The Nigerian Field Society

Lagos Branch

Ogidi - 03-2003	Okomu - 05-2003
Oshogbo - 07-2003	Badagry - 08-2003
Palm wine tasting - 08-2003	Sukur-Lake Chad - 09-2003
Niger Republic- 10-2003	Ibadan - 11-2003
Kano/Katsina - 11-2003	Ikorodu Backwaters - 12-2003
Trips & Talks

Kano & Katsina

OK – so who noticed the family of four stranded on the tarmac unable to get seats on our Bellview flight? We were the lucky ones! In and out of Abuja and we noticed the landscape change from tropical to savannah – the scrub cleared for agriculture with cassava mounds and guinea corn – and then on to Kano where it was discovered that Veera Harper’s bag was noticeably absent: the remaining pieces brought to the terminal in style in a pick-up – stuffed to the gills with the roof piled high too – we scrambled over each other to find our own! Coach and cars were waiting for us – difficult decision: bucket seat or limo…it was best not to hang back!

The Prince Hotel in Kano is in the middle of being renovated but offered comfortable rooms (appreciated especially by the Blairs and Buchans whose alternative accommodation did not come up to scratch) and a wide-ranging menu for eats especially Lebanese food, at any time. There were also plenty of niches for eating or drinking outside. Surprisingly there seemed to be a constant supply of electricity up north too.

Sunday afternoon we headed to Kurmi market in the center of town experiencing for the first time go-slows and major Kano pollution from a multitude of motorcycles revving up in front of cars in true Roman style. Noted the roundabouts too, heavily adorned with posters.

Kurmi covers a vast area; stalls are stockpiled with everything from kohl, petroleum jelly, phosphate (to cure stomach problems), zobo – a form of wild hibiscus often mixed with sugar to make infusions or cooked with groundnuts; ink and indigo in small balls, not to mention caps, beads, jewellery, silver, clothes, calabash, blankets, shoes, brass dowry pots, recycled aluminium spoons, etc.And rubbish – the world’s perennial problem of the plastic bag…..Osama bin Laden posters and even a man walking around with a skinned cow’s head, horns and all.Busy and bustling and all ages squeezing past in the narrow alleyways.

Monday’s bus trip to Katsina took about two and a half hours heading north. Leaving Kano was slow with roads jam -packed and every crossroad exciting! The Muslim fast had been broken on Sunday evening and it seemed that the whole population was on the move.

From the coach along the road we could see ladies winnowing peanut husks with large calabash – dust flying – arms lifted high; further out muddy pits with clay bricks stacked round the edges often with water in the bottom, ready for hut building: stooks of corn stalks, conical huts lifted off the ground on arched bricks with thatched rooves, mud houses in compounds with grain stacked on top; baobab trees bearing large pods which apparently contain cream of tartar: even small plots of cotton plants. The roadside markets offering peppers, tomatoes, onions, oranges and grass bundles moving along on wheels or legs. Roads were good (only the odd swerve to avoid small potholes), and the lamp posts on arrival in Katsina were remarkably upright!

Well, anyone I’d spoken to said that it was going to be brilliant and the Katsina durbar certainly was! As we sat in our seats upstairs sipping juice and water with eminent Katsinoises, it was a sight for the eyes. Which way to look? Everyone vying for a good spot whether hanging from the branches of trees or juggling for a front row position on the ground, the police occasionally using their switches to keep order. The army and TV crews seemed to have excellent viewpoints. Anticipation! Once it began a procession of district heads passed by our stand all under separate banners – often acknowledged by dignitaries sitting alongside us. Men and horses gorgeously attired – magnificent turbans many with one ‘ear’ or two sticking up, denoting that they were directly related or a member of the Emir’s family. There were acrobats, musicians, snakes carried aloft, camels, armour and even bagpipes (a previous Emir had enjoyed the sound whilst on a trip abroad and had instigated their introduction to Katsina). And finally the Emir’s arrival amidst gun salutes – my eardrums were nearly blown out as at that time I was down below standing under an arch from where they were firing them and this amplified the noise! – under a huge parasol, being fanned from either side. He and his entourage were on matching grey horses with his camel, unmounted, following behind with ornate saddle. Then came the charges as each group from the various districts came racing up to the Emir to pay their respects. Dusty and exciting.

News had reached the Emir (can I be right?!) that our distinguished companion Robyn Hinson-Jones the US Consul General, was on the balcony and afterwards we were invited to meet him in the palace. The Wasiri – in effect the Prime Minister – eloquently spoke to us giving details of the Katsina people’s qualities – their hospitality and determination – the College in Katsina produced the first Nigerian Prime Minister and a total of 7 ministers in the first military government. He described to us their excellence on the polo field – the room was full of cups – and explained that although the Emir was educated in the UK and therefore spoke good English, he was not permitted to address us in anything but Hausa. Plenty more photos were taken of the Emir on his large red furry seat and in fact taking photos during the whole trip was so much easier than in Lagos, and although we asked beforehand, there was usually no problem and they seemed much more at ease with cameras always enjoying looking at a digital view.

Tuesday and off to the pottery and weavers’ village. First stop for the production of a pot by an elderly lady – we watched, the other wives and babies watched and a hoard of children watched over the wall. Starting with a pile of sand to which she added wet clay until well mixed: from here she cleared a dip in the ground and moulded the clay with her hands (how rough must they be?), beating it with a flat wooden spatula whilst also using her leg to steady it; finally marking the pot with her own trademark producing a feathery motif with a twig. The village epitomized Africa – women huddled together, children on the run playing with home made toys, many of the girls decorated with hennaed symbols, men working on piles of sugar cane or sitting and lying around, noisy radio, huts and donkeys and everywhere stacks of shiny golden pots glistening in the sun.

Later we moved on towards the weavers down mud tracks and past well-tilled fields with guinea corn, zobo and peppers. Got distracted looking at the butcher positioned under a large tree neatly piling raw meat in an orderly fashion ….a mixture of good cuts with tripe etc. A demonstration had been set up and the weaver’s feet were peddling away as his strip materialized. Samples were brought out in various colours and many of us carried home quite a few lengths, mostly priced between 1000/2000 naira. Equivalent to approx. 4-8 GBP or US$ 7-14.

After a pit stop back at the hotel, ten ladies escorted by Paulette van Trier, visited Hadjia Abba the Emir’s wife in Kano, whilst the rest of the group had a quick whiz round the museum which is housed in an old palace. There are plenty of photographs there and a surprising amount of locals enjoying the display.

We walked through the calm precincts of the Emir’s Palace: there are about 800 people living in the environs and we saw plenty of women and children – maybe the men were all preparing for the Durbar.Having introduced ourselves to Hadjia Abba, I noticed most other visitors greeted her on their knees bending forward – Paulette you should have told us! We sat in a carpeted room decorated predominantly with silver with a high ceiling – a cool breeze blowing through. She and Paulette were on a mattress on the floor and a TV was flickering on the wall. She explained how she passed her days and told us that she has visited a few countries outside Nigeria.Photos were taken – copies to be forwarded to the Palace please and presents of cheeses, sweetmeats etc were handed over.

From there we walked a short distance to the square and up on to the balcony overlooking it where we had a wait of about two hours for things to happen.

The Kano Durbar was different from Katsina – the crowds were kept back behind iron railings jostling for a view on top of walls and trees again. We jostled with Radio Kano for a pitch to take photos from and just underneath were amused to see a gaggle of young men frantically scrambling up the walls with a rough ladder. Plenty of TV and long lens cameras around.

Again, once it started, a similar format with a procession of riders, acrobats, stiltwalkers, trumpeters etc all filed past in front of us in a myriad of different costumes, perhaps more sophisticated than in Katsina – every conceivable colour with spots, stripes, silver chainmail: and near the Emir a splendid entourage bedecked with ostrich feathers and black turbaned horsemen. Dust everywhere, gritty on the skin and eyes dry. Again the Emir fantastic under a huge umbrella with his own decorated camel. In the fading light the charges to salute him began and then he was away leaving cheering crowds below. We were amused to see horsemen still in their turbans and finery riding home on motorbikes.

Next day our bus with the dodgy battery connections wanted to stop on occasions (we were pre-warned by Veera) but in spite of this we managed to get to the dye pit and weaving villages. An old man with blue hands and forearms dipped the cloth into the indigo mixture in a ‘pit’ in the ground about two feet in diameter. Friendly villagers followed us round and again we noticed the girls all dressed up to kill – with make up and handbags too. Into dark huts where the dyed cloth was being beaten – a split log lengthwise with the flat side down, the cloth over the curve,a man filling his mouth with water from a teapot and hissingly projecting water sharply onto the cloth before he folded it over and beat it flat. Two other men in another hut rhythmically beating cloth with bulbous wooden hammers, the knobs beautifully polished from the handling. Incredibly noisy in the confined space of the huts.

The Sallah (holiday) meant that it was difficult to find the weavers but after negotiation we were taken down tracks through the rice paddies (one crop a year in the rainy season) past herds of white cattle guided by nomads from countries such as Chad), their reed beehive-shaped homes scattered around. The weavers worked in groups in the open – weaving inch wide cloth for the turbans – we also saw men stitching these lengths together to make wider strips. The village stall set with picturesque thatched huts and many onlookers around, did brisk business in suya at 5 Naira a bag.

Rock Castle Hotel offered opportunities of a picnic lunch on the balcony – overlooking a scene reminiscent of the shores of the Ganges – the edge of Tiga Lake and thousands of Nigerians massing, a holiday atmosphere: - a view of the royal bedroom designed for Queen Elizabeth II in - was it – the ‘50s – in all its decadent frilly blue glory: and the dated creations in adjoining rooms.The topography was different again with sparse landscape, rocks and intermittent pools.

Back at ancient Kano and a biblical scene met our eyes below Dala Hill with ponds, donkeys, goats, cows, palm trees and the old city as a backdrop. Kano dates back more than 1000 years and is the oldest and third largest city in Nigeria and in places you can still see the mud walls, eroded down and old city gates.

After a sprint up the hill for a hazy view we set off for the city dye pits where it was explained that they are up to 6m deep – and one pit can be in use for a year with the indigo mix. Saw samples of tie-dyed cloths with decorative patterns which were later on sale back at the ranch when the traders visited the hotel with leather, beads, woven cloth and turbans – I was disappointed to see that they came flat packed and not ready to pop on the head!

An evening of noisy drumming with calabash percussion and energetic dancers – including most of the group – whilst we ate the barbeque, rounded off an experience which I’ve found difficult to describe – can’t wait to see the photos – and I certainly wouldn’t have missed it for anything!