Why he's losing it. Of rebels and GM cornflakes.

Is our Prime Minister spinning off the planet, - or too concerned about spinning on it.

First there was the meticulously spun G8 awayaday or two in Northern Ireland. Still backdrops for a photocall, faux tieless smart casual to show he and all present were people of ( some, unspecified) people . Add to that the local high street being spun up with a clever makeover making a closed shop look like a delicatessen for the supposedly prosperous locals. Then , when he had dealt with global businesses seeking the lowest legal tax regimes ,there was all the posing and posturing about Syria with a dose of moral intoning - or should we say In-Toning ?- about the need to send arms parcels to the forces of the Syrian democrats ( who?) . This despite it being quite clear that he hasn't a hope of getting the idea through Parliament .All the stuff of a strong, square jawed leader we are presumably supposed to think.

Now back to the la la world of greenery and the fashionable planet saving movements. All's well there . Drax power station is beginning to consume its land gobbling 40 train loads of Canadian wood chips a day. Time to turn Prime Ministerial muscle and determination to the question of GM foods. What do we get ? A courageous definately maybe. We should look at it. Maybe do something about it. " Would our dear leader valiantly eat GM food and, potential horrors, feed it to his family?"  Back behind the settee, afraid of Mumsnet and chattering dinner parties, Number 10 can't say. Maybe yes, maybe no. It's easier to arm a band of rebels somewhere else than face that lot . That's our man. That's also why he is not heading for glory in 2015 despite having followed the most financially disastrous government of modern times.

Dave (and William) Not of Arabia,- a word of advice.

Syria. Don't go there. Twiga has been amongst many saying that from the start. We are in good company. Clearly President Obama has believed the same. No doubt he refers to us every day.

The stirrings in Whitehall , especially recent ones, have been disturbingly at variance with this advice. It's all too tempting when hubris is beginning to set in. It was both the actuality and symptom of that state of mind when Blair decided to foresake his whole legacy (that's different,- a lot different,- from what he will be leaving in his will) of reforming the Labour Party, establishing a new party in the true centre of British politics and reforming all the state establishments which so badly needed it in favour of a military adventure in Iraq. OK, he was also mesmerised by the attraction of being seen standing shoulder to shoulder with George Bush at his hands-thrust- in-jeans macho best, but he'd probably have gone Saddam hunting even without that. The vision of emerging as a great war hero as Thatcher did from the Falklands was just too irresistable.

Is the same thing now happening in Downing Street and across the road in William Hague's office even if not universally in all points in between? This week Dave has said that he didn't see the conflict just in religious terms but more broadly as between the regime and a number of rebel groups who were really just seeking more democracy and some of whom were nice enough to help with a few purely humanitarian shipments of arms (only to be used by good people,- promise) to add to the multitudes already there. He is worried at standing and being seen to do nothing while "another Bosnia " develops, but while the atrocities in Syria are as bad or worse, and in this instance on both sides , the two situations are very different.

There was a chance of a successful military intervention in Bosnia because there were clearly identifiable sides, one of which could be deemed "good" and the other "bad". Easy, - just line up with the "good" one , pour in  professional, well organised and well equipped top quality military forces, separate the two warring parties and a visible success,- and some sort of democracy even,- was possible.

Syria is very different. Certainly there are some "good" people on the rebel side but the factions are very diverse and many are far from democracy-driven and , given power, would rule no less ferociously or less anti-western than Assad. Even a coalition between the various factions would be unlikely to hold beyond sitting together for a few minutes.That over, once they started slugging it out there is no knowing in whose hands those generously and well meaningly handed out arms would end up and what they would be used to do. Actually sending in the (British) army to separate the warring factions and protect the desparately suffering non combatants who just want to live in peace would probably only see all the factions and Assad's forces turn, temporarily with an identical purpose, to drive them out. Serious numbers of casualties would be inevitable and a lasting solution even further away.

This one has to be solved in and by the Arab world.That means the Levantine states, Saudi Arabia, the Gulf states and those of the North African coast. Together they have have the added complications of the non-Arab Iran with its own ambitions and the need to find some sort of accomodation with Israel which even the Israelis themselves dont make easy thanks to their penchant of building settlements inside where any eventual viable Palestinain state would be. Outside help with diplomacy and mediation may be needed and appreciated, but only when asked for rather than imposed. While the west continues its eternal meddling and ill judged and largely unsuccessful interventions there is no pressure on the Arab nations to seriously get together and work out their destiny. It's been like that for more than a century. Time for a change and that's where, by standing aside, however ghastly the immediate nightly TV pictures and shrill "we must do something" calls for "action" the west, can push them.

Right now the supply of  humanitarian food and medical supplies to the benighted non combatants who just want the fighting to stop is absolutely essential and justified in anybody's terms. Cameron and Hague's mission should be to deliver that. A pound spent on these supplies is much better value than one spent on bullets. The duo should  not be tempted to ride into town in a thunder of hooves as conquering sheriffs, swagger down the deserted main street, hands ready to draw the six shooters (or even Blair-like thrust into tops of pale washed jeans) to heroically restore law and order. Even in American history not all of those heroics and the rest ended in a glorious sunset with the baddies lying all over the ground. Life just wasn't and isn't like that. Far from it. Many sheriffs had their badges removed posthumously as they lay riddled with bullets generously supplied from all directions by all the town's factions in a rare moment of unity. That isn't a good way to go Dave and William (The new Wild Bill?).

The Lagos Airport Experience. The Latest from our Africa Travel Specialist

The Lagos Airport Experience.

(The names have been changed to protect the innocent / guilty, as the case may be)

I am a fan of Nigeria. I’ve lived there, albeit some years ago, and have visited regularly on business since. Yes, it has a terrible reputation, and most of the stories you have heard about it are true ,– though bear in mind that they do not all happen every single day to every single person. Lagos is big, bad, chaotic, infuriating, overwhelming, noisy and lively,  and of all my West African destinations, this is the one that makes me feel that somewhere deep, deep below the surface there may lurk an African Hong Kong. The energy is there, the desire to do business and get things done is there . If only the city didn’t keep tripping over its shoelaces then maybe, one day, it won’t deserve its reputation.

Anyway, earlier this year I found myself arriving at Lagos airport once again, with two first-time visitors in tow. I had been subjected to a barrage of questions over the preceeding week as to exactly how things would work, what they needed, what they could expect. ‘Don’t worry, it will be fine – Nigeria is actually not bad,’ was pretty much the summary of the response.

Unfortunately I hadn’t reckoned with first impressions, and the desire and ability of the airport officials to ensure that Lagos airport’s reputation is both upheld and justified.

The first offence was a schoolboy error. Coming up through the health check, the three of us were asked for our Yellow Fever vaccination cards. I knew I’d forgotten mine. I’d remembered it at the airport this morning in Europe. An early morning departure from home, I’d put the passport in my bag and accidentally left the inoculation card on the shelf. Not to worry, other than in Congo I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been asked to show it. Turns out one of the Nigeria rookies had made the same mistake. The Port Health officer was delighted.

‘You will be deported!’ he said, his eyes lighting up. ‘This very night, back to your country!’

Bob, who had his card, looked concerned. Charlie, who had been the least keen to come to Nigeria in the first place, seemed to think that being deported didn’t sound like such a bad option, but he wasn’t going to give in without a fight. I just said ‘fine,’ knowing that this was only the start of the negotiation process, and said I would call our agent to let him know we were delayed and would be out shortly.

‘You will not be out shortly,’ said the Port Health man. ‘You are going home!’ and took us off to his desk to note down our flight and passport details. I wasn’t going to hand over my passport, but held it open for him so he could record everything in his battered notebook. Meanwhile the rest of the passengers on the flight were filing past, unchecked, and a couple of other officials arrived to contribute to our process. One opened the game by pulling me aside and saying that we could settle this very easily.

I told him I was going to wait for our agent to arrive, as he had told me he would. ‘Where is your agent?’ asked Port Health man No 2. ‘He is coming just now,’ I replied, and refused to call him again.

 Meanwhile two things happened almost simultaneously. Firstly it emerged that Charlie had disappeared.

‘Where is your friend?’ demanded Port Health No 1. ‘You are 3 people, aren’t you?’ Bob and I had no idea. We were 3, but where the 3^rd one had got to, we did not know. We thought he was with you? The first Port Health man vowed to find him and ran off towards the exit.

About that time, Bob took his phone out of his pocket. It turned out that the device was not correctly locked, and as he pulled it out, the camera was triggered. Including the flash.

‘What are you doing snapping an Officer?’ demanded just about anyone in uniform within a 50 metre radius. A minor scuffle ensued, ending with Bob’s phone being in the hands of some form of airport security man. Tempers flared and an explanation was sought .Bob’s plea that it was an accident was not going down well. All sorts of tut-tutting and ‘can you imagine, snapping officers on duty, what is this man doing?’ were going on between the various officials. In the end, Bob convinced them to at least take a look at the incriminating shot, which showed a blank wall. For some of the assembled company, what the photo was actually of was irrelevant.  The fact remained that Bob had taken a photo in a place where he shouldn’t have. Eventually however not even one of Nigeria’s finest can keep pretending that while regrettable, no real harm had been done, and the phone was returned with the photo deleted. The process was probably helped by the fact that by this point Charlie had been located and was being escorted back to Port Health. From the point of view of the authorities, this was probably an easier one to win.

Charlie wasn’t coming easily. He refused to show his passport and started having a shouting match with the first Port Health official, until I intervened and got them to agree that the official would note down the details while Charlie held his passport open. A pleasant man in a suit arrived and was introduced as the big boss, and started talking with me and Bob. I gave him the full on apology, how could I have forgotten my yellow card, even I, who had previously lived in Nigeria, etc etc, and after a couple of minutes he said that on this occasion, he would let us go, however our details had been noted and if it happened a second time, etc etc. Anyway that, it would appear, was that, and he walked with us towards the door.

‘There is just one problem,’ he said, ‘your driver, he has been detained. It seems he tried to force his way into the airport…’ ‘and he insulted a senior officer’ chipped in Port Health No 1.

Right. Good. I was pretty sure the driver would be able to extricate himself, and said we would wait.

Bob helpfully pointed out that had Charlie and I had our Yellow Fever cards with us, none of this would have happened.

‘Would you recognize the agent?’ I was asked.

It is usually the same guy and even if not, they wear Hi-Vis company jackets so I probably could.

‘In that case, come with us to identify him, so we know his story (of coming to meet you) is true, and he is not just one here to make trouble.’

We re-traced our steps back past Port Health and up the back stairs of Lagos airport. Various unfortunates languished in cells, some with lights, some without, presumably on their way back to where there had come from. One corner was acting as a prayer-room, various other offices were stacked high with files while hard working airport employees sat on plastic chairs, reading the morning’s newspapers. Eventually in a large cupboard-sized space under the stairs we found our driver filling out a form.

‘Is this him?’

‘Yes ,– that’s our man,’ I said.

It wasn’t quite the end of it. My details had to be recorded with those of the driver as some form of guarantor, and eventually we were led out into the sunshine and found our car.

Charlie commented that so far, Lagos was just as bad as he had expected, and seemed almost pleased that he would be able to go home with a good Nigeria horror story all of his own to add to  everyone else’s.

Three days later, we were departing again. Nigeria has ambitions to become some kind of aviation hub, and the casual visitor to Lagos airport dropping in on a weekday evening could be led to believe that this ambition is being realized. Between about 9 and 10 pm, a dozen or so international flights are scheduled – the locals to Douala, Abidjan, Freetown, the rest of Africa; Nairobi, Addis, Johannesburg, Cairo, and the long hauls to London, Paris, Frankfurt, Istanbul, Dubai, Houston and Atlanta.

The place is heaving. It seems the world really does connect at Lagos. You can even check in online.

The one problem with the world connecting at Lagos is that there are only 2 x-ray machines. The queue snakes back, well out into the terminal. Tempers are fraying, small children are crying and everyone else feels like doing the same. The aircon doesn’t work and the few fans available are dedicated to keeping the immigration officers cool. It takes a sweaty hour and 15 to get to the x-ray machine itself.

The other side of that is immigration. I have a multi-entry visa in my passport and the officer sees an opportunity. Despite the fact that both the entry and exit stamps from my previous visit are clearly visible on the page facing the visa, he wants to be sure that I somehow haven’t been staying in Nigeria since I entered the first time, 3 months previously, as I am only allowed to stay for up to 30 days per visit. A supervisor is called, and to his credit advises the man handling my passport that here is one case that he will just have to drop. At the next desk, immediately under a ‘Lagos Airport Fights Corruption’ poster, complete with whistle-blower hotline numbers to call, the Immigration officer returns a passport unstamped to a Nigerian passenger, who in turn tucks a 1,000 niara note into it and hands it back across the desk. I’m half tempted to call the hotline, but even I, the Nigeria optimist, have had a little too much of Lagos Airport recently to risk another few hours there tonight assisting the investigation.