USA Africa Dialogue Series - US Africa Journal: Five Cities, Five Broken Locks: By Wale Okediran

New York. February 13. I am sitting amidst the clutter of my books and luggage at the arrival hall of JFK airport this cold morning at the start of a 10-day, 5-city Book Reading Tour of the US, courtesy of Arik Air International. I'm already getting excited in anticipation of what promises to be one of the highest points in my writing career when it suddenly dawns on me that it's the 11th anniversary of my mother's death. She was killed by a drunken teenage driver on his way to his girlfriend's house to make arrangements for Valentine's Day. Mother, a school teacher who taught me my A, B, C had seen a visitor off and was just a block from the family house in Ibadan when she met her death. It still makes me teary each time I recall it.

I resolve to make a success of the reading tour to honour my late mother.

 
Even though my manager had wanted me to stretch the 5-city tour beyond ten days, to reduce the stress of the travels and readings, my work schedule back home in Nigeria did not allow me that luxury. I had to compress the tour into ten days, a decision I later regretted because of the toll it took on me.
The tour was planned to take me to Fort Lauderdale and Tallahassee, both in Florida; Atlanta, Georgia; Cincinnati, Ohio; and Pennsylvania in Philadelphia with a stop-over in New York at the Headquarters of the Arik Air International.

 
Although New York had recovered from a devastating and horrendous adverse weather which left the City comatose for a few days (causing a two-day delay in my tour), it was still very cold at 6am when my Sky Blue flight took off for Fort Lauderdale, Fl that day. It was a large aircraft, filled by people presumably escaping the cold of New York for the warmth of Florida.

It was a smooth and enjoyable 3-hour flight made more interesting by the generous in flight refreshment. This made up for the airline's very stringent regulation on excess luggage which made me part with $150 to cover the cost of a second bag (first bags are free) and excess luggage. All my explanations that the bags contained books for my Reading Tour failed to dissuade the airline from slamming me with the high charges. And despite my usual difficulty with sleeping while flying, I slept through most of the 3-hour trip, obviously drugged by fatigue.

 
I was met at the Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood Airport by Joane Meikel, an amiable young lady from the Students Affairs Department of Broward College, Coconut Creek where I was scheduled to give my first reading.  Joane made me realise during our brief conversation that she was of Caribbean background but now a full American.

 
The trip from Fort Lauderdale to Coconut Creek was about thirty minutes and afforded me the opportunity to see more of the beauty of Broward County. The warm and breezy climate was a comfortable departure from the bitter cold of New York. And in addition to the beautiful tree lined streets, Florida was exactly as it was described, a haven for tourists.

We arrived at the North Campus of Broward College in Coconut Creek at about 10am for my 11am reading. Joane assisted me in hauling my luggage up to the 3rd floor office of Dr Yinka Tella, a Counsellor in the College's Department of Students Affairs who was in charge of my trip. Due to time constraints, I had to change for my reading in Dr Tella's office. It was in the process of doing this that I noticed that the two locks on my luggage had been broken. I was about to raise an alarm of robbery when I saw a sticker on the damaged lock from the US Department Of Home Affairs acknowledging that my luggage had been forcibly opened for an official inspection. I thought this was an odd way of inspecting passenger's bags. 'Why not ask me to open the luggage instead of breaking my lock?' I asked a friend who advised me to buy a certain type of lock, which the immigration officials could safely open. "They do this all the time for foreign locks which their official keys cannot open," my friend replied.

 
In spite of my weariness from the 14-hour trip from Nigeria, I was ready at 11am for my first reading. On the podium with me was Robert Lenon, a renowned American motivational speaker and author who was to speak after me.

 
Fighting back jet lag I delved into 'Tenants Of The House' (TOTH) and some sections of 'Fearless', reading to an enthusiastic audience of students and lecturers at the Students Services Building. Since I had sent an advance copy of TOTH to the College, it was easy for the students, particularly the English students to follow the reading. The questions and contributions that followed said as much. 'How long did it take you to write the book?'; 'What was the reaction of your colleagues in the Nigerian Parliament when the book was released?'; 'Who is the Lizzy in the book?'; 'Has democracy improved the standard of living for Nigerians?' In addition to the questions were some other contributions mostly about the state of politics in Nigeria, among other issues.

 
Readings over, I took photographs with the staff and students before receiving a commemorative plaque on behalf of the College from Ana Cowo, the College's Professor of English. The lunch that followed was interspersed with book signings and informal discussions with guests.

 
I later went on a tour of the campus, admiring the beautiful architecture, well maintained lawns and parking lots. The students who were mostly African Americans could be seen in different moods of campus life. Some sat studious in the library, some hurried about for lectures, while others leisurely hung around in groups and pairs in different corners of the campus.

 
I spent the night with the Tellas in their adjoining Pembroke Pines residence, a beautiful palm tree-lined residential area not far from Miami. I was pleasantly surprised when for dinner, Mrs Tella served me a steaming plate of Amala and Ewedu, with assorted meat. When I asked where she got the ingredients for the food from, I was told that in view of the large number of Africans living in Florida, getting African food in that area was not too difficult. I was also told that most of the area around Fort Lauderdale is reclaimed land that lies below sea level, and so the place gets flooded easily. 'That is why many of the children are given free swimming lessons' Mrs Tella said.

 
And so it was that I was up by 3am the following day for the 4am taxi pick up to the Greyhound garage in downtown Fort Lauderdale. As it happened at the JFK airport, I had excess luggage due to the weight of my books and so had to part with another $100. The half-full bus finally departed Fort Lauderdale at 6.30 am. We were informed that the trip to Tallahassee would actually be 11 hours, as against the '7 hours 3 minutes' internet estimate. 'This is to accommodate the many stops and one change of bus along the route,' a bus official explained.

The coaches were very comfortable, with ample leg-room, while the large windows provided a wonderful view. Just before we departed, the driver, a jolly-looking fellow, gave us some 'bus keeping' rules. Loud music and conversation were not allowed. So also was smoking. The toilet at the rear end of the bus was to be used with decency 'as a respect to other users'. There would be a few stops to allow passengers time to eat and stretch their legs. 'The stops will only be for 15 minutes each and anybody who stays longer would be left behind'.

 
An hour later, we passed West Palm Beach, beautiful and glowing in the early morning sun that chased away the fluffy white clouds in the horizon, giving the town a picturesque appearance. I continued 

enjoying the beautiful scenery outside as the big bus purred along the well-built, 'pothole'-free highway. Our first stop was at 'Love's Travel Stops and Country Stops' in Fort Pierce, a dainty rural town. By then I was already hungry and made quick work of a hefty portion of Cheese Bread, Steak, coffee and fruits.

 
It was drizzling when the bus stopped at 10.30am at Kissimmee to pick up more passengers, including an elderly woman in a wheel chair. It was joy watching as the hydraulic system of the bus gently and efficiently manoeuvred the wheel chair from street level onto the bus. My mind went back home to Nigeria and prayed for the day when our 'luxurious buses' would have such facilities.

 
Orlando, famous for its Disneyland, was our next stop. By then, we had been on the road for five hours and the driver informed us that we would be changing buses. 'Collect your bags and stand at Door 7 for your next bus,' he bellowed, in a deep baritone. Thirty minutes later, at noon, we were back on the road.

 
I must have slept off. It was the screeching sound of the bus coming to another stop that stirred me at 1.20pm. Outside, a sign-post announced that we were in Ocala, another of the numerous lovely rural towns in this idyllic state. While some passengers disembarked at Ocala, others came on board and we continued our journey. We were now in the Citrus Belt of Florida as sign and after sign announced the sale of all kinds of oranges and fruit

Gainsville (home of the University of Florida), Canon Creek and Lake City came in quick succession before the Greyhound finally lumbered into Tallahassee, the capital of Florida State at 5pm. My friend and former University Hockey Team mate Gbenga 'Dodo' Fayemi was waiting for me at the Greyhound Garage. Dodo, a Computer Engineer who had lived in Tallahassee for twenty years, and I had played Hockey for the then University Of Ife, Nigeria, back in the 70s.

With his wife, Deola, we all went for dinner at a Chinese Restaurant. Being Valentine's Day, the place teemed with lovers and fun-seekers. After a hearty combination of Peking Soup, Spring Rolls, Steamed Rice, Duck and Chicken sauce, I cracked open the Chinese fortune cookie the waitress handed over to me. 'Expect a future of hard work and happiness,' it read.

 
Sated, I heaved myself into the Fayemis car for a long drive to their suburban house, a beautiful and large brown brick structure set in scenic wooded grounds. Tired, I went straight to bed. Another reading lay ahead the next day, at a Community Centre in the city.

 
It was a nice crowd – academics, business-people, civil servants, and a smattering of students – that filled the venue of the reading the day after my arrival in Tallahassee.  At exactly 5pm, with the Arik Air banner in the background, I started to read from Tenants Of The House and Fearless, at the Jack L McClean Community Centre, 700 Paul Russell Road, Tallahassee.  As if on cue, many of the questions and interventions raised at Fort Lauderdale also came up in Tallahassee. 'Why did you write TOTH?'; 'How much of TOTH is your own personal story?'; 'Can corruption be tamed in Nigeria'?; 'Have things improved in Nigeria since you wrote your books'?; 'What is the government doing about the 'Boko Haram' problem?'.

Some of the older members of the audience, apparently overwhelmed by the seemingly intractable socio-economic and security issues in Nigeria wondered if the country was actually working. They therefore proposed a division of the country along ethnic and religious lines as a possible solution to the problem. More disturbing was the remark of an elderly Professor who vowed never to go back to Nigeria again. As he put it; 'the scars of my encounter with armed robbers when I last visited home are yet to heal'.

 
Without appearing to be a government mouthpiece, I did my best to reassure the audience that all hope was not lost and that with more efforts by all and sundry, Nigeria would become the country of our dreams. Judging from the bemused expressions on the faces of most of my audience, I wasn't sure if my reassuring words made any impact.

I departed Tallahassee after breakfast the following day for my next reading. Just as in Fort Lauderdale, where my hostess had prepared a bowl of Amala and Ewedu for me, I was again pleasantly surprised when Deola Fayemi conjured a steaming bowl of 'Ogi' (Pap) and 'Akara' (Bean Cake) for breakfast. To my mind, this ability of Nigerians to have access to their traditional food even in the Diaspora is a big attestation of our resilience and ingenuity.

Despite my insistence to continue my trip by Greyhound, Dodo insisted on driving me to the adjoining state of Georgia, where my next reading was taking place. 'It is only a 5 hour trip' he explained as he nosed his gleaming Mercedes 230 SE down Highway 855. Thirty minutes later, we crossed the Florida/Georgia border.
As we cruised along, I savoured the pleasant and well arranged rural towns, observing, much to my dismay that the weather was getting colder. Gone was the warm and amiable Florida weather. 'We are going back North' Dodo explained when I complained about the sudden change in weather.

 
Two hours later, Dodo had to slow down from his 65mph speed to 45mph, as we approached Oakfield and Warwick where, according to him, the police display little tolerance for speed-limit breakers. 'The Borough here makes a lot of money from traffic offenders,' he said, pointing out some Police Patrol cars hidden in secluded parts of the highway, waiting to nab offenders.

 
We had arranged for my hosts in Atlanta to meet Dodo and I well before the City's Limits in order to allow Dodo enough time to get back to Tallahassee. And so it was that Jimi 'Cato' Yerokun, his wife Cynthia and his brother Tokunbo 'Capello' Yerokun met us at Macon, Georgia. The Yerokuns and I go back a long way – we all come from the same town in Oyo State of Nigeria. In addition, Capello, a High School soccer star (which explains his nickname) was also my high school classmate at Olivet Baptist High School, Oyo.

 
Just like in Fort Lauderdale, the Atlanta Reading was scheduled for the day of my arrival and so, I had to race against time. Lunch was a hurried affair of Baked Beans, Biscuits (Small Bread Loafs) and Chicken at a restaurant. I then went to drop my luggage and change my clothes at Cato's place in Marietta, an Atlanta suburb.

 
My Atlanta reading took place at FAD Restaurant, a Nigerian restaurant located at 3565 Austell Road, SW Marietta, where the proprietor, whom I had met on a previous trip to Atlanta, did all he could do to make the event a success. Expectedly, after my reading, questions and contributions dwelled mostly on the political situation in Nigeria. As usual, Nigerian politicians were accused of being the cause of most of the problems in the country, a charge which I did my best to properly situate. I explained to the gathering that while our political Leaders have a lot of responsibility to steer the affairs of the country in the right direction, it also behoves on the electorate to play their own role and not to put too much expectations on their Leaders.

A new dimension was introduced to the discussion when the role of women in politics was brought up. The animated discussion that followed was even more strident than the one in Tallahassee, with the majority of the Atlanta audience declaring Nigeria a failed state. 'When are we going to divide the country?' became the rallying cry. Although this position was not unexpected, it was still surprising coming from the Atlanta group that was relatively younger than the Tallahassee one. I'd thought the younger ones would be more hopeful. Matters were not helped by some shocking experiences of some members of the audience who recently visited home.

 
I spent the following day resting and re-connecting with places and friends scattered across Atlanta city and its suburbs. Capello, a long time resident, graciously took me on the whirlwind visit which ended about midnight. Expectedly, the nagging problem of Nigeria came to the fore. So passionate were the discussions that it became futile for me to offer any more explanations or any hopeful remarks about the country. Unable to buoy up my friends with the hope of a better Nigeria, I went to bed at about 1 am, depressed and tired.

I was up the following morning by 4am for the trip to the airport for my 7am flight to Cincinnati, Ohio. Cato took me to the domestic wing of the Hartfield-Jackson International Airport to catch a US Airways flight that would first take me to Charlottee, before proceeding to Cincinnati. Again I had to pay an extra $150 for my excess luggage of books, and my second bag. I had by then bought two new locks with the hope that they would not be broken again by the US immigration officials.

 
We arrived Charlotte, North Carolina at 8am. The announcer put the temperature at minus 6 degree and advised passengers disembarking to get out their coats. Luckily, I was just a transit passenger and didn't need any coat. Or so I thought. It turned out the inside of the beautiful Charlotte Morgan International Airport was very cold, and I did need my coat. While waiting for my flight to Cincinnati, I had a breakfast of Pancakes , Scrambled eggs and tea ($10.24).

 
My flight to Cincinnati departed on time, at 10am, and landed in freezing weather at 11.30am. On hand to receive me in Cincinnati was my buddy and medical school mate, Henry Toyin 'HT' Akinbi, a Neonatologist at the highly-rated Cincinnati Children's Hospital. It was when HT and I were retrieving my luggage that I noticed that the American Immigration officials had struck again. The two locks on my box had been broken! Taped to the broken locks was the official sticker from the Department of Home Affairs confirming the breaking for 'official inspection'.

I was dumbfounded. I found it strange that America, the self-acclaimed champion of democracy and human rights and home of democracy could not find a better way of inspecting visitors bags other than breaking the locks behind the owners backs. I took my case to HT. 'How am I sure some of my luggage has not been stolen?' 'How can the US officials expect to be believed if they later claim to have found something incriminating in my bag when I was not around during the inspection?' Unfortunately, I did not get any sympathy from my friend who reassured me that the US officials were very professional and transparent and would not do anything unfair to any passenger. 'You have to remember that they have so many boxes to inspect, as such, it will be difficult to ask every passenger to come and open his/her box for inspection' he concluded. Although I wasn't convinced by HT's explanation I did not press the argument.

 
By the time I arrived in Cincinnati, I had started feeling the stress of the trip. I was therefore glad that my schedule in Cincinnati was light and would allow me some time to catch my breath. After the press and photo session, at IOUU studios run by another Nigerian friend of mine, Tommy Akomolede, the other assignment in Cincinnati was a meeting regarding the proposed film adaptation and TV series for TENANTS OF THE HOUSE. I was able to complete all I had to do on the day of my arrival in Cincinnati, leaving the second day free for HT and I to catch up on old times.

 
Although it was freezing, I was able to reconnect again with Cincinnati, which I last visited a year before. After a short nap, I later went out for dinner with HT, his wife, Medina (Med) and a visiting Nigerian Paediatrician from the Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria, Dr Isa Abdurahman. Isa, a boisterous guy was on a short attachment at the Cincinnati Children's Hospital where HT worked. It was a hearty dinner of Grilled Fish, Mashed Potatoes and Vegetable at Gabby's Café in the fashionable area of Wyoming. As expected, the after-dinner discussion focused largely on Nigeria and its problems, a topic which I was by now getting tired of discussing.

 
The following morning again found me at the Cincinnati/Kentucky Airport for my flight to New York via Charlotte. Much as I tried to avoid paying for any excess luggage, I had to again part with some dollars.

I arrived JFK airport in New York by 12 noon exactly eight days after I had arrived the US through the same airport. On ground to receive me was my manager, Seun Ariyo who had packaged the 10-Day Book Reading Tour.  And as I collected my luggage, my heart missed a beat as I noticed another broken lock, the fifth on the trip. This time around, I kept the matter to myself, and decided to keep the 'Inspection Notice' I found tucked into the box as a souvenir.

 
It was bitterly cold outside the airport when Seun and I took the Air train which cost $5 each to Jamaica Station. With its elevated tracks, the Air Train provided a beautiful view of New York. From Jamaica Station, we boarded the Long Island Railroad train service to the ever-busy Penn Station, and made our way to a Chinese Restaurant across the street for lunch.
Suite 1416, One Penn Plaza at the Penn Station in New York is the Headquarters of Arik Air International, the official sponsor of my trip. It was here that I went to formally meet Mr Robert Brunner, the airline's Vice President. Also in attendance was his assistant, Kobina Hammond .

After briefing Mr Brunner about my Book Reading Tour, I presented copies of 'Tenants Of The House', as agreed in our contract. After refreshments and photographs, Seun and I left the Arik office and boarded another train to Newark in New Jersey. The 20-minute journey cost $5 per passenger. From Newark, we took another Light-Rail train at the Newark Penn Station to Warren Street. It was a very cold afternoon, and despite my thick winter overcoat, I shivered as we walked to pick up Seun's car for the 2-hour trip to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania for my last reading.

 
In New Jersey I noticed that unlike other parts of the US where the petrol stations were self-service, petrol attendants attended to motorists in New Jersey. Seun's explanation was that the state insisted on the practice to create some amount of employment opportunities for its citizens.
At exactly 6.20pm, we crossed the Benjamin Franklin Bridge that links the states of New Jersey and Pennsylvania. Central Philadelphia was alive and bustling as we cruised into the city that lovely evening. Apart from many financial institutions, Philadelphia (Phil) is also home to renowned Universities like the University of Pennsylvania, University of Sciences of Philadelphia (USP), Temple University and Drexel University.

 
It was twilight when Seun finally drove into the premises of the University of Pennsylvania. All around us were the glittering lights of high rise buildings, shops and restaurants that presented an idyllic picture of a concrete playground. Worn out by the cold and long journey, I asked Seun to drop me off at a Starbucks coffee shop at the intersection of 34th and Walnut street where I reinvigorated myself with a steaming cup of coffee and a piece of sponge cake.

In preparation for the last reading of my Tour, I spent a few minutes going through the day's newspapers and stretching my legs.
It was freezing cold when I finally arrived at University's Perelman Quadrangle for my last reading. As I made my way to the Ben Franklin Room venue of my reading, I cast another look at the grounds of the famous University and was immediately captivated by the enchanting buildings and the air of sobriety around me.

 
It was an audience of students, friends and family that welcomed me to the reading. At the end of the room were the co-sponsors of the event such as Chioma Azi, Founder of Philly Nigerian Professionals, Olumide Olufowobi, Chapter President, Afro-Pro Philly and Adederin Aderinola Adejare, President, Penn African Students Association at the University of Pennsylvania, and other members who had put in so much towards the success of the event.

 
On the right hand side of the room was another cluster of old friends made up of the brilliant Broadway playwright Ademola Bello, a New York based old schoolmate of mine, Olu Olojede, among others. Looking dandy in his French cap in one corner of the room was my Uncle who was visiting from Nigeria, Mr Ezekiel Ogunlusi, and my cousin Ayo with her husband, Leke Onakomaiya.

 
It was another glorious reading punctuated by very engaging questions and contributions. As in the other readings, majority of the audience was very passionate about the current state of Nigeria. A particularly truculent middle-aged man insisted that the country be split along ethnic and religious lines. 'The earlier we all agree that Nigeria is not working, the better for all of us' he thundered. He was joined in this strong view by some other participants and before long, the hitherto serene setting had transformed into something reminiscent of a village square meeting. Suddenly, everybody wanted to talk.

It therefore became very difficult for Seun, the evening's compere to bring proceedings to a stop at the 9pm limit set down by the University authorities. Poor Seun; at one point his father, my good friend Dr Tayo Ariyo, a Philadelphia-based physician rose and said: 'I am sorry Seun, as your Dad I'd like to talk and you have to allow me!' Thereafter, he gave a very animated speech about Nigeria, and its multiple sins. Thankfully, he also proffered some solutions. The passionate discussion continued over refreshments, after the event had formally ended.

My reaction as usual was to reassure the audience that most of the ethnic groups in Nigeria are so closely intertwined that the likelihood of the country breaking up was very remote but a lot still need to be done to ensure a working federation.

 
While some of them seemed to convinced by my views, others just smiled politely and asked me when my next book will be released. 'I think you should focus more on Nigeria's judiciary in your next book,' one of them said. 'The sort of things we hear those judges doing are terrible. Imagine – letting off that bloody thief who embezzled billions of pensioners money after paying a paltry percentage of it in the name of one damn mitigation plea is awful!'

 
I returned to New York that evening in the company of Leke and Ayo Onakomaiya. We dropped Ademola Bello off at Bayridge Station on 92nd street, from where he was to take a train to his house in Dekab in Brooklyn, before proceeding to the Staten Island home of the Onakomaiyas.

 
I was up the following morning by 6am for my trip back to Nigeria via the John F. Kennedy Airport. And as I crossed the Verazzano bridge that separated Staten Island from Brooklyn, where the JFK Airport is, I started to feel a creeping weariness; fallout of my action-packed 10-Day Tour.

 
Inside me, however, was an unmistakable sense of fulfilment. I believed that I had given a good account of myself. Mother, in her celestial abode, must be beaming her approval.