tsaya– teffi – tafa – yi tsale
on Fantastic Voyage (Nigeria), 14/Jul/2010 14:22, 34 days ago
We’ve only gone and done a Mark Thatcher.  I suppose, at some point, it was inevitable that we’d become embroiled in the murk of Nigerian corruption – endemic as it is round these parts.It happened like this, Officer… We need a bank account, right?  For getting paid, just like in the UK (there are plenty of other ways here, and I imagine we’ll need to resort to them eventually, but this is ‘the nearest, in time and in place.  Now and in Nigeria’).  Our allowance comes to us quarterly, in advance.  I think Jen can’t wait to budget for it…As we’re linked to a massive British government programme, someone did the first bit of donkey work for us – which is going to the bank and asking lots of people very specific questions until eventually they found the forms we need fill in.  We filled them in.  Easy.Our first arrival at the bank was pretty merry too.  It’s opposite the Kaduna branch of – yes, there is a God – Cadbury’s.  We must work out how to get in there.  And there’s a porch type area, where security guards with the inevitable Big Guns ask for your metal things so they can leave them under their stools.  You duly do so, until someone smart (not me) points out that we have computers and all manner of techno-wizardry in our bags and they decide it doesn’t really matter (without looking, of course).Then you get shown into two Golden Portals into the Next World.  They’re like something out of Dr. Who; sliding slowly open to admit just one person with a pad flashing with green and red lights.  It ought to whoosh you up to the top of the building for a secret assignment meeting with whoever it is who’s in control in Brave New World.  But it doesn’t.  It just opens on the other side and then you’re in.There’s no sign culture here; unlike in the UK, it’s normal and indeed encouraged to ask for help and behave as if you’re part of the same community.  That engenders lots of conversations which grow and grow as more people try to work out where you’re going.  It’s fairly straightforward in the bank though – new accounts are as far from the entrance as you can get, up two flights of stairs which become (one by one) steeper and closer together. ‘The last turning of the last stair’ is so steep, and the stair so shallow and close to the wall, that your bag has to come off to squeeze through.  And then, provided you’re happy to go up to people in their cubicles and demand their attention, you can start to open an account.Of course, there’s a whole mass of new paperwork that needs to be done and your original form is totally unacceptable – plus, you need references from two people with current accounts.  But everyone’s terribly pleased to see you, and your main assistant lives on the street you’re about to move to, so you all swap phone numbers.Several days later, having acquired all necessary documentation, you take it back again, dance to the same complex tune, and await your fate.  This time, things are more hopeful.  You fill in more forms– I think a total of 8 each, all with our signatures on and two with photos attached.  But then– woe, alas! – it turns out that one of your referees has put their salary, and not current account, down.  What the dickens is the difference, you ask, but no-one seems to know.  You feel like a substandard Kafka, and an endless vista of visits to and from the bank presents itself before your eyes– each one representing a slightly slimmer envelope in the secret part of your suitcase.Then– kazaam! – a solution presents itself.  Your friendly banker has a friend.  If we’d like him to, his friend can make this problem go away by pretending to know us and putting himself down as a referee.  There’ll be no problem then, and your banking friend can just bring it to your house.  It’ll be fine.Do not underestimate the dark side of the force, pop-pickers.  Not only did we– instantly, eagerly,na gode sose-ing like wild bunnies– accept his offer; we also didn’t get the account because there’s another problem with one of the other forms.  Like Basil Fawlty, I feel as if I could spend the rest of my life having this conversation…Did you ask what the bank’s slogan is?  I’ll tell you.HumiltyEmpathyIntegrityResillience (sic)