressive as my first arrival, but a full cart nonetheless. No problem at Customs, although when I mentioned I had rosaries in the trunk, several of the soldiers asked for one. I really didn’t want to have to open the trunk, so I said it would be a lot effort and take a lot of time. The head soldier replied, “But is not receiving a good grace worth the time and trouble?” Naturally, in all of Lagos I get a theologian at Customs. Finally I got through without opening the trunk. (How I would have theologically explained the 32 videos I was bringing back is also a challenge I did not want to have to face.) Peter was waiting for me, and while he went to get the car, I dealt with the beggars. Somewhere in here might be a sketch of me, done by the same little kid who sketched me when I arrived at Christmas. I’ve included both, so you can see how I’ve changed over the months.) But we were packed and home in what was record time for an airport pick up in Lagos. Deo gratias.

Idle Thoughts
I had, in my remembering about Nigeria, forgotten about the smells. In the aircraft, even prior to take-off, I was pungently reminded about one of the essences, so to speak, about daily life here. I was seated at the rear of the plane, where there were a lot of empty seats. But at one point when I walked forward, the combination of human sweat, cigarette smoke and other unnamable odors were almost physical in their presence. Later, outside the airport, I was struck by he night smell of things burning. There are food smells, and in the rainy season – ie, now – there is a slight mildewy sense. We get used to things easily, but it is good to come back and be reminded of how varied and interesting our daily routine can be.

My first full night back I was up most of the night with a raging headache and sweating more than the temperature would have called for. I wonder if this airline poisoning business has some merit to it. Six aspirin merely eased but did not remove the pain. Not only did the neighborhood children know I was back, the word had obviously gotten out to the mosquito community as well, and they, and they had arranged a special gathering in my honor – at which I was the main course and major entertainment. The good news is that between the sweating and the involuntary contributions to the AIBB (African Insect Blood Bank), I should have no trouble whatsoever losing weight. For the record, approximately pounds of me returned to Nigeria than had left.

Reading through my diary for the past coupe of months, the political situation really has dominated everyone’s conversations and actions. The economy was bad before all this started, and has gotten seriously worse. On the other hand, we find good news where we can, and shortly after I returned I looked out of my window and saw a great crowd of dragon flies, about which I was most happy. Those of you who remember your basic predatorial biology may remember what one of the favorite foods of the dragon fly is. Aha, good for you! Yes, dragon flies eat mosquitoes, and anything that eats mosquitoes, I am in favor of.

Lest you think that simply because I don’t have a job means I don’t get to relax, I do have extracurricular activities. For instance, one night as I was watching the news with Peter, happened to see a great rat go scooting across from the bathroom into my clothes closet. So I whipped out two of the sticky traps I had brought back from the states, set them up in the door of the bathroom, and went back to the news. About ten minutes later, there was the sound of scuffling, and sure enough, a large black rodent, thoroughly enmeshed in glue. I put him in a plastic bag and took him outside, where Patrick took charge of him, and a few seconds later, the sound of something solid hitting the outside wall of the compound could be heard. Thank you, Patrick. As I was about to go to bed, two other Jesuits came in and we watched Little Shop of Horrors. The collection of videos I brought back have been a great hit, and I, of course, have no will power whatsoever. But the evening was not over. I went into the bathroom, and as I sat down on the ceramic seat of meditation, right in front of my eyes, sitting on the door, was the largest bug I have ever seen outside of a museum or someone’s collection. Or perhaps an Indiana Jones adventure film or National Geographic special on man-eating bugs. I killed him, thereby making him even larger, as we all know what happens when three dimensions become reduced to two under the force of a heavily applied book. Yecch. Rats, bugs, and man-eating plants. Fortunately I have no memory of my dreams that night.

I have learned a new wrinkle about Lagos driving. During the rainy season, first the potholes get bigger. Because many times, they only get filled with earth, which the rains wash away. Then, as the potholes fill with water, you no longer can tell if the water is covering a depression or is the surface of a lake several inches deep. In other words, BE CAREFUL!!! Because instead of easing through a water puddle, you could just as easily find yourself sitting hubcap deep in a swamp.

About a week after the rat adventure, I went into my bathroom where I saw a tale disappearing behind the shower curtain. I thought it might be a lizard, but no, it was a mouse. Actually, it was the size of a mouse but since there are no mice in Nigeria, it was a baby rat. Caught in the bathtub. I toyed with drowning it but one hates to waste the water. So I got a small plastic bag and held it down and the little panicked critter ran right into it. I took it downstairs and gave it to Patrick, who disposed of it. (No, I don’t know if that means he killed it or ate it or gave it to the dog, and what’s more, I don’t want to know.)

Dog? I hear the astute among you asking, did he say dog? Yup, I returned to find that among the changes in our happy household, the addition of caninus strangus was on the list. Just before I left we had a stray dog take up residence underneath one of the cars, and I spent several hours one night calming it and giving it food and making sure it was not rabid or psychotic. Well, I apparently did such a good job in calming his fears that he decided to stay, and we have now gone so far as to name him (Inigo – not my call, selected before I got here), and give him a collar, and take him to a vet for an examination, shots, and a general washing and de-bugging. He is actually quite friendly, something that we are encouraging, and he scares the neighborhood children, something that I am certainly not discouraging.

As I say that Scroogishly, I have to admit that I did bring back candy and presents for all the neighborhood urchins, and they have been visiting and playing and introducing at their usual rate. Some are very cute, and some need to be taken out and spanked. Which is normal children, I guess, in any country.

Other activities continue. I’ve said Mass at a number of different parishes, large and small, rich and poor. We continue to go to Pacelli regularly, and even had some of the children here one night for dinner. A few words about some of the kids. First, of course, all are blind. Little Emmanuel is around 12, and the kid has a gorgeous deep a lot voice, could seriously make good money in the States with a good promoter. Very compelling voice and a great sense of music. He sat down with Peter’s electronic piano, which has 99 different voices, a whole set of keys for preset rhythms, speeds, etc and all visually labeled. Ie, he can’t see the digital readouts or the labels or the instructions. Takes him about ten minutes to figure it all out, and that with several of his blind friends “helping”. He also, in the course of the evening, played the recorder and the harmonica and one had the sense that he could have played anything you wanted to put in front of him. Kingsley has a nice voice, and Ogalo has a great young man’s voice, and the three of them sing trio stuff. Gorgeous. Now I don’t mean “gorgeous for a group of blind kids in Africa,” I mean “Gorgeous, just having paid $45 for the privilege of hearing them sing.” That kind of professional quality gorgeous. Emmanuel especially has the personality and talent and vocal ability to, in a lot of circumstances, really make a career for himself. Here in Nigeria? I really don’t have any idea. If anyone wants to turn promoter for a blind kid with a lot of talent, let me know.

Interlude
A long-time missionary was asked how he stood in the loneliness and the isolation. “Oh, it isn’t too difficult,” he said. “ After all, I have my scotch and my rosary.”

Then he called out to the next room, “Rosary! Bring in my scotch, darling.”

One of the fun parts of “summer,” (if such a word can be used in a place where the only two seasons are distinguished by wet and dry) is that there are a lot of people traveling. People coming in to help for the summer, our guys going away for studies or home leave, Scholastics from other regions and provinces coming here to learn English or do pastoral work. A richness of people.

Getting visas and moving people in and out of airports is one of the local “challenges”. Especially since travel plans are often a little loose, and airline arrivals even looser. We had been expecting one guy from Chad, who did not show up as expected. The next morning there was a phone call. He had arrived late, slept in the airport, and in the morning had found his way to the parish church at Aguda, from where he was calling. Peter asked if I would go and get him. Being the amenable soul that I am, I agreed, and set forth.

There was a great go-slow on the main road, so I thought I would try a shortcut that Bill had talked about. Bad idea. I very quickly got enmeshed in back streets, and was absolutely completely and fairly thoroughly lost. Having what I hoped was a general sense of the direction I thought maybe I perchance ought to be going in – I kept going. At one point the traffic was slowing down, and there seemed to be something in the road. As I got closer, I thought maybe someone had had a goat and left it lying dead in the middle of the road. As I got up close, I realized it was a man, with blood streaming out of his head and a large section of his skull apparently bashed in. And a large group of people standing around looking at him. Now I know that there are some who would advocate leaping from the car and trying to help. However, knowing enough about local politics, and little enough about medicine – although enough to bet that the body in question was exactly that, and a true and living man no longer – I said a quick prayer for his soul and kept going. Eventually I found my way – and boy is that an apt description – picked up Paul, and brought him back to Surulere, where he greeted everyone, turned down my offer of breakfast and went immediately and quite soundly to bed and to sleep.

There are lots of small adventures that keep one on one’s lower digits. One morning, Bill asked if I wanted to go to the Badagry market with him. Now a more wary soul might have asked where the Badagry market was, or what we were intending, but I just signed up for the trip (with me driving – Bill hates to drive and if he can get someone else to take the wheel…) and off we went. We? We included me and Bill, O.T. Jonah (a teacher from Benin who has been helping on the Abuja school project) and Keffi and Christopher (you met them in an earlier letter, or perhaps saw their picture in the article I wrote for Company magazine – Christopher is a champion karate person, who next month is going to his first full-contact match, something about which we are not particularly pleased) and Sr. Justine, one of the nuns from Pacelli. Full car – full day.

Going to the border for shopping sounds easy, and that’s why I went. Well, up to the border is over two hours of steady driving. Then I discover that we can’t go over the border. Only the Nigerians can. Then I learn that what we (they) are going to do is buy things over there, sneak them across the border and talk our way past the several customs and immigration and military and police checkpoints that dot the roadway on the way home. Oh good. Especially with the military situation being the way it is, and foreigners generally getting scolded and threatened almost daily in the media.

So we parked in the lot, and Sr. Justine and Christopher disappeared over the border with a large bag of money. (The largest denomination is a 50 Naira note, so we get used to carrying around stacks of cash.) Keffi of course relived himself almost immediately and without reservation. Bill had the same urge but went off to find a more secluded spot and I decided I’d do penance. Well, we waited about an hour, and Justine and Christopher re-appeared, and motioned us to move the car up into the upper parking area. We did – and then sat.

Suddenly, from the wrong direction, ie not from the direction of the border station, came a man, running, with a large bag of rice. He threw it into the back of the station wagon, and ran off. That performance was repeated twice more with rice, then canned tomatoes, and then chickens. The car was sagging as we headed into the check points, but the hand of God, having a veiled sister in the back and two Oybo (translation: white folk) in the front seat helped sneak us – and I use the word advisedly – through.

I was thoroughly relieved to get home without being arrested, and the discovered that there was a major party in the field across from us, and this one went until around 6 in the morning. (Saturday was environmental, so they couldn’t go beyond 7.) Fortunately, God was good and took away the NEPA for much of the evening, so although there was drumming and singing and general hub-ub (Is there a hyphen in that word? Looks strange.), the loudspeaker systems were well and truly silent for much of the event.

I’ve celebrated Mass in French, (at the Papal Nuncio’s – someone else preached), I’ve been doing a lot of singing, and did the design for the most recent issue of the mission newsletter. I have not yet officially been named Editor, but at least it looks more interesting. I also said Mass in Latin. I was substituting at the University and was told that the first Sunday of each month was a “Latin Mass,” so I decided to make a point and give them a Latin Mass – the whole thing, including Prayers of the Faithful. After the Communion Prayer, I made a little speech about African Liturgy, and what was good and not so good about the Latin Mass, and how important I thought it was that there develop an African Liturgy and a style for that community. The nice thing about being a visitor is that you can stir up the people, and then leave.

Miscellaneous
One of our guys (names are unimportant) is a long-time missionary here, arrived in 1980. He is physically a large, imposing man, and true to the stereotype, can be somewhat clumsy. You don’t put out your delicate crystal when Fr. X comes to dinner. He also has had more automobile accidents than everyone else in the mission combined. For the whole history of the mission. But there is evidence that it is starting to get to him. This past week he has been hit several times, and instead of making the usual Nigerian placid response to the dent or the scrape, he has started to fight back. Last week, he was hit from the back by a bus. He stopped his car, with his bumper right up against the bus, and refused to move until the driver had paid him 100 Naira to help for repairs. (Remember the current rate is about 35 Naira to the dollar.)

About a week later he told us, with a certain amount of gleeful pride, that he had been in one of our perpetual traffic jams, and a truck had squeezed against him, scraping him both as he started to pass and again just as the vehicles parted. Our man followed the truck, pulled ahead of him, and stopped. Got out of the car and walked back to the driver. “Sir, did you know you hit me back there? Not once, but twice.” The driver sort of laughed and said, “Sorry.” Fr. X replied, “Well, you should learn to be more careful.” With that he reached I through the window, broke off the turn signal and handed it to the driver. Got back in his car and drove off, leaving the driver sitting there in mild astonishment. Being 245 pounds and over six feet tall helps you to get away with stuff like that.

This is the same guy who on New Year’s, stormed into the Protestant chapel at LUTH next to the Catholic Chapel. Seems the Catholic worshippers couldn’t get out because the Protestant cars were blocking the way, and repeated requests had not brought forth anyone to move their cars. So he went in and asked for a microphone, and the minister, thinking the Catholic chaplain was going to extend a New Year’s greeting, gave it to him. At which point, Fr. X informed all the praying Protestants that they were crazy if they thought their prayers were going to be answered. He assured them that God would never listen to people who behaved in such an un-christianlike manner. Score one for the ecumenical movement in Lagos. Not.

We have four Scholastics leaving for the States tonight, and if this is going to get to them so it can get to Gifford so that it can get to the carious people who have agreed to be distributors so that it can get to the people on the list, I had better stop writing. No further specific word on what I am supposed to be doing, so I am taking it as my responsibility to keep busy. Less than a month ago the Superior mentioned that he had to fill out the form for listing people in the catalogue, and he looked at me and said, “I’m going to have to do some thinking about a job description for you and a residence.” Apparently he still has no concrete sense of what it is I might be doing, and apparently he’s even unsure about where I should be doing it. Then he spent about thirty minutes looking through the past catalogues of other provinces, to see if he could find an interesting title. Seems I will be listed as Communication Coordinator and probably Editor of the Newsletter. I suggested Region Archivist, or Historian. When titles are meaningless, at least grab a good one.

My love and greetings to everyone. Latest word is that the annual container will close around the end of August, so by the time you get this, it will probably be too late to include anything. However, should you have found a perfect something, call the Mission Bureau (39 East 83rd Street, NYC 10028 (212) 734-1144) and see if it’s open. (Last year they announced an August closing, which actually meant mid-September.)

Letters, pictures, prayers and hugs are always welcome. (Keep track of the hugs- I’ll collect when I return.) DO NOT SEND MONEY!!!! If you win a lottery and feel irresistibly compelled to share part of it with a missionary priest in Africa (I refer in these oblique terms to mine own humble self) send it c/o Brother John Campbell at the JSMB office and he credits me. And if you are thinking of coming to visit, I join with the U.S. Embassy in strongly opposing the idea. At the moment, Lagos is not a tourist spot, and as the August 27 nears, no one expects things will get better before they get worse.

No idea when the next massive missive will flow forth, but until it does, take care of your charming self (Selves) and know that somewhere in Nigeria (see Map, Page 1) there is a Jesuit who is praying for you.

PS – I am now writing this on October 5, 1993. Sigh. Just talked with Gifford, who informed me that the original of this, which was given to one of our Scholastics to be hand carried when they went over on August 17th, ever arrived. In other words, some Nigerian has the letter safely tucked away in a bag somewhere, or he lost it.

So I am re-sending this without alteration. Sorry about that. In the interval, politically, Babangida has stepped aside (a carefully chosen term with specific military connotations that has caused no end of speculation) and an Interim National Government has been appointed.

Now the intellectually gifted among you may already be questioning the ultimate validity of a government appointed by a military dictator to run the country in his absence. So are people here. My own guess, however, is that the moment for legitimate democracy has passed, at least for the present, and this interim puppet show will run an election that the majority of the country will boycott, the candidates specially hand-chosen and paid for in advance will assume office, and life will go forward pretty much the way it has in the past.

When the British left, Nigeria had a certain momentum as a country. That momentum was seriously slowed by the civil war, and given a massive boost with the discovery of oil. And the country has bee running on that moment, and that money, ever since. But the train is inexorably slowing down, and there is nothing providing the energy, the impetus to move the country forward. Everyone is interested in getting his share, and never mind anyone or anything else, and that is true to a depth and a degree that the western mind finds hard to initially comprehend or later to completely believe. Maybe I’m just tired or discouraged but I am coming to believe, in the absence of a major shift of something, that this is a country with no immediate future, at least in anything remotely resembling what we know today. It is going to take a massive revolution, civil war, or some other structural-shaking event to make a significant change here.

Since August 17th I have started doing the Regional newsletter, and gave a retreat for priests of the Okigwe Diocese – more about that in the next letter. I did the last revisions on the Mission History- and if this doesn’t sound like enough to keep a high school sophomore active, challenged and out of trouble, you would not find me seriously disagreeing with you. Nice people, interesting experiences – but in my humble opinion, I am needed around here about as much as they need fur-lined parkas. So I’m doing some writing, trying to keep up with some singing and trying to be useful – there is going to be some more interior decorating in the immediate future, and I might try to reactivate my basic juggling skills.

Love to all – sorry for the delay. I thought people would have had this political stuff when it was relevant and meant something. Ah well – from now on, paid courier systems. The next letter should be out around Thanksgiving, maybe a little before. Until whenever….