Shame

Cairo reminds you of everything that is wrong with Abuja. It hits you how much of a fraud many government projects are- more expensive than anywhere else but of less quality. 

You think of the Abuja airport and the billions that have already gone into the remodelling. The airport is not a place you want to spend any time. It is unwelcoming and basic and all you need to do to drive you to anger is look beyond the new tiles and newly painted walls. The airport in Abuja teaches you not to expect anything, reminds you that you are in transit, warns you not to get comfortable. 

 

In Cairo, free WiFi welcomes you as you make your way from the plane to your transit gate. Your ticket says you will be here for more than three hours before your Harare flight. After an initial feeling of gratitude, you feel ashamed. You should not be so grateful. In your country, dozens of billions of dollars go missing without consequence every other year. There is no reason the Abuja airport cannot be one of the best in the world. Shame is in order as you send emails and tweet in an open Italian restaurant. 

A few days after, in the Vumba countryside of Zimbabwe you are taking long walks through game reserves and old castles. Abuja is a distant memory. You are now an oil-rich Nigerian whenever people ask where you are from. You do not tell them that the plains and landscapes you are seeing are more beautiful than anything you have ever seen in Nigeria.

Someone is taking you up the hill to a quiet scenic small holding where a famous baker called Tony performs culinary wonders. At Tony’s you choose chocolate whisky cake. You look at people’s faces and you realise you are not the only one reacting this way to Tony’s cakes. The word to describe the feeling exists only in Hausa. You explain to your friend that there is no English equivalent for Santi. You can only explain with a story about sugarcane. Sugarcane you say, is meant to be enjoyed in moments of calm and reflection. And for you, such enjoyment can only happen with at least two sticks of sugarcane. The first one to cool you down, to lubricate your throat, prepare you for the real journey. The second piece is the journey, to the sacred land of santi- a Hausa concept symbolising extreme sensory excitement from food. You define the word: “Santi is a hausa term with no known English equivalent describing intense sensory, and at its peak, near orgasmic reaction to good food.” 

Back at the hotel, an old white man walks up to you and ask if you are the writers he has heard of. 

‘Yes,’ you say.

‘All local?’

‘From Ghana and Nigeria’

‘Oh Ghana is alright. But Nigeria, not so much.’

You all laugh. But he is not joking. 

‘I sent someone up there once to start a brewery. My people said, the people want to drink our beer but they just can’t do business there.’

You are not sure how to respond to this. It is possible to defend Nigeria and say that corruption is everywhere and all but you will not. Not with things like 20 billion dollars going missing with no consequence. There are better ways to use your time. Like enjoy the beauty of Zimbabwe. And the santi from Tony’s cakes.