The Nigerian Field Society

Lagos Branch

Trips & Talks 2005
Hadeja - 02-2005	Imota - 03-2005
Argungu - 03-2005	Omo - 05-2005
Jos Plateau - 08-2005	Idanre-Akure - 09-2005
Cross River - 10-2005
Trips & Talks

18th-20th March, 2005

Once we arrived in Sokoto's airport only an hour behind the ADC schedule and no luggage (or person) missing, our group of seventeen Field Society members felt quite upbeat and confident. Two hours later we boarded the bus hired from the Kebbi State Government, our homeward seats finally having been confirmed thanks to the efforts and skills of trip organiser John Barker and others of our group. (N.B. Apart from having tickets showing your seat number, ensure your name is on the flight manifest.) Little did we know that we had just passed the first hurdle in our 'quest' to attend the Argungu Fishing Festival. Having been on a few NFS trips, I feel qualified to report that this trip is particularly worthy of the description 'legendary' as we struggled to achieve our goal that Friday. JJR Tolkien or Friday the Thirteenth, what you will, the rest of the day was a succession of missed or cancelled events: being barred from visiting a Sokoto sight just as we approached its entry, essential parts of our bus failing and separating from the main body (was some benevolent being watching over us at this point?), arriving at The Gesse Hotel, in Birni Kebbi, to discover four of our rooms had been commandeered by the government, at whose invitation we made the trip, and purchasing mattresses for those who volunteered to sleep on the floor. 'We' were a family of four, three couples, five single females and two single men, with six rooms to divide ourselves up into. We did the maths and it all worked out with much good grace and humour, so often a feature of these trips. 

Of course these events were just a part of the day. We were no longer in leafy Ikoyi but in the very hot, dusty, dessicated north-west of Nigeria. From our transport we saw Fulani herding skinny camels and cows and glimpsed their temporary dwellings. The countryside seemed flat and in the hazy distance, a suggestion of undulating hills. Grasses looked yellow and crisp, trees and shrubs mostly of the thorny and almost leafless variety, with a few verdant exceptions and a rare dramatic firework burst of blossom. Sokoto was busy, Argungu was teeming. Few women to be seen, in comparison to the men and children milling around, much noise and excitement, a festive atmosphere. Wonderful photo opportunities of course, peoples from all over Nigeria and neighbouring countries discernible by dress and decoration and physical traits. It had been a busy and tiring day, most of our party opted for an early bedtime; if there was anything going on in town, we missed it.

Saturday was an early start as there was a suggestion that the fishing competition started soon after dawn. Naturally, following an early and quite acceptable breakfast we had to wait for our (new) bus, some of us hoping that we had not missed the entire thing. The reality is that we rarely miss anything in Africa, we expats fail to adjust to our host countries's clocks and stay faithful to our twenty-four hours to a day variety, not realising or acknowledging that timing has to do with things being ready. When it is ready, that is the time. And indeed the bus appeared and off we sped towards Argungu. En-route the photographers in our group caught blue-clad Tuaregs herding camels across our path, some of the camels were interestingly patchwork in appearance. Sometimes we were forced off the road for other reasons, cavalcades of visiting dignatories, with preceding and following armed police in lorries or cars, depending on the status of the dignatory. Very few vehicles were coming from Argungu; we were all heading for the spectacle.

Mr. Ade was our appointed 'fixer', a courteous man who got us to our seats with the minimum of fuss. We were positioned in a tiered stand above the river, one of two such structures, and the one where President Obasanjo would later take his place. Below us was a stretch of mud-coloured water about 30 metres wide, beyond its far bank was a sizeable grassy area evidently part of the river-bed in rainy season. In the distance, with the aid of field glasses, you could see thousands of fishermen. Apparently, thirty thousand men registered for the festival. I am willing to believe they all came to compete for a top prize of 1 million naira. A thin line of police were on the opposite bank, about a hundred metres from the water, and there were two giant screens showing live film of the proceedings, as well as a stand for either commentators or photographers. Thankfully our stand was canopied, as the sun got hotter and hotter. The Emir of Argungu travelled between the VIP section and the entrance, greeting and accompanying his distinguished guests to their places, under the protection of his personal highly decorated parasol. John, our trip leader, paid his and the NFS's respects to His Highness the Emir of Argungu. Seating became tight, people got asked to give up their places as more and more visitors arrived. Excitement and anticipation was palpable. When the President arrived, we all stood and the Nigerian National Anthem was played. The keen and intrepid photographers amongst us, led by Jean-Paul, began to appear on the stand and river bank opposite, as it became clear our view was going to be limited from our position. The heat increased, the crowds increased, the noise increased. And finally the gun was fired and the competition began.

The spectators were roaring and the fishermen became discernible as they approached in a giant body from the distance, in a charge, getting closer, dust rising up and around. The police on the opposite bank began to fan out along it and walk slowly, batons in hand, towards the advancing men and nets and calabashes and spears. For spectators, this was very puzzling. Were the police to be part of this dash in the form of an obstacle? Closer and closer came the fishermen, and louder became the roaring as the police moved forward. Suddenly, and not a second too late, one hundred police scarpered for safety before the thirty thousand charging and eager competitors. The photographer's stand was a popular choice. Meanwhile, we in the safety of the stands and the near bank, rose up to watch the first man leap into the water, alone only for moments as the water rapidly became a river of men, bodies flailing, calabashes slipping and bobbing, spears waving and jerking, nets – two lengths of stick with netting slung hammock-style between them - forced to remain closed as lack of space denied operation. President Obasanjo had requested that the previous year's record catch of seventy-four kilos be beaten. The commentator was in an ecstasy of excitement. 'Who would fulfil this wish? Who would win the top four prizes? What a fabulous international tourist event!' 

I doubt the fishermen could hear a thing. Intent on winning the prize, waist-deep in the dispersing water, they moved: writhing, diving, lurching, watching. The police reappeared to survey it all from the bank. Their colleagues on our side were asked to control the crowds below the stands, who had risen to their feet, blocking the view. Batons were an effective coercion method. Small fish appeared in our sights, nowhere near the necessary size that would win the competition. Minutes passed and there was no let-up, still the noise and movement and excitement thrilled the air. Crowds began to mingle with the police on the opposite bank. Inexplicably, the giant screens froze, their presentation over. Two canoes peopled with first aid staff tried to make their way through the melee and assist the injured. Brave folks. And then a sign of bigger things! A monster fish was caught in a battle between it and several men. It was difficult to see how the fish was trapped and caught and if the victor was the fisherman who spotted and got it first. The essential thing was to have caught a fish with a definite chance of a prize. Success bred renewed determination amongst the other fishers. Frenzied minutes ticked by. Everything intensified on water and land. Desperate efforts in the water, cheering support from the viewing public. You had to be there to experience it. You had to be close to either bank to really see the action. Nonetheless, you were part of it. And then another prize contender appeared, and another, great agitation and excitement all around. It soon became clear that we had some winners, and before long, sensing defeat, fishermen began to climb up the banks leaving the despairing but hopeful in the water. Some large looking fish between ten and twenty kilos were clearly not going to be in the competition, but neither were they about to be tossed back into the water. They would either be sold, or taken home to be consumed before the day was out. And then it was over, the winner announced: seventy-five kilos of fish took the first prize of one million naira and a car. Approval rang out, the fish, a Nile Perch, was carried aloft by the three men who shared the winner's bounty. Lesser fish, of seventy and sixty-four kilos, lightweights then, brought prizes of more Naira and a motorbike. Prize winners were clapped and envied and led to the podium to be awarded their due. A cooling breeze drifted under the canopy.

As they say, it was all over bar the shouting. The water emptied and stilled. A water-logged canoe was bailed out. The crowds began to move away. Some prayers were said and the President was much praised and feted. Excitement still lingered in the air. We regained our bus and headed off for lunch at a local five-star hotel, where the choice was beef and rice, together or separately, and oops, not enough for all our party. (Five stars obviously being an arbitrary award). 

Afterwards we returned to the Emir's Palace for the audience we had missed due to our delay the previous day, and the added bonus of a durbar. Sadly, His Majesty was now at Sokoto Airport, bidding farewell to his guests, who, presumably, were not flying ADC. A visit to the museum was suggested, to which most of the group were against: it was so hot, museum experience elsewhere has not been terribly rewarding. So instead, cameras blazing, we left no stall uninvestigated at the market. It was pretty busy and the stall holders and shoppers were most gracious in satisfying our requests for pictures. Heading back to the hotel, we stopped at a Fulani encampent to enquire if we might take photos. Again our request was granted, and a charming family with beautiful daughters subjected themselves to our lenses. Mr. Ade helped translate and we admired the goats and cattle, and heard a little about their life-style. Our final impromptu event was local horse racing. A large crowd of thousands (men and children and a tiny scattering of Fulani women) were egging on jockeys and horses. We joined in. And took more photos of course. Some of the jockeys wore silks and proper riding boots. The course was a dusty oval about a kilometre long. Dusk was falling as we continued back to the hotel, where our further four rooms were restored to us. It had been another long and exciting and tiring day. Once more bed beckoned immediately after dinner.

The traditional Field Society early start, and equally traditional late arrival of the bus, began our morning. Some of our group departed by car for business meetings in the region, the rest of us boarded the bus for the airport, thinking of home and the contrast between our Lagos lives and the Fishing Festival. On the flight, a fellow passenger told us the museum in Argungu is exemplary. Next time! It had been such a weekend of surprises, uncertainty, excitement, that being back in Lagos, normally such an entertaining prospect, was in danger of seeming banal. Almost.



Ruth Emslie (Scotland)