I must preface this article with a couple of things.
1. Anything I refer to is purely based on my own experience
2. I was only in Nigeria a week, a short sharp shock for an Africa newbie.
The first experience of a work trip to Nigeria is of wondering around with vaguely symmetrical aches in your upper arms. Yellow Fever, Typhoid, anti malarials rattled around my confused biology, as administered by a Northern Irish nurse who still felt the need to distract me with holiday based conversation as she repeatedly stabbed me. Be still my Celtic sister, turn my arm into a colander but don't insult my intelligence. I'm freelance so after this I can go and have a lie down...
That lady and a fair few others had a not dissimilar response when I revealed my plan to visit Nigeria for work. 'Don't get kidnapped' a friend of mine chirped helpfully, ruining my fun. Others simply wrinkled their noses and ask 'Why?' The short answer was as follows. 'I am going on a research trip for a feature film I've written about a Western writer who is kidnapped by pirates whilst visiting Nigeria on a research trip.'
Those with a moderately developed sense of irony politely suppressed a snigger at this. Those who know me and my travel habits a little better do not make the Indiana Jones esq connection I'm trying to cultivate in my university teaching. I'm generally more of a cafe culture Europhile making trips to places famed for their museums, train links and boulevards.
Fortunately those visiting Nigeria must undertake a mandatory training programme known in most circles as obtaining a travel visa from the Nigerian High Commission. Here, I must make a distinction. If your bank offers a Visa credit card, you will be welcomed in with open arms, obtaining the travel visa through a relatively simple online process accompanied by an hour's early morning wait.
If not then you must attempt to 'pay at the commission' and your training begins in earnest. After being searched and checked over by external security, asked to turn off your phone, you will be sent downstairs through a waiting room into a small room where the magic truly starts to happen. After about forty minutes, commission staff will appear and say 'good morning' before reappearing close to a half hour later to open a small office for which you are encouraged to informally queue.
Nigerian queuing as far as I can work out, seems to be the same way that people might queue at a broken ATM continuously dispensing cash. Once you force your way to the front, a terrifying young woman, physique straining under a sprayed on silk blouse will grumpily ascertain your 'status'. Mine was, 'Have form, have supporting documents, just need to pay.' She grunted, then handed me a pink slip.
Then you discover that 'pay at the commission' loses something in the translation. What you have to do is leave the commission, head round to the post office. Opposite the post office is a Newsagent with a Cadbury's chocolate logo on the outside. You must go in there, ask for Mr Patel, perform the secret handshake, give him a piece of pink paper to prove your identity and £100 in unmarked notes. He will then pay the consulate and give you a receipt. After picking up a £50 postal order (£80 if your turnaround is less than a week) you then return to the commission and rejoin the queue with no beginning or end.
After fighting your way to the front, you then hand your slip back to the scary silk blouse woman who tells you to sit down, which by this point you feel like doing anyway. You then sit in the airless subterranean chamber for another hour until they process your payment slip. Once you have the payment slip, you may then join the official queue, which is at least governed by the Argos numerical waiting system. (Average waiting time from this point- 2 hours)
After your number is called, you must then attempt to outwit a desk clerk who does not want you to visit his country and with undisguised glee, winds down the clock until the end of the processing window at 1pm, demanding a signed letter of invitation from whoever you are going to meet with in the country.
Day two, assuming you can get the letter, you return to the Commission before it opens, queue to get in, wait another hour and a half. (You are now on first name terms with many of the others in the queue having spent five hours with them the previous day. Negotiate with the same desk clerk who might grudgingly grant your papers, or in actuality, take your documents and passport and hold them, encouraging you to return a few days later to pick up your prize.
If you still want to visit, the experience does indeed prepare you for what is to come.
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