Looking for Transwonderland: Travels in Nigeria

Looking for Transwonderland: Travels in Nigeria

Noo Saro-Wiwa

Language: English

Pages: 272

ISBN: 1619020076

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


Noo Saro-Wiwa was brought up in England, but every summer she was dragged back to visit her father in Nigeria — a country she viewed as an annoying parallel universe where she had to relinquish all her creature comforts and sense of individuality. After her father, activist Ken Saro-Wiwa, was killed there, she didn’t return for several years. Recently, she decided to come to terms with the country her father given his life for.

Saro-Wiwa travels from the exuberant chaos of Lagos to the calm beauty of the eastern mountains; from the eccentricity of a Nigerian dog show to the decrepit kitsch of the Transwonderland Amusement Park. She explores Nigerian Christianity, delves into the country’s history of slavery, examines the corrupting effect of oil, and ponders the huge success of Nollywood.

She finds the country as exasperating as ever, and frequently despairs at the corruption and inefficiency she encounters. But she also discovers that it si far more beautiful and varied than she had ever imagined, with its captivating thick tropical rainforest and ancient palaces and monuments. Most engagingly of all, she introduces us to the many people she meets, and gives us hilarious insights into the African character, its passion, wit and ingenuity.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

floating like lilies on the surface. Throughout town I saw glimpses of how handsome Lagos could have been: a few swaying palms lining the seafront like Miami, or the Third Mainland Bridge, an engineering wonder, snaking across the blue lagoon during sunset. I savoured these scenes and tried to block out the waterside stilt-house shanty towns or the partially collapsed skyscraper on Lagos Island, standing erect like a sarcastic standard bearer of our Excellence. Now that I was ending my journey,

very amusing. Sukur imagination seemed particularly inspired where punishment was concerned: 200 years ago, the villagers dug a very deep pit so that they could lob miscreants into it irretrievably. It fell into disuse once the villagers began taking their disputes to the civil courts. After finishing our tour of the royal complex, Simon led me to the Mini Museum. It lived up to its name, consisting of a hut less than 2 metres in radius. I liked its bijou cuteness. On display were examples of

monkey skulls and topped with a plume of banana leaves. The jerky crouching movements of the masked men jingled the small bells attached to their raffia miniskirts. It was so scarily compelling, I had to take a photograph. ‘They want money for the photos,’ Benson told me. Reluctantly, I paid the masquerade as well as the other three that we encountered on our way back to the jetty. Ekpenyong was sitting on his motorcycle by the riverbank, waiting to meet a friend who was arriving on the next

continued on the highway north towards the Obudu Cattle Ranch, close to the Cameroonian border. I was looking forward to this portion of the trip. The cattle ranch was the jewel among Nigeria’s few tourist resorts, an upscale hotel set in the rarified heights of the Cameroon Mountain range. Spending a night here would be my one concession to luxury on this trip. Towards the foot of the mountain, the road became less congested and was obsequiously surfaced with better tarmac for the Obudu Ranch

house was made of red earth with the characteristic horizontal grooves running along its exterior walls, and bas-relief carvings decorating one of the doors. There was nothing, no plaque or sign, to celebrate this sole remnant of empire. Metal chairs and low tables cluttered its courtyard. At the back of the house, among the complex of rooms, a smiley elderly woman sat in an alleyway. I hoped she could tell me more about the house, but she didn’t understand English. As I took photos, she

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