Prologue: This is a collection of random observations from my day at the Nigerian High Commission in London where I went to apply for a new passport. I must commend the officials at the High Commission for their mostly professional and approachable attitude in spite of the frustrating conditions they appear to work in. It was refreshing to observe the manner in which they dealt with simple enquiries and highly agitated applicants. Sadly, such praise cannot also be given to the appalling level of organisation at the High Commission. For those considering applying from the UK, the process takes about five hours in total. To start the process, please go to: https://portal.immigration.gov.ng
8:15am – I arrive at the Nigerian High Commission in time for my ‘appointment’ (please note that this word doesn’t really mean anything at the High Commission). I am mistaken into thinking that I am early enough until I sight the queue (over 500 meters long by then) that has already wrapped itself around the building on Northumberland Avenue. There must be at least 100 people ahead of me. I imagine that some people must have arrived here for 6am with hopes of getting in early. The chatty guy in front of me, with the South Eastern Nigerian accent, makes a joke to a Caucasian man ahead of him advising him to go round the corner to Selfridges and buy some patience. The Caucasian man chuckles in response. He’ll need patience. Little do I realise that we’ll all need lots of it before the day runs out.
9:00am – Friendly banter with other applicants on the queue keeps me occupied. It turns out that most of us on the queue had been given appointments on Thursday and Friday of the previous week; only for us to arrive and find the embassy locked up. What was the reason? The Federal Government declared those two days a public holiday and the embassy officials decided to shut down operations without and warnings or contingency plans being communicated to the hapless Nigerians who had come from all over the UK to honor their appointments. As we exchange stories in the queue, we jointly wag our collective finger at the poor organisation of our High Commission.9:05am – About fifty minutes later, I finally arrive at the entrance. An official standing just inside the door is remonstrating in a loud voice with someone. I hear raised voices. Fortunately, no fists are involved. The official stretches out his hand and asks me for my current passport and payment/interview confirmation. He gives it a quick look over and lets me in. I’m directed to a basement room where I quickly scan the room (about 20ft by 40ft in size) and notice that it is nearly full already. Another official hands out ticket numbers depending on the purpose of your visit. I quickly find a place to sit. I’m lucky to find one.
9.30am – I slowly take in my surroundings and in the process, I notice that the air conditioning appears to be struggling to cope. The basement soon fills up. People are starting to stand in every available space. I wonder if there isn’t a health and safety law being brazenly flouted here by allowing this many people into such limited space. I quickly scan the room and make a mental note of the fire exits…just in case we need to evacuate! Surely they can’t possibly fit more people in here. I am wrong. More people continue to arrive. If we all have ‘appointments’, then why are we all here at the same time?
9:35am - The embassy has an automated announcement system which appears to be calling out the pre-assigned numbers every 10 to 12 minutes. They are at number #28 when I get in. Deep sigh. My number is #62. An embassy official appears and begins to call out names in a high pitched Northern Nigerian accent (Hausa). I smile to myself. It is always refreshing to hear a northern accent in London. I have a theory that Yoruba speakers (from South Western Nigeria) constitute the bulk of Nigerians living in the UK. As said official reads out the names of people who have obviously completed the first hurdle of the application process, I notice that one in every five names appears to be South Eastern, South-South or Northern Nigerian. The rest are Yoruba. In the microcosm of the Nigerian High Commission, my demographic theory is proven! Take that Lord Malthus!
9:45am – I am stirred from my musings when I hear a woman at the counter yelling at an embassy official. The embassy official appears unfazed and stands his/her ground. He or she is probably immune to this kind of attitude. It’s probably a routine job hazard I guess. The loud woman backs down. I guess she realises that she will get nowhere with ‘gra-gra’ (Yoruba slang for unruly behavior). She calms down and adopts a more conciliatory tone and interjects her sentences to the official with ‘please’. Nice. At least someone is finally crossing the social evolution barrier.
10:00am – “Oloyun O p’omo O!” This is a familiar shout in Lagos meaning that people should make way for a heavily pregnant woman trying to board some form of public transport whilst carrying another child on her back (truth be told, Lagos bus conductors also use this as a veiled insult to overweight women or those blessed with generous backsides). As some pregnant women squeeze their way around the embassy basement, I wish someone would shout this on their behalf. Everywhere I look, there are infants and toddlers screaming to the heavens and mothers losing the battle to calm and control them. For some kids, I imagine this might be their first ‘taste’ of Nigeria. One kid manages to sneak his way into the ticketing office unattended. An embassy official grabs the hyper active kid, raises him in the air by the arm and shouts, “Who get this pickin (child) oh?” I love my country!
10:30am – I slip back into my musing. There are a few Caucasians and mixed race people around. There are lots of reasons to travel to Nigeria. However, tourism isn’t usually one of them. I guess they’re mostly going to Nigeria for work. The Caucasians stand around the embassy basement in different states of despair. “Welcome to Nigeria”, I say to them in my mind. There are some who appear to be of mixed parentage/dual nationality who I assume may be planning to visit family. If there is one country that has contributed significantly to the propagation of mixed race peoples on this earth, it must be Nigeria. With our citizens living (legally or illegally) in almost every country on this planet, this should not be surprising. I go back to observing the Caucasians. Suddenly, an interesting distraction walks in. She is a stunningly beautiful woman who appears to be of Ethiopian/Sudanese extraction. I immediately sense a collective holding of breath by all the men folk in the room. She flashes a smile at the ticketing official who seems to be transfixed by her flawless looks. She picks up her ticket from his frozen hand and meanders to find standing space at the back of the room. I watch as the men folk innocuously follow her graceful movement with their eyes and then let out their collective breath when she reaches the back of the room and buries her head in a book. The interesting diversion is over. However, the rest of the day holds far more interesting diversions such as the 'One Handed-Double Impact slap'.
Concluded in Part 2
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