Destination: South Africa

 

Anjali Nayar in Lagos, Nigeria (Photo by Seun Sanni).

 

Lagos, Nigeria - I spent most of my two days in Togo zipping around on motorcycle taxis in the rain.

 

The roads had turned into giant potholed puddles and water skirted out from the bike from both sides. Kids coming back from school walked calf-deep through the waterways, their clothes and backpacks dripping after a few wrong steps (as it turns out potholed puddles are difficult to navigate).

 

The whole city was gearing up to celebrate the country's 50th anniversary of independence from France. In the city's main square and along the beach, tarps were being erected where open-air parties would last into the night.

 

But it wasn't all celebration. The morning after I arrived, thousands of yellow-clad opposition supporters took to the streets in protest of the March 4th presidential election. They alleged that President Faure Gnassingbe's re-election was fixed. Faure is the son of Eyadema Gnassingbe, who was the longest serving contemporary leader in Africa at the time of his death in 2005 (he ruled for 38 years). After Eyadema's demise, his son Faure was "elected" in his place.

 

Had it not rained heavily that day, the opposition protest might have turned ugly, like it had a few days earlier. Togolese journalist Noel Tadegnon was there during the riots. Later that evening, while driving to dinner along Lome's principal road, he retraced his steps.

 

"That was my hiding spot," he said, pointing to a newspaper stand just off the main drag. "I had to run there to film." 

 

A moment later: "that's where they were beating a pastor," he said. "This place was intense."

 

The day's rains had washed away the signs of the battle: the burning tires and tear gas. Now it was just a busy intersection crammed with rush hour traffic.

 

The news as I see it (and present it)

 

It's interesting. This is the Africa we see on TV - coups, riots and death.

 

As a news reporter here, I know that I am partly to blame for the perceptions that are created about this part of the world.  We journalists film and write about the action, where it is happening. And generally, in a two or three minute news clip, we don't put the action into context - being that these are generally very isolated incidents. What you see on TV is just in one neighbourhood, on one street, maybe even on one corner. The rest of the city and country carries on like they always have.

 

You might have watched the opposition rallies in Togo at home on TV. What you didn't see is that I was just down the beach, juggling my ball with a group of footballers under the shade of a palm tree.

 

Think about that the next time you watch television.

 

Anjali's trip across Africa

  

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After two days next to the blue sea and rust-coloured sand, I was a little sad to leave Togo. When I climbed on the bus to Lagos, Nigeria, the seats were filled with rather large women in bold printed dresses. Through the bus windows, they were haggling with the street merchants for fluorescent spandex tights and plastic flip-flops.

 

"How much in naira [Nigeria's currency]?" the woman opposite me shouted repeatedly.

 

The women were finally mollified a few minutes later by a histrionic Nollywood (Nigerian- Hollywood) movie that was projected from the bus' small television screens. The dramas are packed with fetish priests, witches and tales of HIV transmission.

 

Today's slew of movies centred on a predatory lesbian who uses witchcraft to ruin the life of the woman who rejects her.

 

The movies are elementary in the making - they are often filmed with nothing more than a simple digital camera and a couple of lights. But the shows are extremely popular in the region (they are even translated into other languages) and the industry has grown to hundreds of millions of dollars a year.

 

Even I got sucked in to the drama.

 

Crossing Borders

 

At the border with Benin, the bus attendant took out the stack of passenger passports and flung mine to me, as if to say: "you are going to have to fend for yourself."

 

Over the next three hours, while crossing out of Togo to Benin and then from Benin to Nigeria, I got used to the border game. From desk to desk, customs officials were collecting cash for various missing stamps and vaccination cards.

 

"But I don't have 1000 naira," the man in front of me complained to a customs officer.

 

"Then you can go back to Ghana," retorted the officer.

 

One of my fellow passengers, a Nigerian, who runs a hair salon in Ireland (he sources the hair extensions from a factory in Togo), told me to keep my head down and just plough through with bus ticket in hand.

 

"Put away your passport, put away your passport," he whispered to me urgently.

 

"Tssss Tsss," an officer tried to pull me over.

 

The salon owner, whose name I never learned, motioned to the tickets in our hands. We just kept walking. From counter to counter, the salon owner herded me along, so I didn't get left behind by the bus.

 

Two more borders down and zero bribes - I thought we were doing quite well. That' s until I saw how slim the stack of cash in the bus attendant's pocket had become a few hours later.

 

Lagos by night

 

The bus arrived in Lagos' notorious Oshodi neighbourhood well after dark. We should have been there by sunset at seven, but stopped just outside of town for over an hour for unknown reasons.

 

I have been since informed that this is when most of the contraband goods are on and off-loaded. If the buses didn't carry contraband material, they probably wouldn't be able to afford the bribes required at each of the police check points en route from the border to Lagos (the check points are every kilometre along the road).

           

"Welcome to Lagos," each of the police officers said, as they entered the bus.

 

But, to me, it sounded a bit more like "This is Lagos," in an un-welcome tone.

 

Guidebooks say Nigeria, and especially Lagos, is not for the first-time traveller to Africa. To many, the country is known more for its 419 email scams and kidnappings in the Niger Delta.

 

After a relatively peaceful few weeks travelling through Ivory Coast, Ghana, Togo and Benin, I must admit, I was immediately overwhelmed by Lagos. With 17.5 million people in the greater metropolitan area, it is the most populous city in Africa, and within a few years will be one of the most populous in the world.

 

Driving from Oshodi to the upscale Ikoyi neighbourhood, where I was staying with one of my old soccer teammates from Nairobi, I got stuck in Lagos' infamous traffic. The road was a melancholy melody of car horns and was jammed with yellow minibuses and street vendors.

 

Traffic jams are locally known as go-slows. So slow, in fact, that I nodded off for tens of minutes at a time in the taxi. When I opened my eyes, we hadn't budged a metre. I wrapped my shawl around my face because the diesel fumes were scorching my throat. I nodded back to sleep.

 

Next up: A new day in Nigeria - the beginning of the Lagosian experience and getting back to the ball.

  

As always, follow me on Twitter for more updates.

 

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Canadian journalist Anjali Nayar is travelling across Africa by train, bus and foot (and when necessary by plane), and will arrive in South Africa just before the World Cup. Along the way, Anjali will tell the continent's stories through its favourite sport: soccer.

 

For the trip, Anjali is bringing only the essentials on her back (camera, flip video, computer) and in her hand - a soccer ball. Every day, Anjali will play soccer, whether she's on the beaches of Accra or stuck in one of Lagos' impenetrable traffic jams. Sometimes she'll play with children in the sprawling slums and refugee camps, other times she'll play with adults in the rich diplomatic quarters of major cities.

 

Through her Destination: South Africa blog, Anjali hopes CBCSports.ca readers will discover Africa and what the World Cup and the game of soccer means to the continent.