On Through Africa

(NOTE: View a larger picture by clicking on the photo(s) above.)

There was nothing noteworthy about the flight to Nigeria. When I arrived in Lagos, the capital city, it was almost dark. We twisted our way through the streets of Lagos, past numerous poor housing, to the Federal Palace Hotel. It was now dark. I was tired and eager for some welcomed rest. It was January, but the weather in Africa was hot.

I approached the check-in desk and gave them my name and indicated that I had a reservation. The clerk found my information, told me the cost for the entire stay, which amounted to something close to three hundred dollars. I offered my American Express card.

“Oh, we don’t take that,” he said.
“What? When I made my reservation I was told that you accept the American Express.”
“We used to,” he said, “but we had trouble with the local office getting paid, and we no longer accept the card.”

Great, I thought. Now what are we going to do? I had no more than one hundred dollars on me. It was late at night and no banks were open. We worked out a deal so they would allow me to stay the night if I would go to the bank the next morning to get money. But, how was I going to get Nigerian currency with nothing to offer for it? I had no more money and no traveler’s checks.

I was taken to my room on an upper floor by the bellman. “Our air-conditioning is not working, but I will bring a fan to your room,” he told me. Terrific, what else can go wrong.

The room was very warm so I opened the large windows close to the bed to let in a breeze, such as it was. While I waited for the bellman to return with a fan, I made a phone call back to Ohio, where we were then living, to ask Carolyn to make contact with the President of the company to see if he could wire me some money the next day. The President called later in the evening. I explained the situation, gave him the name of a bank in Lagos, and asked to receive $500. He said it would be done as soon as the bank opened.

The bellman returned with a large floor fan on a tall pedestal. Perhaps this will work. I got ready for bed, left the windows open, turned the fan directly on me and tried to get some sleep. In the middle of the night, the fan went off. No electricity. I tossed for most of the night in the heat, but finally dozed off to sleep. I was awakened by a terribly loud noise that sounded like music. I opened my eyes and it was just getting light. I listened. It sounded like a band playing near by. I got out of bed and looked out the window in the dim light of early morning. What I saw, beyond the wall surrounding the hotel, was a military band marching and playing with all their might. They were having a full-dress parade. The hotel was next door to a military base.

No more sleep was possible. I decided to clean-up, get dressed, have breakfast and find the bank. I use an electric razor, but there was no electricity. It was the days before re-chargeable razors, but being the smart traveler that I was, I also carried a safety razor. I turned on the faucet in the bathroom sink in preparation for shaving. No water came out. I tried the other faucet. Nothing.

OK! No electricity, no water. Just what one would expect from a luxury hotel. So just how was I expected to shave. Where would you expect to find water in a bathroom, if not in the sink? In the commode. Right? No, not in the bowl! In the tank. I took the lid off the tank, stoppered the sink, and with a paper cup, filled it from the commode tank. This, I reasoned, should be safe enough for washing and shaving.

After cleaning up, as best I could under the circumstances, I made my way to the lobby. I talked to the finance clerk and told him I would go to the bank and see about the money I needed. When I got to the bank, no wire had arrived. I checked again toward the end of the day. Still nothing had arrived. After the days business, I returned to the hotel fully aware that I would have some explaining to do. I tried to sneak past the finance clerk, but he saw me. I explained the situation and said, “Tomorrow for sure.” Another day of reprieve.

Every time I passed the hotel desk the finance clerk would ask, “You got the money yet?”
“Not yet,” I would say, “I’ll go check at the bank.”

This scenario played out for several days, and still the money did not arrive. I flew from Lagos to the northern city of Kaduna (You can find it on the map above.) for a day. The airline did accept my credit card. When I returned, still no money and I was scheduled to leave Nigeria after one more day.

I had talked to the President of the Nigerian Bank numerous times trying to get the money problem solved. The day before I was to leave I was back at the bank. I felt like I had become friends with the President. I was sitting in his office asking what could be done. I had to leave the country.

The President said, “I will lend you the money.” He reached into his pocket, opened his wallet and handed me $500 worth of Nigerian currency. Just like that!

“I will get my money back when the wire arrives,” he said. “If it doesn’t come, then you can send it to me when you get home.”

I returned to the hotel, settled my bill and prepared to leave Nigeria the next day headed for Nairobi, Kenya. Finally, I thought, my money problems were behind me. I was wrong!

In order to leave Nigeria it was necessary to declare the amount and type of currency one was carrying. As I presented this declaration to the official at the gate, when I was getting ready to board the plane, I was informed that I could not leave the country with the amount of Nigerian currency that I had.

“What am I suppose to do about that,” I inquired.
“You will have to have it exchanged into dollars,” I was told.
“And where do I have that done?”
“Go to the bank on the lower floor,” he said.

I left the line and hurried to find the bank. The bank was a small unit with one window. I went up to the clerk, showed him my fist-full of currency and asked to have it exchanged into dollars. The clerk just laughed.

“I don’t have any dollars,” he said. “I only get one hundred dollars for the entire day and it doesn’t last an hour.”
“Then how am I supposed to get this money changed?”

The clerk just shrugged his shoulders. I hurried back to the gate, explained the problem to the official and he shrugged. I offered him money. He shook his head. I offered more money. Finally, after $75 worth of local currency was offered, he took it. I got on the plane still with a fist-full of Nigerian currency and no dollars. “Bribe” is not a dirty word in many countries of the world.

After arriving at my hotel in Nairobi and checking in, they did accept my card, I still needed dollars. I went to the cashier window and was able to get dollars on my card. I also asked to exchange the Nigerian currency for Kenyan.

“We don’t accept Nigerian currency,” I was told. “You will have to go to a bank.”

I later went to a bank and got the same story. Nigerian currency not accepted. They suggested that I go to the U.S. Embassy. The Embassy office told me that they were not a bank, they didn’t exchange currency. I talked to the person in charge of the office. He was reluctant to exchange the money, but would, for a $50 fee. To whom the fee went, I couldn’t say, but I was free of the currency nobody wanted.

I won’t try to tell you today about the rest of my trip. On to South Africa, then proceeding to Brazil where I was supposed to visit the schools in Rio and Sao Paulo. I say “suppose to“, because I didn’t. Someone forgot to tell me that the schools were on holiday during that time. I had to spend two days in Rio before I could connect for a return flight home. All I could do was enjoy the city. Touch duty, but somebody has to do it.