chimazoni
on Fantastic Voyage (Nigeria), 01/Sep/2010 06:52, 34 days ago
Whatever I came here for, it wasn’t to experience being rich. Sure, given my background – the very reason I can come here and do this at all – I’m fundamentally massively economically wealthier than almost anyone (though not everyone) that I’d ever encounter as part of a volunteer placement. No question, being a ‘volunteer’ was always going to be a slight misnomer, given that we receive a pretty generous monthly allowance and accommodation. Perhaps with even more impact (and of course this isn’t the case for all VSOs), we’re a family of two with no dependants, and two incomes. I was always going to be like that Greek girl in Common People: a tourist who, should I grow tired of the roaches crawling up the wall, can always just stop it all. (I’d also happily buy Jarvis a rum and coke, here or in the UK. Does he really drink that? What madness.)But I think I hadn’t accounted for two things: first, that Nigeria is quite an odd place, economically speaking. (I say that with no knowledge whatsoever – I mean absolutely none at all – of economics.) For a developing country (or whatever terminology you prefer to use – you all know what I mean by that),it has really quite a high GDP per capita and a massive global industry (6th highest oil producer in the world). It has plenty-o billionaires (probably one is more than enough for most nations), and in many ways a highly developed infrastructure. All of the things I was working my way round to doing without, I don’t have to: for the right price, you could get more or less anything here. English apples? Check. Avocados? Check. Raspberries? Check. Gordon’s gin? French wine? Cadbury’s chocolate? More sophisticated and unpleasant chocolate for chocolate snobs? Check, check, andcheck again. (The focus on foodstuffs there says something alarming about me. But you get the point.) All of this is me slowly getting round to saying that the ‘equivalent local wage’ isn’t an easy thing to work out here. The people we’re working most closely with get a pretty decent wage: the university lecturers who are one of the teams I work with get paid about N150,000 (take home) per month, which is around £670. The various secretaries and directors and what-not in the ministries and different arms of government who are the other main partners earn much more. The consultants who we generally work alongside on this project earn much, much more. In comparison with them, I am a volunteer, paid a pittance to have an experience, and they ruddy well should buy me beers. Thank you, don’t mind if I do.But this is also a country where most people (that’s actually a guess – I have no figures to hand and am computer squatting so don’t want to take up internet time and Incur Wrath) live on less than that charmingly neat figure of a dollar a day. This obviously has lots of implications in all kinds of ways; for my immediate purpose it’s enough to point out that (largely, assuming you’re not in Abuja, and that that horrible bizarre Niger situation doesn’t happen here) it’s possible to live on that little. And feed a family. And probably send some to more family living somewhere else. Which makes the whole thing seem a crazy mockery, and N1,000 per day quite the easiest budget in the world to keep to (that is, until you start drinking with other volunteers or travelling somewhere else for some fun).And the other thing I hadn’t reckoned on (this is only number two, but I’ll keep it briefer now), is that we’re actually working with a British government project which seems to actively seek to burn money. Maybe this is how development works – I wouldn’t know, and I won’t hang around in it long enough to find out – but the immediate impact on me is that I literally (unless I did something really crazy like bought loads of furniture, or a car or something. Or broke my computer and had to buy a new one. Oh, hang on…) couldn’t spend the amount of money they give us. Last night, I had a cocktail, some grilled seafood, and some beers in the capital city, on a rooftop terrace, with incredible table service, in the most expensive area of Abuja – and hence Nigeria. I can’t even conceive of how much that would cost in London (or even where it would be. I clearly need to brush up my knowledge of swanky and staggeringly expensive eateries). It didn’t use up the allowance for my evening meal for one single day. This is by far the most indulgent I’ve been, by the way. It’s not just one example plucked from my many soirees with the rich and famous, sunning myself by a pool while supermodels feed me champagne and grapes from crystal chalices and peacocks dance the can-can. But I’m actually experiencing what it’s like to have no worries about money whatsoever – to not even have to budget beyond ensuring there are enough notes in my wallet to get drinks for everyone. Thisis a weird feeling – ever so slightly disembodying – and one that I want to explore further. If there’s one community with whom I find it near impossible to empathise, it’s the really rich. And here – in microcosm, obviously: none of this would really be worth very much at all in the UK,and it would just be too wrong to have made a profit out of volunteering – is my chance to find out what it feels like and where my thinking patterns drift to.For the moment, the key I think lies in trying to work out what to do with all of this– how best to return it to the Nigerian economy where it ought to be. That won’t primarily be through investing in my massive belly: indeed, I feel a little sickened with myself for that excess. But the musings of an un-economics minded person on sharing the wealth will wait for another sleepless night.