Put your oar in
Andrew Princz gets with the beat at Nigeria's colourful Abuja Carnival

By Andrew Princz
Photos by Jura Nanuk
Reporting from Abuja

It doesn't take much to become the subject of local curiosity in Nigeria, if you are two very Caucasian-looking "tourists" among a sea of many thousands of passionately dancing Africans as they sing and sweat to the beats of traditional wooden drums at the first Abuja Carnival.

There we were among the few non-locals at this grandiose celebration of dance, horsemanship and indigenous culture late last year in the Nigerian capital. Upwards of 10,000 people participated in this intoxicating cultural fiesta from the country's very diverse 36 states. It was all part of an ambitious plan of the Nigerian government to celebrate its some 250 ethnic groups to ultimately encourage the world to discover Nigeria. The government hopes one day to make the country a tourist paradise 'beauty in diversity read one slogan.

We were even handed curious video's describing the mythical significance of the oddly shaped rocks of Jos in Plateau State, or the secrets of the ancient Sukur people - a migrant ethnic group who live in a remote corner of Adawama State in the eastern part of the country.

I had little problem believing how the vast area hides what was termed "latent potential". It was, I was told at one point, "a world full of fascinations and fresh discoveries".

Those executives have a tough battle on their hands, however. Nigeria, which has taken the lead in Africa's battle to find African solutions to the continents challenges is not out of the woods.

One of the largest oil-producing nations, Nigeria - despite its best efforts - remains a country which has gained a reputation for banditry, ethnic strife, corruption, the presence of hostage-taking insurgents and is most recently dealing with the outbreak of a bird-flu epidemic. This, as the country's leadership walks the fine line keeping peace among the Christian south and the Islamic north.

Yet we grasped at the heartbeat of Africa. We harnessed the best of Nigeria, dangers and all.

Here dance, music, a durbar or a boat regatta are not mere performances, but they are an integral part of daily life in small villages, kingdoms or emirates.

Tens of thousands poured into the streets of Abuja for the carnival procession, a day-long feast of color, music and dance.

Then there was a traditional Durbar from the Northern, Muslim states. Some 800 ornately dressed and decorated horses and horsemen displayed rich regalia in honor of their Emirs, Sultans and Kings. This is the reality of life here, and not a fairytale.

These four days of carnival revealed a glimpse of mystery, generous smiles, warm hospitality, reserved expressions, and wide-eyed curiosity. We towards them and they towards us. We felt like we had been taken back to something extremely ancient. Like Greece at the time of the first Olympic Games.

But in Nigeria it was not enough to be a passive viewer. Suddenly we were literally thrust right into thick of a boat regatta. I was swept onto a ceremonious wooden craft that leaked from small crevices and cracks that I tried to cover with my bare toes. But nobody seemed as disturbed as I was.

The boat was crammed with exotic and very beautiful women from Bayelsa State in Southern Nigeria. These beautiful and smiling young women spoke loudly in pigeon English as they prepared for the show. They looked ravishing in their royal-blue head-dresses, silky white tops and beaded necklaces.

As we cast off another wooden boat of severe looking spear-laden warriors started to paddle around ours. They, I was told, were the guardian warriors of the boat from Bayelsa State. It was somewhat of a consolation as one of the young ladies frantically scooped out the water that had leaked into the boat.

We paddled in unison onto the waters as the pounding rays of the late-afternoon sun beat down on us. The pulsing beats of drums edged us on. Periodically the toxic dance movements of a corpulent "queen" at the front of the boat set off the wailing cries of the picturesque Nigerian women, who in unison cried out a song about a lost leader.

I paddled with them, sang and smiled in amazement. Was this scene for real? Boat after boat joined in the fray as the wailing sounds grew louder and louder into a fervent apex.

Apparently the cameras of Nigeria's national broadcaster had zoomed in on the white man on the boat of Bayelsa State. As we made our way onto the shore, a slew of reporters rushed me. It felt strange to be an attraction among all these extraordinary goings-on.