Anyway, he it was who encouraged and made arrangements for his friend at the embassy [Attahiru] to receive us. Please allow me to digress on the little my receding memory can still recollect from that trip. I will get back to the most recent one later. That first time, with age on my side, I personally drove along with my wife, our children: Fatima, Maryam and Humeira. With my ‘new’ tokunbo [can a tokunbo really be new?], personally purchased from Cotonou, I found the drive not only pleasant, but exciting.  Prior to our departure, I had called my friend, Bashir Argungu, to inform him about the impending trip, and notify him that we would be spending the night in Sokoto. On arriving Sokoto, we drove directly to his house on Klapperton Road in the GRA.

His daughters who were slightly older than mine, immediately connected with ours [you know how kids are]. After Zuhr, we drove to the guest house graciously arranged by my friend for that much needed and essential Ramadan afternoon nap, or rest before Iftar. At night, I remember paying a visit to Sadiq Isa Abubakar, an old adversary of mine, but with whom we are now fully reconciled, to the extent of even living in the same neighborhood without any fireworks and Buhari Bature, a civil engineer friend who used to help me with soil mechanics, a branch of my course I disliked in the university.

It was fun catching up on old times with both. The following day, I also remember Bashir and his children coming early with very nice Masa [a local delicacy, good for breakfast], along with snacks we were to carry along. What I cannot honestly remember, is whether I took my entitlement of dropping the fast that day as a Musafir [traveler]. My wife is not too sure either. I have a strong feeling I might have, if not, how come I still remember the Masa was nice? What I vividly remember is the kids flashing away many souvenir photographs, after which we bade each other farewell and set out for Niamey through Illela, a road I hadn’t taken before, as such had no idea what to expect.

And so it was that we almost had an accident at a security check point. I must have been speeding [I know that I drive fast] when we unexpectedly came across the check point, and before I could stop, those metal spikes were mercilessly thrown at us onto the road. I reacted with the reflex of a Mongoose and managed to screech to a halt, at which point someone from the check point came to caution me about my speed. I equally cautioned them about the use of those spikes. We had a flat tyre just before Illela but proceeded with it like that because it was tubeless. I finished the border formalities just about the time the tyre was fixed. We moved on, this time cautiously to the border town in Niger Republic.

I purchased the set of papers that enables one to drive in the country without any hindrance called Laissez-Passer and moved on to Birnin Kwanni. Now, I have a quarrel to pick with the neighbors for adding the prefix ‘Birni’ [city] to the name of this town. Prior to our getting there, I had always thought there are only three Biranes [cities] in this world. Mecca, Medina and of course, —– Kano [hope you guessed right]. I left the town, spelt like this, [Birnin N’ Kwanni] thinking, ‘why don’t they just call it Kwanni’? Pardon, like the French would say, if you think I sound a little arrogant here. ‘Ai Kanon Ce, kodamai kazo an fika’. Please translate to those around you that can’t speak Hausa.

Don’t take it personal please, just joking. We left Kwanni [note that I have taken out the prefix until the issue is settled] at about 11am. The almost six hundred km road to Niamey was narrow and deserted, with some long stretches untarred, but all the same the drive was safe due to the very low traffic. Besides, I didn’t notice the distance because of the excitement of passing through a whole new territory. We reached Niamey at about 4pm. On entry, I swerved and parked by the road side, went down to ask for directions to the Nigerian embassy and before I could say Jack, or more appropriately, because of our location, Jafar, someone volunteered to show us. Very good first impression about the people, I thought to myself.

On reaching the embassy, we thanked our escort and drove inside the premises, which was like technically going back into Nigeria, but without necessarily feeling the pressure.  I was ushered upstairs into Attahiru’s office. I found him to be a very gentle, decent and composed person. He suggested and insisted that we stay at their guest house since I was with the family. He took us there and told me he will be back to pick us for Iftar at his house later.  At the house, I noticed his family is a direct reflection of his character. The children, who were seven and five years old, were courteous and well behaved, even at that age. His wife, turned out to be equally hospitable.

Every one was conveniently covered, I thought to myself. I tell you, before leaving the house that day; we became like old family friends. One thing I remember vividly from that trip is breaking the fast, or celebrating Eid along with Nigeria, a day before Niger celebrated. Had we not, we would have ended up fasting for a total of 31 days, which, you will agree with me, wouldn’t have been funny. I also remember the unforgettable entertainment showered on us by Hajiya Zainab Dagazau, on a visit with Attahiru on Eid day.

So it was that we spent a total of about five days with that wonderful family.  Back to this trip, I will try make comparisons with the first as we go along.  Like the first, this was also thrown onto my lap. This time by my father-in-law, [the Sardauna of Dutse] who has a house in Niamey and with whom we share the same travel hobby.

Let me tell you what he did. He sent a cook from here, arranged two cars [a big Mercedes and an Infinity jeep] and his drivers to come pick us for the trip. I mean, this was too tempting for me not to take, and I am pretty sure he knew that too. I told the drivers, who were in Kano, to come meet us in Kaduna, a day before we left, in order to save the time we would have had to waste, were we to take off from Abuja. What with that Kubwa jam at the back of my mind? This time also, it was to my friend, Bashir Argungu, I turned to for transit arrangements. We set out early, though not as early as I would have wanted in order to make it to Niamey before dusk. Little did I know then; that we would not make it to Niamey until shortly before dawn.

I and my wife took Muhammad in our car, and the others filed into the jeep, but not without a lot of protest from his immediate junior sister, Aisha. [sibling rivalry] The protest came to a stop only after I promised they would swap places at Sokoto. They did before we reached Sokoto. We decided to stop and visit Aliyu Bature’s, [Wazirin Gusau] mother, at Gusau. I had promised to visit her along with the children when we last saw her in Dubai.

Alhamdu Lillah, a promise had been fulfilled. We proceeded around 11am and just before Talata Mafara, we had a flat tyre. Well, not really a flat, because the whole tyre was destroyed. The stop provided an opportunity for Aisha to remind me about the swap with Muhammad, which he graciously agreed to without a fight, to my utmost surprise.

All this time, we were constantly communicating with Bashir to keep him abreast with distance to destination, in order for food to still be hot on arrival. We met him waiting at an agreed location in order to lead us to his new house. Incidentally, his daughters whom we met as children on our first trip are now married. The first has already given birth to a second generation child, thus making him a grand father now.

How time flies and without one even noticing, I thought to myself, as I looked at the grandchild. You just wake up one fine morning and notice you have aged. By the time the drivers came back from fixing a new tyre, it was already well past 4pm. We proceeded to Sarkin Mafara’s [Alh Bala Shagari] house to pick up his daughter Mariya, with whom we were going. We took the food his wife, Hajiya Rakiya, had prepared as take away because of time constraint. It came in handy.

We rushed out of Sokoto in order to make it to the border by, or just before Maghrib. The idea is to make it out of kidnap zone before it gets dark. But alas, the traffic at the washed away by flood bridge that separates Sokoto with Danfodio University slowed us down. Alhamdu Lillah, we made it to the border without anybody making as much as an attempt to throw anything at our tyre.

We wasted so much time at Birnin Kwanni perfecting our papers that we toiled with the idea of spending the night there. In the end, we decided to branch at Galadiman Sokoto’s guest house to pray, and embarked on another almost five hundred kilometers journey to Niamey around 10 pm.  We traveled almost all night and arrived in Niamey at approximately 3 am, stopping only at check points intermittently to present our papers. The police were always courteous and to the point.

The road was so different from the way it was 10 years back. I remember counting only a couple of pot holes throughout the journey. The fact that they were countable is enough to give you an idea of the state of the road now. All that should be done to protect drivers in terms of road signs are boldly provided. On arrival, we distributed ourselves conveniently within the four bedrooms house and settled down for Suhr, already prepared by the cook, in order to fast on Arafat day. The following day in the afternoon, I was joined by Hamma, the house help, and a couple of his friends in the neighborhood for a chat outside the house. As we chatted, we also priced rams from merchants passing by at almost equal intervals.

I discovered, not surprisingly though, they were much cheaper than those in Nigeria. After Iftar, we went for a drive to get a general feel of the city which didn’t look too different from the way it was, except for some roads that had been dualised. Although most people consider Niger and its people as poor, I personally don’t, for the following reasons. 1.

They have self satisfaction and self respect, which some people even misconstrue to be girman kai. No matter how rich or how high ones standing in society, they don’t stoop low to the level of being sycophantic in front of him or her. Don’t get me wrong, they will give you your due respect, but still consider you a human being, thrown into this world to play a role and leave, just like anyone else. In any case, the measure of how rich a person is– is directly related to how self satisfied he or she is with what the Almighty has provided, and this in turn translates into how happy one is.

This is the yardstick and criteria of measurement which we know. This also explains why people in some of the so called ‘developed’ countries are termed as the most miserable, according to a recent survey conducted recently by les miserables, as mentioned on the French 24 channel; while others in the ‘3rd world’ [bronze medalists] are deemed to be the happiest.  You and I know this will not change, unless that criterion is followed. So forget about all those statistics peddled around and go visit your neighbors please.

You will find them to be a happy, honest and easy going people. Besides, you really feel at home because of the common language, culture and religious practice. It’s only when you speak English that you notice there is a difference. What an irony. As a matter of fact, I was really appalled and when someone said to me ‘but they don’t have money’ upon mentioning I was going to Niamey for Eid. That is the level to which we have descended, or to which we have been consumed by the glitter of this world. Allah ya sawwake. 2.

They have law and order in their society, which is respected by almost all. This, to me puts their ranking as a civilized people far and above…, will not mention names. It is Fidel Castro who once said, ‘in a lawless country, it’s illegal to be law abiding. We are almost there. In fact, some people will even argue that we have already reached. 3. They are sensible enough to know what is good. I will give just one example. If you go round Niamey you will find that almost all their houses have a sandy brown rough finish, which blends with their dusty environment, thus providing good aesthetics and eliminating yearly maintenance costs. The houses are also neatly arranged without any encroachment onto the wide streets in all neighborhoods.

On second thoughts, maybe I should allow the prefix ‘Birni’ to the town I am picking up issues with, because it’s the same level of discipline on display there. The quality of buildings are also a sight to behold for any keen observer, [ba amaja]. The moment their governments earn enough money to lay infrastructure, everything will just fall into place, like a rubics cube. On the second day we drove to the headquarters of the Nigeria- Niger joint commission to pay a courtesy call on the ambassador, Mr Kabir Garba, who happens to be my senior at Birnin Kudu secondary school.

I always like to register my presence with Nigerian embassy officials when traveling, especially through Africa for obvious reasons. He instructed someone to take us to his house which was just round the corner for introductions, at the same time inviting us to re-visit on Sallah day. The Sallah, just like on my first visit, wasn’t celebrated with Nigeria on the same day, but this time, we celebrated with them.

We then drove to the Museum/Zoo. The star attractions are the big cats and the giant skeleton of a dinosaur. Now I know for sure that these extinct giant creatures really did exist.  On our way out, we stopped by the traditionally finished museum. The big gown, complete with a Zanna Bukar cap given to Hammani Diori on a visit to northern Nigeria as a gift by the late Sardauna of Sokoto, Sir Ahmadu Bello, is boldly on display at the centre of the museum.  ‘The Sardauna told his visitor that the Babbar Riga is more befitting than the oyibo suit he was wearing’, said the guide, not necessarily, and I am sure not in the manner in which he said it, but all the same, I couldn’t but agree more. In the night, we went to Hotel Gawaye, the equivalent of the Hilton here, to watch a live performance from a traditional band from Agadez.

We all sat around the pool drinking their traditional tea, which was served along with cheese at intervals. The music was so good that my third daughter, Halima, couldn’t resist joining in the fun on the dance floor, paving the way for others to follow, but only after I had left. A lady with a salon in the hotel gave them out by telling us she saw them on live television the next day. I explored going to the market to price rams in a taxi after the family had gone out the following day. The taxi men, [all taxi drivers are addressed as taxi man] were expectedly, not in a hurry.

They park properly and listen to passengers, instead of slowing down, completely oblivious of the vehicles following, expecting passengers to shout their destination, as obtains here.  The market was bubbling with people bargaining for animals ranging from rams and camels to big fat cows, the kind you come across on New Delhi streets. But, I still refused to buy that day, regrettably. That indecision made it inevitable for me to buy on Sallah day. Summing all things up, I came to the conclusion that I should have bought from those passing by the house. So, take note.

My, by now familiar, [to regular readers] Kenyan friend, Sakina had earlier given me telephone numbers of Mr Dauda and Dr. Aisha Ganda, her friends who are based in Niamey, ‘just in case,’ she said. So, back from the market, I decided to call them. Mr Dauda told me he was on his way back to Niamey, and that I should please call back on Sallah day to get directions to his place. I then called Dr. Aisha Ganda [an ENT doctor], who also ended up extending an invitation to us for dinner after introductions. So, you could see we had our hands full on Sallah day. Now, Eid in Niamey should be every Nigerian Muslim woman’s delight because of the manner in which the rams are handled.

This is what happens, or rather, this is how it is done. Immediately after Eid prayer, the men [house helps and butchers] change and get to work slaughtering the rams, thereafter sai ‘su bankare su’[ sorry don’t have the appropriate English word for that], with specially designed wooden spikes that look like giant sharpened pencils. A bonfire made from huge wooden logs is then organized and the rams are placed in a circle around it. They are then spiced up with oil mixed with salt, maggi and pepper seasoning, and turned over at intervals. This process continues until late evening, at which point the meat can just come off the rams effortlessly. Sorry, if I got you salivating you surely know what to do, send for ——–.

And that’s how the women receive the end product. ‘Ba ruwansu da yanke yanke da soye soye’. Now, tell me, which woman wouldn’t like that? The interesting thing is, these bonfires are used for a handful of rams belonging to a whole neighborhood, up to 20 in some places, thus reducing individual costs. With our rams safely by the bonfire in the hands of Hamma and Idrissa, we set out for our rounds. Our first port of call was, patriotically the ambassador’s house.

Luckily, and as expected, my daughters had mates in the house. They subsequently ended up coming to take them out the following day. His wife not only entertained us with food and drinks but followed up with plenty of local delicacies to take away, in addition to souvenir gifts. We then drove to Mr Daudas house– and I tell you, his house is really a home. The living room, with plenty of wood work and large fixed windows that provide natural lightning is a delight to sit in. This makes a lot of sense in an environment that can be dusty most a times. The architect in him is written all over the house. In the course of conversation, I discovered he is friends with Kabir Yusuf of Trust newspapers. ‘It is indeed a small world’, I found myself thinking. Refreshments done, we exchanged numbers and he went in to bring a message for onward delivery to Kabiru. What a nice man.

We went back home in order to rest and prepare for dinner at Dr Ganda’s. We got to the house after I’sha prayer. Her husband, Mr. Abdurrahmane Ganda, who works with the United Nations in the now troubled cote de voire, was a gentleman to the core in every sense of the word.  I noticed his daughters would sneak up to him from time to time to ask for the meaning of a word in English in the course of their conversation with mine. Dinner was good, and I mean really good. Afterwards, we extended an invitation to them to visit Abuja, which they agreed to in principle without setting a time frame.

The following day was dedicated to the markets which I gladly opted out of for obvious reasons. If you catch my drift, but, in the evening, I followed them to Amandine, a nice place for cakes and ice cream, in the like of, lets say, French café in Kaduna. In the night, I repeat, in the night, just to show you how safe the country is, unfortunately not for the French or foreigners generally now, with the recent kidnapping and killing of two French nationals, Usman drove us to the banks of the river Niger, a kwazazzabo, sorry again, no English word for this, that people go to at night for picnics and relaxation because of the afternoon heat. You mustn’t miss it when you visit.  We set out early on our last day and arrived at Konni before noon.

Our plan was to drive up to Kano that day, but as God would have it, we spent the night in Gusau, because of a problem with another tyre which we couldn’t find to replace by the time we got there. So, I called the Waziri of Gusau, who immediately arranged hotel accommodation and dinner in his friend’s house. This is a typical example of man proposes and God disposes. We were destined to sleep there. All these incidents turned out to be exciting for the children who reveled in the joy of passing through so many towns and villages they have been hearing of from friends in school. We changed our minds about Kano and instead drove back to Abuja straight the following day, unfortunately not with Chukwi or Dabino, but lots of stories to share in future with and the grand children, insha Allah.