London: First Impressions

Dr Rebecca Jones, Research Fellow at the University of Birmingham and convener of the African Travel Writing Encounters (ATWE), is waiting at Heathrow’s arrival terminal. She is as happy to see Biola and I as we are to see her — her smile says it all.

Shortly, she hands us a SIM apiece. “This network is good if you need to call home often,” she says.

Then she presents us with two blue plastics, the same dimensions as credit/debit cards with the word ‘Oyster’ in white printed on them. “That’s what you’ll need for the tube and to move around throughout your stay in London,” she says as we pull our luggage towards the train station. “You can use them on the bus too.”

The train we get on is the Picadilly Line, one of many lines plying the London Underground and Overground. Seeing that familiar logo alone thrills me and I ask Dr Jones to let us pose for photos. I mean, it’s my first time on the world-famous tube that I have until this moment only read about and seen in movies (Case in point: Skyfall).

The train leaves the Heathrow station (Terminal 3), winds and growls its way through suburban towns — Osterley, Acton, Hammersmith, Knightsbridge. it’s the tail end of Winter and the landscape stretches for miles with trees bare of foliage.

An automated voice announce at every stop where commuters hop out and in (But mostly in). Perhaps, it’s the stress of pulling two bags with a combined weight of 25kg over a long distance or it is the carryover stress of Lagos, I am unsettled; I do my best to relax, while piling Dr Jones with questions. She explains what the train routes above our heads mean, including showing us where we are and where the train is headed.

While at it, I cast furtive glances around the coach. Some of the commuters hold copies of Metro, others the London Evening Standard, both of them free at the stations. On the latter, there is the picture of Prince William and Princess Kate holidaying in the French Alps; but the lead story is about a parliamentary assistant who quit his role after it was revealed that he had bragged about being a ‘hit-man’ and tweeted offensive words on his handle.

In other news, a senior MP encourages residents to stop beaming anyhow advertising on “Big Ben”, the iconic clock tower by the River Thames. There is a short piece on the nomination of boxing legend Mohammed Ali for honorary knighthood; and another quoting outgoing Mayor of London Boris Johnson apologising to motorists for the inconveniences that they have to endure while the cycle superhighway is being constructed. Of course, there is the piece about whether or not Britain should leave the European Union.

To my surprise, I see news from Lagos — about a recent partnership between the police and vigilante groups under the Justice For All Programme, sponsored by the British Council since 2011 and which has helped to discourage indiscriminate killing of suspected criminals and increased arrests and detention of crime suspects. There is also reference to a sexual assault referral centre, “the first in Nigeria to provide specialist help for victims of rape or other forms of abuse”. How nice!

Those who don’t care for the papers, find something to read on their kindles or mobiles. Everyone is preoccupied in their own world. No-one is starting or joining a conversation with the person seated or standing next to them, as we are wont to do in Lagos, on any issues reported in the media. The only sound within earshot is the tube grinding noisily on the rail tracks and the pre-recorded announcements.

The London — well, the surburbs — I see from my seat is also not the London of my imagination. I expect to see modernist architecture sparkling with the wealth of their owners, like one will see in the highbrow parts of Lagos and Abuja; but what I see instead are endless rows of brick houses, all of them no more than a storey high.

“These are around 100 years old,” Dr Jones says when I make a point of it.

Frankly, the uniformity of the buildings appeals to me. Old they may be, but they are also graceful, their charm accentuated by their longevity. I don’t know how many century-old building in Nigeria still stand like these. After several stops on the rail, the sights don’t change much and I realise that there must be standard building code around here.

Dr Jones says it is similar to what I will see in Central London. “There is a housing shortage though, and the ones on the market are expensive,” she adds.

At Finsbury Park, we hop off the Picadilly and make our way across the platform where we will get on the Victoria Line. Londoners walk briskly past us onto the escalator. The impatient ones scale the steps, a normal practice no doubt. What’s going on here? Lagos is where I know people to be in a hurry.

“This is rush hour and people are just trying to beat the traffic to get home on time,” Dr Jones explains, as we approach the exit gate. “You have to keep right all the time.”

I look at my watch, making sure to keep my balance with the bags. It’s gone past 6pm — it’s certainly rush hour in Lagos too. We all “tap out” with the Oyster cards and make our way to the platform where we will take the Victoria Line. A few minutes later, I feel a blast of cold wind hit my face, a sign that the train is approaching and only seconds away.

It feels good to be here. It really does.