It will be a harsh tale about the most dangerous country on our route. Nigeria is known for kidnappings, murders, ritual use of human body parts and an overall security situation that is completely wild and hopeless.

I promise it will end happily though. Very happy even.

But I must warn you that what follows is very rough reading.

Two young men stand facing each other, shirtless. They move slowly around in circles, as if in a slow-motion dance. One looks significantly more tired than the other. Around them stands a group of young men. They watch in silence. And then – all of a sudden – one man slams his bare fist into the other’s face.

I see it happen in a fleeting glimpse as I cycle past. I immediately look away. Afraid that the attention will shift to my presence. With my mind filled with uneasy thoughts, I continue down the dirt road, between the small houses. I have only been in Nigeria for a few hours. I have reached the big city of Lagos and wanted to take a shortcut on smaller roads to avoid the heavy traffic and am immediately confronted with the harsh reality. A fist fight in the street. I have no idea whether they were fighting for money or for honor. But regardless, it was a disturbing experience, as an introduction to the big city, and to the country.

That same evening, sitting safely in my hotel room, I read news on the Nigerian online newspaper. 10 people have been arrested today. They have been caught selling body parts from people they have killed. The body parts have been sold to “traditional healers” who use them for “ritual purposes”. Prices are listed for different body parts. Fresh body parts are more expensive than old body parts dug up in the cemetery. A fresh head costs about 500 kr.

Welcome to Nigeria.

My brain hurts.

I've cycled straight to Lagos to get my head under control, which is hurting more and more. My brain feels swollen. My appetite has disappeared. My mood is at rock bottom. I'm a little scared of what's wrong. When I search online, the symptoms point to a possible brain tumour. Suddenly I feel very alone.

Fortunately, I have contact with the Danish consulate and some business people in Lagos, who are a huge support and they wrap me in care and check up on me.

I cross all my plans off my calendar and go to the hospital the next morning. Here I am checked by the doctor and have a CT scan of my brain done. The doctor can see an infection in my ear. I don't really believe that's what's causing such big problems. But he says he sees it often because the air is so polluted, and at the same time it's so hot and humid. Lagos is one of the most polluted places in the world. And as the doctor says, there's feces and bodies floating around in the rivers in the middle of the city.

Later that evening I get a message that the CT scan does not show any immediate problems. At the same time, I see on social media that Emil Erichsen has just interrupted his circumnavigation and has returned home to Denmark to have surgery for the same problem as me.

Rest and vitamins

I meet some true angels who put me up in a luxury hotel so I can recover, eat nutritious food and relax. I will always remember and appreciate that help. I really needed care at that time. Especially because the insurance company's crisis response completely failed me. So much so that I have filed a complaint about the process.

Rest, better diet, vitamins and care help as it should and within 3-4 days I can feel an improvement. I consult the doctor again and he can see the infection has subsided, but says I will be able to feel it for a long time yet. But there is nothing in the brain to be worried about.

Together we decide that it is safe for me to continue cycling.

Lagos Angels

Even though I didn't get to do any of the things I wanted to do in Lagos, I still had a fantastic few days while I was recovering. I met several times with Jette, the Consul General of Denmark, who is a fantastic woman. I also met Sanne, who works at the consulate and has lived and worked in Africa for the past 40 years. It was really interesting conversations with the two of them, about Nigeria and Africa.

I also had the great pleasure of meeting Arla, who is present in Nigeria. In addition to being fantastically inspiring people, they told us about how they are collaborating with the government to build up milk production in northern Nigeria. Unlike pure emergency aid, this project has a clear commercial aim, which in my eyes immediately makes it much more sustainable for Nigeria, because you activate other industries and together you build a meaningful business. That is, through the purpose of being able to make money, you pass on knowledge to locals. Just as you activate other industries that can supply spare parts, feed, etc., etc., for the operation of the farm.

It is a truly exciting project that I very much hope can help chart the direction for a new way for Denmark to be present in Africa.

Off on the bike – into reality

Marie has chosen to stay at home with her family in Denmark a little longer, so we agree to meet in Yaounde, Cameroon instead. This means I will be cycling alone through Nigeria.

First day on the bike, out of Lagos, the mood is high. Many people greet, wave and smile. It feels like being in a bike race where everyone is cheering me on. When I stop and eat, people come up and ask about me. Everyone says welcome. Many want to take selfies with me. I clearly feel a huge joy that I am visiting their country.

I'm about to jump on one of the misconceptions that I've been very careful to avoid from the start: Even though many people are nice, it doesn't mean that bad things don't happen.

That same evening I open the newspaper and read two stories:

On Friday, seven men with AK47 rifles stepped onto the road and shot around them. They killed one person and abducted seven random people. Later, they released two hostages, but kept the remaining five to demand ransom. Now, a week later, the police are still looking for them.

I'm staying at a hotel less than 50km from where it happened. I had planned to cycle on the road it happened on tomorrow.

The second article is about the murder of a young girl. Three men have been arrested in the case. It is a 27-year-old mastermind who ordered the kidnapping of the girl, and two young men, 22 and 23, who were supposed to carry out the kidnapping itself. But the girl resisted, and the situation unfortunately ended with the kidnappers strangling her. It happened about 100km from where I am sitting reading the story.

Suddenly I feel the ground burning beneath me.

I study the map and my route again. I consider alternative options. I think through the background to kidnappings in the area. I end up adjusting the route through Enugu state a little, to some smaller roads.

It would take a huge amount of bad luck for me to end up in a random kidnapping on a country road, which is the most likely way I could get caught. The other possibility is that someone who is already involved in a kidnapping network spots me, follows me, or perhaps discovers where I am staying at a hotel, after which they go after me specifically. But then they have to think and act quickly, because I move around quite a bit every day.

Most kidnappings are exquisite targets, where the capture is planned. That is, time is spent before it happens. And that time works for me. Because before they get it planned, I'm gone again.

In other words: Yes – it is dangerous here in Nigeria. But my assessment is that the risk of me getting into trouble is very, very small.

Specifically about kidnapping

Even while planning the trip back home in Denmark, we were aware of the risks of traveling in Nigeria. But through hours of research, I have gained a much more nuanced picture of how the kidnappings happen and why.

There are more than 2,000 kidnappings in Nigeria each year, with a total number of victims of around 6,000. The kidnappings are almost exclusively for the purpose of demanding ransom. The northern states account for the vast majority of cases, primarily driven by the Islamist terrorist group Boko Haram. There are also a number of kidnappings in the southern states, where expats are primarily targeted, as the kidnappers expect large ransoms.

In the intermediate states, kidnappings also occur, but to a much lesser extent. Here, it is primarily random attacks on the highways, where victims are taken out of their cars, as well as planned kidnappings, targeting well-off locals.

Nigeria is 924,000 square meters and has 225 million inhabitants. This means that the area is more than 20 times larger than Denmark, and the population is almost 40 times larger.

So if we boil it down to Danish conditions, the 2,000 kidnappings correspond to approximately 50 kidnapping cases annually in Denmark, with 150 abductees.

I can't find any reports of kidnappings of tourists. But as a wise man says: “That's because there are no tourists in Nigeria!” And yet. Because I am in contact with other cyclists and overlanders who travel through the country. I am fully aware that just because I know 20 travelers who have not been kidnapped, that is not a basis for statistics. But I have spoken to several of them about how they experienced the security situation. And that reassured me.

In addition to more specific research of the country, which the Ministry of Foreign Affairs advises against traveling to, I take a few different precautions. I don't talk to people about where exactly I'm going, so as not to make it possible to plan a kidnapping. The exception to this is when I talk to the police at the many checkpoints, where I sometimes discuss my route with them to find out if they consider it safe. All the times I've talked to the police, they have considered my route to be safe. I cycle in my tattered clothes, I don't wear a watch, I hide my electronics so that I don't immediately radiate money. But I'm also fully aware that no matter how much I look like a vagabond, the white man is a rich man, in everyone's eyes. Which is also an indisputable truth.

And I don't drive with headphones, so I'm always very aware of what's happening around me.

Last but not least, I had a thorough conversation with an acquaintance who works professionally with hostage-taking, and through him I gained a deeper insight into what happens if something goes wrong, and what precautions I can take in that direction.

The newspaper vs reality

Through the work I had done to lay out a route that goes through some of the most peaceful areas, I felt relatively safe. But I must admit that I was still quite affected by the extremely harsh reality in Nigeria.

One evening I read in the newspaper that a 3-year-old boy had been abducted and had his penis cut off because it was to be used in a ritual. The two abductors had visited a “Ritualist” because they wanted protection from “all weapons and all ammunition.” The ritual also included the rape of a 13-year-old girl. I started crying when I read it in the newspaper.

It was a crazy ambivalent feeling to be in the country. Every day, when I sat on my bike, I received the warmest welcomes everywhere. People paid for meals, sodas, mangoes. People shook my hand and their innocent eyes shone with warmth and friendliness as they welcomed me to their country.

But every afternoon I locked myself in a hotel, separated from hospitality by a locked door. Here, alone in a wretched hotel room, I opened the newspaper every evening to orient myself. And then it was a completely different picture of Nigeria that I was presented with. Raw violence, deceit, chaos and corruption. Much of it happened all too close to me.

I rode a roller coaster of emotions, torn between hospitality and fear that something would happen to me.

If I had cycled through the country without opening a newspaper, without doing any research beforehand, without understanding the security situation, it would have been a much better experience. Instead, I would have clear memories of a people who are proud to be Nigerians, a people who are happy, welcoming, hospitable.

It's all getting a little too close.

Enugu, about halfway through the country, was the worst of the 8 states I cycled through.

Here I read one evening that 2 policemen had been shot at a checkpoint, 6km from where I was sitting. The next day I had to cycle through that checkpoint! I made a small detour. A total of 7 policemen had been shot in the past week in Enugu.

The next morning I quickly cycled out of town. Once out in the countryside I felt safer. A herd of cows came walking towards me. They filled the entire road, so I pulled over to the side and stopped. I let them pass. The first two cattle drivers didn’t even look at me when I greeted them. The two in the back carried rifles over their shoulders. My stomach churned. I started my bike while saying good morning to the men. One of them stared at me. Without saying anything, without taking his eyes off me, he made a hand gesture that meant “where are you going?” I replied “Nsukka”. He made the same hand gesture again, maintaining his unfriendly gaze. I replied again, pedaled my bike and turned my back on them. My heart was beating a little faster than usual. Here in Enugu, one of the big problems is conflicts between people who drive their cows around the countryside, and farmers who are tired of the cows eating their crops. This often leads to violent conflicts and killings. Deep down I knew that I was not part of that conflict, but I also knew that the cattle drivers have a reputation for being criminals in general and they have carried out kidnappings in the past.

Enugu was a wild experience. Not only because of the higher crime rate here, compared to the other states I was going through. But also because the people were very intense. There is a lot of temper that runs wild. People are extremely loud. Tendency to be aggressive. Everyone is nice enough to me, but the atmosphere is wild. Not pleasant and welcoming, but confrontational. Not badly confrontational, but confrontational nonetheless.

For example, I don't dare take pictures here because I'm afraid people will get angry about it. And I don't want to put myself in a bad situation that's hard to get out of.

In comparison, I saw two people get out of their cars and shout at each other in traffic. One had blocked the other's way. Within 30 seconds, there was a mass brawl between 20 young men, who were chasing each other around between the cars.

The shoulders fall into place

When I cycled into Benue state, I could feel that people were more relaxed and my own shoulders automatically dropped as well.

There were still a lot of checkpoints. I cycle through 20-30 of them a day. There are several different forces that man checkpoints. It can be local police, federal police, the military, local security guards or the migration authorities. Most of the time I can just smile, wave and drive straight through. I was stopped a few times, but only 2-3 times have I been asked for money, which I could easily say no to. But corruption at checkpoints is huge in Nigeria. It is difficult to find an exact figure, but many, many millions are paid at checkpoints to the police. I see it all day long, small bills being handed out of the car window to the officers. It is normal practice. Fortunately, there has recently been a case where some police officers were fired after a tourist filmed an extortion and put it on Youtube. Several times I could sense that superiors in the background of a checkpoint ordered junior officers not to ask me for money.

But usually the guards stop me just because they want to chat and hear what a rare fish I am. Or take a selfie with me.

The joy is overshadowed

There are so many great stories I would like to tell from Nigeria.

I've had I don't know how many selfies taken with young people who stop me on the street. A couple of times I had someone ride after me on a motorbike and say: "You didn't stop when I called you. But can I take a selfie with you?" And of course everyone can. It's funny to think that I must have a trail of selfies with locals on social media.

I also love the way people greet me. First, it's usually a handshake that has several "settings" and ends with a little kiss. At the same time, they ask "How are you sir? How is the day? How is work? How is the weather? How is your family?".

And I would like to tell you about the different tribes I have met, who can be distinguished from each other by the different cuts they have made on their faces as children, which tell you which clan they belong to.

At the same time, there is also so much I would have liked to have experienced, things I would have seen and done.

But the security situation overshadowed the joy of being here. And that is the country's problem, also in a larger context.

They have difficulty attracting investment due to security. Furthermore, corruption is huge and just as much a hindrance to sensible development and foreign investment.

It is clear that the large oil production that the country has been responsible for for many, many years has brought great wealth into the country. But it is equally clear that this wealth has not benefited ordinary people at all.

The country is full of deeply corrupt and bad leaders. This prevents education, upskilling of the workforce, development of a better business foundation, etc., etc.

Once again, we must ask ourselves in the West why we continue to support such a rotten system that enriches such bad leaders and keeps so many people in poverty? The answer is simple: Because that is how we ourselves make the most money in Africa.

The hidden killer

The last days in Nigeria, I cycle through the state of Taraba. I approach the beautiful mountains in the east. There are fewer people. People live in small huts in the countryside. The farms are neatly laid out, with well-tended fields. The cattle drivers greet me. The atmosphere is good.

I'm going to climb about 1,000 meters in altitude, on a mediocre road. It's not unusual for me, and I don't put anything special into it. But it's quickly going to be a completely surreal day.

First I come across a truck with two rear tires slashed. The driver takes it very calmly and says he has sent his partner to buy new tires.

2 bends further up the mountain, a young military man on a motorcycle rides up next to me and asks if I can help him. He has crashed his motorcycle and has deep wounds on his ankle and elbow, as well as a lot of abrasions all over his side. We stop and I find the first aid kit. I clean his wound and bandage him, while I tell him to go to the hospital and get it done properly. He says yes – but I can tell from his face that he is not coming to the hospital. I give him my last remedies to clean and care for the wound, as well as antibiotic cream. He is very grateful. He says he will wait for me at the checkpoint at the top.

A few more bends further up I see a white spot on the mountainside. As I get a little closer I can see it is a minibus lying in some bushes. I stop and take a picture. As I stand there, reality slowly dawns on me. I can see people carrying things from the bus onto the road. It must have just happened. The bus has overturned 10m down the road. I hurry to drive under the bus, where a group of people are standing. I ask what has happened. A woman tells me that they had an accident, 3 people have died. Several have been injured, one of whom is seriously injured and has broken bones. I ask if I can help, but they say they have sent someone for an ambulance. At the same time another minibus arrives and I ask if he can take some of the injured with him. He says they will take care of it. I don't want to stand there and stare at other people's misfortune, so when I get confirmation again that they don't need help, I drive on. As I cycle away, I pass the three dead bodies, as well as the badly injured woman lying close to the road. I get a huge lump in my throat and am deeply affected.

When I reach the place where the bus has overturned, several injured women are sitting on the side of the road. Some men are still carrying large bags from the wreckage up the slope.

I stop and ask if everyone is okay and say I'm sorry for what happened. They say they're waiting for a car to take them away.

A few more bends further on, I can't believe my eyes when I see another crashed minibus. It's lying in the middle of the road, upside down. All the windows are broken and the roof is crushed. In the shade under a tree, about 15 women are sitting. I ask if everyone is okay, and breathe a sigh of relief when they say they are. But they're waiting for someone to send them a new car so they can get out of there.

As I cycle the last stretch to the top, my head is buzzing with the accidents. How tragic it is to experience. At the same time, I must also admit that I have slowly become accustomed to the reality of West Africa. But now, with this shock, I see again what is actually happening before my eyes, every day on the roads. Everything that can move on the road is consistently overloaded. People sit on the roof, on the radiator, on the back with their feet in the trunk of the cars. The buses are packed with people, while the trunk is wide open, and the luggage is lashed tightly, one and a half meters behind the body. People who ride motorcycles often sit on the tank, because the back seat is completely packed with things. Or you sit 3-4 people on a motorcycle. Often with the fourth man across the tank. I also see one or two goats tied around the driver's belly. Chickens hanging from the handlebars.

At the same time, the roads are often very damaged and people are driving slalom between holes and large rocks. The traffic rules are completely out of play. The drivers are incredibly bad at assessing consequences, and dangerous situations arise again and again because everyone only looks straight ahead and never brakes.

But the miserable conditions and lack of skills and training of drivers are not the worst. I find it truly tragic to see so little respect for one's own and others' lives and mobility. It's absolutely crazy to experience that people simply consider it a natural part of life that the traffic is so catastrophic.

There is a lot of talk about kidnappings in Nigeria, but the reality is that traffic poses a much greater risk.

As I was almost to the top of the mountain, a red Toyota Corolla came tumbling past me. The trunk was open. Inside the trunk were two of the injured, elderly women from the first bus accident. A young man was squatting on the bumper, holding onto the trunk lid as he swayed dangerously back and forth as the car dodged potholes in the road.

At the checkpoint at the top, the young military man was indeed waiting for me. He was still very grateful and gave me a box of tea from the local tea plantation on the other side of the road. His mother came running across the road to greet me. It was very touching. He was a really good and caring guy, but even so, or maybe that's why, I couldn't help but think that with my last first aid kit in a bag on the handlebars, he had driven straight past all the women who needed help without stopping.

The meeting with Sali

In the afternoon I reached the small village of Maidan. Here I was supposed to meet Sali, who another cyclist had put me in touch with.

Sali got me into my own room, heated water so I could take a hot bath, and fed me. We spent the afternoon with his friends, who had come to watch the Premier League final on the only television in town. Suddenly I was in a cozy community with the sweetest people.

After the match we talked politics and Nigeria's situation. And they were very curious about Denmark.

I was tired and full of experiences, so when it was almost 9pm I retired to sleep. Before I went to bed, Sali invited me to join the village's morning gathering. It required getting up at 5am to be at the community center by 5:30pm. But of course I agreed.

Community strength

As we walked up to the community center in the first faint morning light, we heard singing through the open door. About 30-40 of the village residents were already gathered inside. They stood in a circle, holding hands, while singing loudly and clearly. We joined the circle. The song was incredibly beautiful. I sensed that it was a praise song, because I could recognize a few phrases from the Muslim greetings I know. The song was not like the one we know at home, where everyone sings in chorus. It was polyphonic. Three of the women sang different leading voices. The rest sang several different underlying voices. It was so beautiful that I already had a lump in my throat.

When the song ended, we sat on chairs along the walls. Blankets were spread out on the floor in the middle and some of the children, as well as some of the mothers, sat there. Some of the children chattered a little, but no one hushed them up. They were allowed to be who they were. Children.

The village headman began to speak. Sali had told me that there would be a “discussion” where you could say something that the village needed to hear. A question, or a thought, or an idea.

They translated for me so I could understand that the mayor welcomed me and told me that they were happy for my visit. Formal but heartfelt words were used and I was again touched by the great hospitality.

When he fell silent, I was invited to speak to the villagers. But I must admit that the lump in my throat would not go away. I had tears in my eyes and was so moved by the completely unexpected strong sense of unity and community I encountered here. I knew everything I wanted to say, but couldn't get it past the lump in my throat, so it turned into a very moving and very short thank you.

During the rest of the discussion, where several different people had something to say, there was complete silence and everyone listened to what was being said. 80 people were gathered, all with respect for the person who was speaking. No one responded or interrupted. One person burped loudly a couple of times, but it was certainly not an insult, just some air that needed to be let out.

Sali took the floor and I could sense he was starting to tell me about myself. He mentioned countries and cities I had been to. So even though I didn't understand what he was saying in Pular, I knew what the gist was. People found it exciting and moved forward in their chairs. There were smiles and nods and small outbursts that lifted the mood.

After Sali fell silent, I asked if I could speak again and tell her why I was so moved.

In the Western world, we are becoming more and more individualized. We have to perform individually and we are measured and weighed on that. At the same time, it has been a long time since Marie went home to Denmark and I have been very alone. Just as the security situation in Nigeria has affected me a lot. So when I entered such a beautiful room this morning, with such a strong community, I was completely blown away. It immediately gave me thoughts about my own life. About what is important and about how we as people are not only dependent on each other, but also strengthen each other. The most beautiful things in life happen when we are together with others.

We all got up. The village headman prayed for us all and specifically for me, that I may have a safe journey and many more good experiences, with many other people on my way.

Then I was invited to pray. Luckily they said I could do it in Danish, so I did. And then we sang again. Just as beautifully as before.

Imagine if every day in Denmark started so beautifully.

Outside the community center, almost all the residents came over and shook my hand, looked me in the eye kindly and said: “You are welcome!”.

I couldn't imagine a more beautiful end to the journey through Nigeria.

Sali said to me:

“Only by showing our love to other people do we have a justification for ourselves.”

But he is also a trained theologian, as it turned out later. I still took his words to heart as my best memory of Nigeria.