Nigerians Embrace Whiteness But Shun My Igbo Husband
By: Karen PojmannThe writer's Nigerian husband faces bigotry from his fellow countrymen due to his ethnicity, while her white skin prompts red-carpet treatment.
OWERRI, Nigeria- - All summer long I've been a celebrity.
Schoolboys clamour to greet... Housewives invite me to their
homes.
Teenage girls scoop up and kiss my children.
Burly security guards open doors for... Thin roadside hawkers,
confidently balancing on their heads baskets of eggs or consumer
electronics, cluster excitedly around my car window.
Everyone smiles, waves, shouts, "Oyibo! (Foreigner!) Welcome!"
I'm not famous; I'm white.
Better yet: American.
This isn't my country; it's my husband's.
But in most parts of it, the red carpet so eagerly unrolled for
me is swiftly jerked out from under his feet.
My husband, Osy, is Igbo.
And obviously so, with the round face, broad nose, stocky,
muscular body and Southeastern Nigeria accent that distinguish
Igbos from Nigeria's other major ethnic groups.
It's been said that the Igbos are the Jews of Africa.
Like Jews, they were victims of a genocide attempt in a mid-20th
century war (Biafran War, 1967-1970).
They are deeply loyal, markedly religious, and famously hard
working -- and thus characterized as money-grubbing.
They are marginalized and persecuted by fellow citizens,
including the Yorba and Hausa/Fulani, who have dominated the mostly
dictatorial government since Nigeria, Africa's most populous
nation, gained independence from Britain 44 years ago.
What has surprised me, as a white middle-class American, is the
overt nature of the discrimination.
In the few weeks we've been in Nigeria, Osy has been denied
access to public buildings, harassed by police and given shabby
service at businesses, even as I've been granted boundless
hospitality.
Complicating matters:We aren't here for fun and aren't free to
leave.
Ours is a US State Department-mandated, involuntary summer
vacation.
The US immigration system is requiring Osy, who entered the US
legally and has lived in California for eight years - gainfully
employed, happily married, paying taxes, raising children - to
apply for a new US visa in Nigeria.
In addition to a giant financial burden, the visa quest entails
a tremendous amount of hoop jumping, made trickier by the
mistreatment Osy gets.
It started early in the trip.
After a maddening experience at the San Francisco airport,
during which we learned that Osy needed a "direct airside transit
visa" to sit in Heathrow during the layover - but can't get one
without a US green card - Osy flew on an African airline and met us
in Lagos.
Sans baggage.
When Osy's brother and nephew took us to the Lagos airport to
retrieve the luggage days later, the Nigerian airport security
guard refused to let the men into the building, even after seeing
Osy's baggage claim tickets, which bore Osy's distinctly Igbo
name.
It was then that I spoke up and discovered the three magic
words: "He's with me."
The guard stepped aside for all of us and said, "Welcome to
Nigeria."
The scenario repeated at the uncannily Emerald City-like front
gate to the Japanese Embassy, where Osy had to collect, as a US
visa requirement, a preordered police clearance for the five years
he lived in Japan.
The Nigerian guards denied him entry and shouted:"This is not a
post office!" So I whipped out my passport, Old West style, and
said, "He's with me."
We were... "Welcome to Nigeria."
The police report, vital to Osy's visa application, was waiting
and would have collected dust there, had Osy gone alone.
We snapped it... This is how our trip has gone.
Like an A-listed clubber in Manhattan, I can get past all the
bouncers.
I just flash my pasty-white skin or my enchanted US passport,
and I'm past the velvet ropes with my previously rejected
posse.
It has worked for getting a parking space, entering the US
consulate, requesting medical forms and ordering breakfast.
Only once did hostility toward Igbos outweigh hospitality toward
foreigners.
We were returning to Lagos from a beach near the Benin Republic
border with Osy's brother Martin and our combined seven children,
ages 4 to 8.
Armed border guards and customs agents stopped the van literally
a dozen times and then, seeing me riding shotgun, quickly waved us
on with a "Welcome to Nigeria."
But at the last roadblock, a Nigerian police officer demanded to
see Martin's license, confirmed aloud that Martin was from the Igbo
region, and said he'd have to pay a fine for driving with an
Anambra state license in Lagos.
Then the officer climbed in the van, ordered Martin to drive,
and extorted a "bribe."
After that, we left Lagos and headed east to Igboland, where Osy
is regularly congratulated for snagging a young, childbearing
foreigner; I'm still popular.
Here, Southeastern-state governors convene to nominate an Igbo
presidential candidate for Nigeria.
Local rebels meet secretly to plan for a sovereign nation of
seceding Southeastern states:a new Biafra.
And I wait with my family for notice of Osy's visa interview so
that all of us, Igbo and Oyibo alike, can go home to San
Francisco.
- Pacific News Service PNS contributor Karen Pojmann
(pojmannova@aol.com) is a freelance writer based in the San
Francisco Bay Area.
She is currently living in Nigeria.
Schoolboys clamour to greet... Housewives invite me to their
homes.Teenage girls scoop up and kiss my children.Burly security
guards open doors for... Thin roadside hawkers, confidently
balancing on their heads baskets of eggs or consumer electronics,
cluster excitedly around my car window.Everyone smiles, waves,
shouts, "Oyibo! (Foreigner!) Welcome!" I'm not famous; I'm
white.Better yet: American.This isn't my country; it's my
husband's.But in most parts of it, the red carpet so eagerly
unrolled for me is swiftly jerked out from under his feet.My
husband, Osy, is Igbo.And obviously so, with the round face, broad
nose, stocky, muscular body and Southeastern Nigeria accent that
distinguish Igbos from Nigeria's other major ethnic groups.It's
been said that the Igbos are the Jews of Africa.Like Jews, they
were victims of a genocide attempt in a mid-20th century war
(Biafran War, 1967-1970).They are deeply loyal, markedly religious,
and famously hard working -- and thus characterized as
money-grubbing.They are marginalized and persecuted by fellow
citizens, including the Yorba and Hausa/Fulani, who have dominated
the mostly dictatorial government since Nigeria, Africa's most
populous nation, gained independence from Britain 44 years ago.What
has surprised me, as a white middle-class American, is the overt
nature of the discrimination.In the few weeks we've been in
Nigeria, Osy has been denied access to public buildings, harassed
by police and given shabby service at businesses, even as I've been
granted boundless hospitality.Complicating matters:We aren't here
for fun and aren't free to leave.Ours is a US State
Department-mandated, involuntary summer vacation.The US immigration
system is requiring Osy, who entered the US legally and has lived
in California for eight years - gainfully employed, happily
married, paying taxes, raising children - to apply for a new US
visa in Nigeria.In addition to a giant financial burden, the visa
quest entails a tremendous amount of hoop jumping, made trickier by
the mistreatment Osy gets.It started early in the trip.After a
maddening experience at the San Francisco airport, during which we
learned that Osy needed a "direct airside transit visa" to sit in
Heathrow during the layover - but can't get one without a US green
card - Osy flew on an African airline and met us in Lagos.Sans
baggage.When Osy's brother and nephew took us to the Lagos airport
to retrieve the luggage days later, the Nigerian airport security
guard refused to let the men into the building, even after seeing
Osy's baggage claim tickets, which bore Osy's distinctly Igbo
name.It was then that I spoke up and discovered the three magic
words: "He's with me."The guard stepped aside for all of us and
said, "Welcome to Nigeria."The scenario repeated at the uncannily
Emerald City-like front gate to the Japanese Embassy, where Osy had
to collect, as a US visa requirement, a preordered police clearance
for the five years he lived in Japan.The Nigerian guards denied him
entry and shouted:"This is not a post office!" So I whipped out my
passport, Old West style, and said, "He's with me."We were...
"Welcome to Nigeria."The police report, vital to Osy's visa
application, was waiting and would have collected dust there, had
Osy gone alone.We snapped it... This is how our trip has gone.Like
an A-listed clubber in Manhattan, I can get past all the bouncers.I
just flash my pasty-white skin or my enchanted US passport, and I'm
past the velvet ropes with my previously rejected posse.It has
worked for getting a parking space, entering the US consulate,
requesting medical forms and ordering breakfast.Only once did
hostility toward Igbos outweigh hospitality toward foreigners.We
were returning to Lagos from a beach near the Benin Republic border
with Osy's brother Martin and our combined seven children, ages 4
to 8.Armed border guards and customs agents stopped the van
literally a dozen times and then, seeing me riding shotgun, quickly
waved us on with a "Welcome to Nigeria."But at the last roadblock,
a Nigerian police officer demanded to see Martin's license,
confirmed aloud that Martin was from the Igbo region, and said he'd
have to pay a fine for driving with an Anambra state license in
Lagos.Then the officer climbed in the van, ordered Martin to drive,
and extorted a "bribe."After that, we left Lagos and headed east to
Igboland, where Osy is regularly congratulated for snagging a
young, childbearing foreigner; I'm still popular.Here,
Southeastern-state governors convene to nominate an Igbo
presidential candidate for Nigeria.Local rebels meet secretly to
plan for a sovereign nation of seceding Southeastern states:a new
Biafra.And I wait with my family for notice of Osy's visa interview
so that all of us, Igbo and Oyibo alike, can go home to San
Francisco.- Pacific News Service PNS contributor Karen Pojmann
(pojmannova@aol.com) is a freelance writer based in the San
Francisco Bay Area.She is currently living in Nigeria.