|
|
A TRIP TO IDANRE AND AKURE
(On the Road to the Cocoa Hills: Akure and Idanre)
Saturday - Sunday, September 24th-25th 2005
With a less than fortuitous start to a Saturday when we woke to a morning downpour, but trip leader Bob Griffith assured us we’d escape it on the road. It’d be a four-hour trip to the towns of Akure and Idanre, NE of Lagos in Ondo State.
Our caravan of 14 vehicles carried 47 people of 12 nationalities, plus drivers. We must have been quite a sight at the checkpoints along the way, for they all reacted the same – raising a hand to stop us then dropping it in realization of how many carloads of expats were barreling through at 120 kph.
As we neared Akure, fog hung atop distant mountains that were unlike any others I had seen. Someone said that the mountains of Ondo state were once part of a plateau that sunk and fell away, and what remained were these huge mounds of rock. They were perfectly smooth and rounded, as if they were once giant pebbles whose edges had been worn away by an oceanic river. It seemed as if one could ride down from top to bottom on a bicycle or skateboard, though doing so is not
advised.
|
|
|
They must not get many foreign visitors in the town of Akure, especially not long caravans of them. As we arrived in the late afternoon and moved in a succession of short spurts through the go-slows, we were received with a variety of looks, though none were of familiarity. Some were startled with curious smiles. Some drew their eyes along the train of vehicles with profound consternation. Some turned and shouted and raised their hands at us as if we were driving away with their belongings. Some didn’t bother to notice us at all.
After arriving at the Akure Plaza Motel, we were assigned rooms and keys and told to wait to see if it was too late to visit the Oba (head chief) of Akureland Palace. Then, just after we were all settled in our rooms, there was a knock at the door to inform that the palace would receive the group and we were to leave in five minutes. We summoned our second wind and were off to meet the Oba.
It wasn’t exactly the Oba who would meet us, though, and it wasn’t exactly a palace in any Western sense. Akureland hasn’t had an official Oba since the last one died six years ago. So the Regent, the late Oba’s daughter, is serving as interim Oba until a new one can be chosen. Until then, she “has to dress like a man because she performs the duties of a man,” or so was the explanation of our tour guide, one of the chiefs of one of the divisions of Akureland.
We got to meet the other chiefs as well, who were sitting very regally beyond the palace entrance. Bob gave them an introduction to the Nigerian Field Society, along with appreciation for receiving us, only to find out that none of them understood a word. Luckily, the chief who would be our guide translated in Yoruba, and they all nodded their heads in august acceptance of our sentiments.
Had no one in our group seen the palace before, I don’t believe anyone would have taken notice as we arrived in our cars. It was a nondescript, though intricate, concrete-walled compound, distinguishable only by a large, ornate metal gate along the outside wall, behind which a new palace will be built when they choose the new Oba.
Despite the palace’s lack of palatialness, it was pleasing to find that every space had its purpose. Our tour guide was full of information on protocol, tradition, and ritual, even allowing for our participation. The tour culminated in a viewing of a shrine where the Oba (when they have one) comes to pray. Inside the small space of the shrine was an altar on which a sizable stack of cow skulls awaited our respects. Only men were allowed inside, but all could at least step up in front of the shrine, he said, and lay some money down as an offering and a prayer. “Come, come,” he said, “Pay your respects.” (“Pay” being the operative word.)
We returned to the motel for dinner, and while some of the group waited patiently at the tables, others bellied up to the bar for some Star beer, the quintessential Nigerian
aperitif.
Morning came early as we piled again into the caravan and were off to a small village outside of Akure to learn how cocoa beans are harvested and processed. West Africa, especially Ghana and Cote D’Ivoire, is the world’s biggest supplier of cocoa. All Swiss chocolate starts here.
We watched the villagers cut and break open the fruit and give us a taste of the ripe and unripe beans yet to be dried. After I surreptitiously spit out my sample (Gunther Kleinöder informed me I was to eat it whole), I followed the crowd to the front pavement by the road where they would lay the beans to dry in the sun.
After tasting the dried cocoa nuts, which tasted much more like cocoa than their plucked-from-the-tree predecessors, the group moved on toward Idanre, the mountain village that would be our last stop.
 |
|
Idanre is surrounded by the aforementioned smooth and rounded mountains, and atop one of these sits an abandoned village, complete with Oba’s “palace” and myths about a hermit who still roams and forages there. It would be our long and arduous task to climb the rocky steps to see the view and village, even with the help of five local guides.
The wobbly and rusted railing accompanying the 500 rocky steps did not prevent me from nearly slip-sliding down more times than I care to mention. When we made it to the top, several rest stops later, we were taken aback by the paradisical majesty of the view.
After pictures and exploring, the group set off for the abandoned village, which was quite the hike through mud and brush. When we came upon the village palace, we snapped a group photo and prepared for the journey downward.
 |
|
The physical exertion prepared everyone for a little napping on the ride home. Bob promised we’d be back in Lagos at 6:00 p.m., and we arrived three minutes early.
My fiancée, Heather Gutridge, and I feel fortunate to have secured the last two spots on this trip. All of our fellow NFS members were great travel mates, the people of Akure and Idanre made us feel welcome, and I learned that cocoa isn’t quite cocoa when served fresh from the tree.
Craig Curry (United States)
|
Lagos Branch
