Niger: Thy neighbors women
Take nothing away from our Nigerian women. From Konduga, where they pile up the hair high, to Calabar, where it is flat-plaited, we have some of the fairest of them all. Which is why, with the growing popularity of Nollywood movies, the style of Nigerian woman is envied and copied, in hairstyle, fashion and “yanga” […]
FILE PHOTO: The festival of De I’Air in Niger.
Take nothing away from our Nigerian women. From Konduga, where they pile up the hair high, to Calabar, where it is flat-plaited, we have some of the fairest of them all. Which is why, with the growing popularity of Nollywood movies, the style of Nigerian woman is envied and copied, in hairstyle, fashion and “yanga” all over Africa. But you take as normal what you grow up with. The flower is rosier in somebody else’s compound.
As an impressionable undergraduate, your correspondent was bowled over on first encounter with young females from another milieu. They came, not from some far away place, but across the border from the Republic of Niger. A bevy of them were visiting, because as was the fashion in those days, a male relative had taken a bride from Zinder (Damagaram). The way they tip their headgear at right angle, their overflowing “grand bubus” and whip of strange perfumes, were all designed to turn the heads of young men.
Mine was turned all right by Mounira (Mouni, for short) who was tall and slim and golden brown. To add fuel to the flame, the wedding party stayed long enough for us to become acquainted, but all too short for familiarity. So at the very next school holiday, off I went to Zinder, my first trip outside Nigeria, in a journey of double discovery.
Imagine my disappointment when upon arrival I discovered that school was also on break and my friend had traveled to the capital, Niamey. As luck would have, my host Maigida (as everyone called him), who was the regional manager of a French multinational company, had a meeting to attend in Niamey and agreed to take me along.
At least 800 kilometers separates Zinder from Niamey. In those days the road was single tarmac built by the Colonialists. Approaching cars made room by getting off the road and raising a storm of red dust. Maigida’s car was an open station wagon Peugeot 404, with he and his driver in front and me and his other boys at the back. As we swerved off road on the approach of other vehicles the dust would blow into our open compartment.
This went on from early in the morning until near midnight, when finally we saw the glittering lights of Niamey. It was a long, hot and exhausting drive, but curiosity and Cupid kept me company. By the time we arrived, those of us sitting in the wagon looked as if we had been dug from the grave! Luckily, in another first for me, Maigida had arranged for a room in Hotel du Sahel, which is on an embankment overlooking the River Niger.
Washed and rested by the following day, I began to look around the familiar yet so different city across our border. But first I tried to find Mouni, who had no idea I was on the chase. On locating her address, I was told by bemused relatives that she had only a few days earlier traveled on to Cotonou in Benin Republic, where she also has family members. Many years later I can still remember how deflated I felt on that first day in Niamey.
I have come so far, with so much hope in my heart. My air conditioned room at Le Sahel became my refuge, where I sulked and moped about how different things could have been! I left for Nigeria after nearly three weeks without seeing Mouni. There was no GSM or indeed reliable land lines in those days. Indeed we did not meet again until five years later, when we visited Niamey with a colleague, from my new place of employment.
By then things have cooled down considerably on both sides; we were older and wiser and getting ready to settle down to alternative realities. Any regret I felt then was made up by a new love I found in my search for romance. This is the travel bug, which never lets down those who get up and go. No matter how humble the destination, a change of scene is refreshing and rewarding.
Niger itself is a testimony to this. It is small and poor and half desert; most of its ten million people or so speak Hausa, are Muslims and live in similar geographic conditions as we do. Yet Niamey is a charming city by the River Niger, where the elite are proud of their French linkages. In some of the better bakeries, the baguette and croissant are as good as those in Paris. Fresh milk and cheese and fruit are brought daily by Air France to its supermarkets.
The nightlife may not be as vibrant as Lagos, but I testify that it is better than Abuja! On the most recent visit, I was at a house party in the home of a retired diplomat and his middle aged friends. It was the last night in 2016 and we were sitting and eating and trying some polite conversation. Most of the local guests were with their wives, judges, ambassadors and senior civil servants, primly and formally dressed.
Suddenly at the stroke of midnight (2017) champagne bottles began to pop up and the bubbly began to flow. Soon these pillars of society dropped their official persona and began to dance and shout with considerable abandon! A Nigerian friend and I left the party early, tired out from a long road trip, but also because we have lost the habit of letting our hair down.
Such a life-style is reserved for a tiny elite who live in the better parts of Niamey and other government enclaves in the provincial capitals. The rest of Niger is not just poor and rural, but the traditional Hausa speaking culture (with a dash of Zarma, Fulbe and Touareg) is better preserved than in Nigeria. In the Touareg parts of Tawa and Agadez, there are old mud built minarets that have disappeared from Northern Nigeria (except in Katsina). In Agadez, on the edge of the Sahara you can sleep in traditional hotels built with local materials, which are comfortable and a new experience for foreign tourists. Except for the abundance of camels and turbaned Touregs, the animal market in Agadez feels like a market day in Jigawa or Yobe.
To the south on the highway to Niamey, which is much improved from the first time I followed it, I always try to make a stop at the town of Dogonyaro Dutse. The town sits below a massive rock formation (hence its name). Nearby a large body of fresh water cools the town and is a boon to grazing cows. But my favourite spot is a restaurant called Sarauniyyar Mangou, where you can eat tuwo da miyar kuka with guinea fowl meat. It’s a taste of genuine Sahelian cooking before the advent of rice and stew!
In Tilleberi, towards the border with Gao in Mali, I saw another old cultural practice that is thriving in Niger. This was the annual wrestling competition, which for seven days keeps the country agog. In Nigeria such events take place in obscure clubs, but this was a national competition, in the main stadium in town, where each region was represented by muscular and sweating men. Everyone was there from the neighborhood urchins to the president and his ministers (with then governor of Sokoto State, Aliyu Wamakko, as special guest of honour).
It was a butcher from Maradi that emerged as the overall champion of the competition. He won so much money, especially gifts from rich individuals, including a Prado jeep, that it would not surprise me if he had stopped wielding a butchers knife! It was touching to see how ordinary citizens and the powerful alike, were united in their love of this ordinary sport.
That is the charm of Niger. It is simple and largely authentic, familiar yet different enough to be interesting. I have lost count of the number of times I visited, sometimes to the smaller border towns for a day or two. It always has some surprise in store!