Weddings, Football and Checkpoints – Celebrating New Year in South East Nigeria

This Christmas was my turn to stay back in Abuja for Christmas while the family headed for London. I knew I would miss them terribly and so it was, but I did have the opportunity of attending a local staff member’s traditional wedding to look forward to.

Aside from providing a fantastic insight into Igbo culture this experience also revealed some of the challenges most Nigerians face as they go about their lives.

My hosts told me to fly to Enugu from where they would arrange transport. It would be a 20 minute drive to the Anambra Village of my colleague’s family, or they said. This was optimistic; it actually took over two hours, partly extended by getting lost several times and partly by a couple of police checkpoints where money was requested and the stubborn white man in the back seat insisted none be paid. So we played the waiting game and won, that time at least.

I have heard how an Igbo who achieves success will return to their village to build big house. I have heard about the expectation villagers place in those who have ‘made it’ in taking care of their kin folk when they return. And I have heard about Christmas being a big thing throughout Igboland; a time when far flung family gather in the village; a busy time, an expensive time and naturally, an ideal time for a wedding.

What I found very much brought the image I had from reading books such as Purple Hibiscus to life. The village atmosphere has a slow and relaxed pace. Legions of curious children follow the strange looking visitor everywhere. The degree to which social responsibilities are taken seriously by those returning to their grand mansions is abundantly clear. The latter bought me the unexpected bonus of some live football so difficult to find in Abuja. The final of an inter village tournament had been sponsored by the bride’s father.

“Would you like to go along” he had asked trying so desperately to sell it.

“You bet” I said – and I remained until the conclusion of an epic tie that was eventually settled on penalties long after he had ‘shown face’ and returned to the demands of preparing for the marriage of his first daughter.

One thing that makes me slightly reticent about travel like this is access to power. It is not for reasons of comfort but for medical reasons I need it – I have sleep apnoea. It was clear my hosts do not usually use power after bed – why should they? And so I felt bad that they did so for my personal benefit but after 6 hours travelling door to door and 3 hours watching football plus time meeting numerous relatives of my colleague, I was shattered and needed the sleep and to do so I need power.

I awoke at 5:30 on the wedding day to the assorted sounds of cocks crowing, dogs barking and men hammering right outside my window. These were the guys setting up marquees and other necessities for the wedding due to hold at 3PM.

We went to the dry cleaners in a neighbouring village to collect some outfits. I was then presented with my own outfit at 11:00. Four hours before a wedding is not an ideal time to discover the bottom half has no prospect of fitting around ones waist even with adjustment. Luckily the long top half of the garment could hide this embarrassing fact so I looked the part.

The wedding itself kicked off on time with the protracted announcement of gifts between the families (the bride’s family were the beneficiaries) and payment of bride price. This was a nominal sum in terms of Naira but was supplemented by goats, chickens and numerous cartons of drink of which a very public inventory took place. This process lasted an hour during which all manner of local food delicacies were served; palm wine (a personal favourite) was also freely flowing.

Once all items were confirmed as being present and correct the bride made her debut appearance. Accompanied by her numerous bridesmaids she danced all around the compound. She was apparently looking for her groom; furthermore she danced past him three times before one of her sisters pointed him out. They then disappeared into the house as eating, drinking and speeches (almost all in Igbo) continued. The crowds were further entertained by a live band and intermittent dancers.

It seemed an age before the happy couple re-emerged. Light was fading I thought, then I realised I had my sunglasses on. This time the couple danced for the best part of an hour, back and forward, waiting for the inevitable spraying of money to start. This tradition is not unique to the Igbo’s but is clearly much enjoyed, as much by the benefactors as the receivers. The happy couple were showered with Naira and Dollars; my rather British caution however meant my own contribution was handed over in an envelope and, given the ongoing FOREX challenges, in hard currency.

Eventually an exhausted couple collapsed in a beautifully arranged sofa that had stood vacant all afternoon as others struggled to find seats. It was graced for less than 5 minutes before they were ordered off for the endless round of wedding photos. And then the bride departed with her new husband though in this case sneaked back after nightfall for a small family centred after party.

It was 01:00 before I made my way to bed and we had agreed to leave at 5:30 for Enugu Airport. Departure was pretty punctual – I was driven by the same couple who had picked me up; both medical doctors and also married in 2016. With us was also another guest, a Nigerian lawyer practicing in the UK. The 30 minute drive to the Awka – Enugu Highway was easy and without hitch. Then we hit this Federal Road, constructed as a duel carriageway but with one lane in such a poor state of repair all traffic was compelled to use the one carriageway.

It did not take long before it happened. A police checkpoint came into view and traffic slowed to a halt. At this point some context; checkpoints are situated all over the country and play an important role in terms of preserving security as well as law and order. This road had a bad reputation for robbery in the past so it is not surprising there are checkpoints and more of them in the early hours than during the day.

“Happy New Year” said the smiling police man.

The doctor replied him in kind only to be met with “I don’t think you got me, I say happy New Year”.

Of course the Doctor had got him, we all had. A subtle request for some kind of ‘gift’, preferably paper based, to mark the New Year. My friends knew I did not want to be associated with any payments from the journey over, but unlike the relaxed drive and willingness to play the waiting game, this time two of us had a plane to catch. The pressure of playing this game and the realisation that for many people this is an everyday curse where the luxury of waiting it out does not exist quickly became apparent.

It is not that I haven’t hit hundreds of checkpoints before as I have travelled across 19 Nigerian States and the Federal Capital Territory. The difference this time was the vehicle I was in; no protection of diplomatic plates and mobile police sitting in the front escorting. I had driven this highway several times in such vehicles, never has it taken over 90 minutes.

The policeman let us go after a few minutes but we soon came to a second point and played out an almost identical scenario. The third found a fault with the car, a fictional one accompanied by a demand for papers that (according to the Doctor) do not exist. This took some protracted negotiations to eventually resolve – time was getting tight for the flight.

We were waved through our first military checkpoint by smiling faces and then, not more than a kilometre up the road, encountered another police point. This time the grinning police officer could not be more charming but he was still looking for ‘something’. His cheeky laugh earned him a can of Malta from Mrs Doctor that nobody wanted but he still half joked he was disappointed not to receive any wedding cake.

And so it continued, a further two police check points where we were also delayed making a total of six and another army check (again a smile and we were waved on our way). Luckily we made the flight by the skin of our teeth but it was touch and go and stressful. Though my stress is nothing compared to Nigerians travelling for their livelihoods and having to content with such relentless demands.

Once checked in I did as I tend to do with most of my experiences travelling around Nigeria, I took to Twitter. The response was considerable, many sympathetic, some keen to recount their own experiences on roads in different parts of the country and the odd few critical, even angry about my tweeting on this topic.

‘Would you rather have been kidnapped as is a bigger risk for your type’ was the essence of one response. I politely pointed out that it should surely not be a case of a choosing one over the other.

Nigerians deserve the right to move free from demands for unofficial payments as much as the ability to do so with a sense of security.

What do you think?