nigeria_beach

In 1991, I travelled to Nigeria to visit a friend who was studying at the Univeristy of Ibadan. During my time there I took a cab ride through Lagos, the largest city in a taxi that had no brakes, stayed in a hostel ECWA that the next night was bombed, got bitten by HIV infected mosquitoes, and was dropped off at a wild animal game preserve 20 miles from shelter in the early afternoon with no transport but walking.

But the most challenging encounter was when I was arrested for drug trafficking at the border of Benin on the way to the beach. It was clear I was carrying drugs because

  1. I was travelling alone (well with 2 other women, including my friend Anne and her roommate), but alone meaning without a man
  2. I was on my way to the beach, which was suspicious because no Nigerians swim on the coast because the undertow is so strong it’s easy to drown
  3. I had a plane ticket back to the US on that very evening so I could make a quick getaway

The three guards who stopped us, ordered us to get our of our “cab” and lined us up against the car.  They check and saw we had no wedding rings, and no man with us. They also asked for passport. Two of us didn’t have a passport because although we were crossing the border, we usually didn’t carry our passports to the beach

The pulled out their automatics and dangled them as they harassed us about the drugs in ways that made us think we might easily be raped or killed and left in the nearby field. It was an isolated spot, and easy to get away with in a country like Nigeria–with few ambulances, few olive, and not the same kinds of safety nets we were used to. And given the AIDS scare who would help any of us if we were covered in blood?

When my friend started to get angry, I saw we were doomed, so I turned to the most authoritative of the 3 guards and asked him how I could ever make it to the airport to catch my flight if there would be roadblocks like this along the way.  What did he advise?

He pointed the gun at my friend and shot her. Fortunately this scared his other friends and they abruptly scattered when a convoy of farming carts went by, and we got my friend to a local clinic in time to stop the blood loss and save her life.

We had no drugs, but we were women alone, we were white, and we were not submissive. This was enough to get us killed if we hadn’t got lucky.

Written by Joline

Prof of New Media University of Maine Interests: stories, web design, permaculture, ecological design, local culture, local food, rowing, skiing, kayaking, hiking

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