Post date: Aug 10, 2014 3:50:22 PM
1 August 1964
I have registered for an eight-week German course in a village south of Stuttgart [Blaubeuren] from 3 Aug 1965. Think I will apply for a Fulbright scholarship to see if they will finance the holiday. They just might if I make it sound like research! If I can get a small job I will have enough saved from PC to keep me there almost a year.
This day one of our teachers has left—he hopes—for India. This man has no money and comes from a very poor village. His village has agreed to send him £100 every six months for his tuition, but he has not yet the money for passage to India. And when he is finished schooling he will have no money to return. But there are many Nigerian students in a similar position, even here in secondary school.
Before I arose from bed some of the junior girls came to take all my dishes for their cooking exam. This is really stupid. They learn to make bad cookies and heavy cakes and terrible tarts for English tea and birthday parties, etc., which they will never again use in their livers. They cook native chop the first few years, then switch to English food. I can’t see why they don’t develop some fancy native food or learn to bake bread.
This country has only three kinds of “big men”. They are doctors, lawyers—encouraged by the colonial gov’t—and politicians. It may be that the politicians were big men before they became politicians, but they certainly became much richer after getting political power. If you see an American car here it either belongs to a white man or to a politician, usually the latter. The regional premier had some gov’t funds left at the end of the year so he bought a Cadillac to go with his Rolls Royce. If he is voted out of office he will, of course, take the car with him.
The other day I looked for a used khaki long-sleeved work shirt in the market. They have a huge used clothing section. These are clothes donated by the old ladies of Leicster and the students at Pomona for the underdeveloped nations, etc. The Nigerian gov’t slaps a heavy duty on them (the money going mostly to the already-rich politicians) and then they are sold at a profit. That shirt would cost me $1.15. You never saw such a collection of clothes! Shirts, pants, dresses, shoes, and a huge assortment of bras. The working people wear their clothes until they are just a few threads—they know no modesty. The most incongruous is to see a Nigerian—any Nigerian, even my Principal—in about two sizes too big. And all the “big men” wear black wool suits—even in the hottest weather—with a vest at times!
The Yoruba wear blue almost exclusively. Only a very little cloth is now made here. Manchester and Madras supply the bulk. The piece I sent home is woven in strips, typical of most of the cloth made in Nigeria.