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Weekend Trivia:KAITA(Noun/Verb): A man who single handedly hinder the hope of his country for reason best known to him. "Kaita" can be use in place of words like Jeopardy, Hinder, Sabotage, Disrupt, Antagonist, fool etc.
Example

Noun: IBB is a kaita, so is Ota boy. Verb: Don't kaita what we have been building for 11 yrs in one day." I like that girl, please don't be a Kaita" Or In a Foolish Person's Thought: We are winning 1 - 0, let me kaita this game, so that I can get a red card and my opponent can win.



BODO, Nigeria — Big oil spills are no longer news in this vast, tropical land. The Niger Delta, where the wealth underground is out of all proportion with the poverty on the surface, has endured the equivalent of the Exxon Valdez spill every year for 50 years by some estimates. The oil pours out nearly every week, and some swamps are long since lifeless.


Perhaps no place on earth has been as battered by oil, experts say, leaving residents here astonished at the nonstop attention paid to the gusher half a world away in the Gulf of Mexico. It was only a few weeks ago, they say, that a burst pipe belonging to Royal Dutch Shell in the mangroves was finally shut after flowing for two months: now nothing living moves in a black-and-brown world once teeming with shrimp and crab.

Not far away, there is still black crude on Gio Creek from an April spill, and just across the state line in Akwa Ibom the fishermen curse their oil-blackened nets, doubly useless in a barren sea buffeted by a spill from an offshore Exxon Mobil pipe in May that lasted for weeks.

The oil spews from rusted and aging pipes, unchecked by what analysts say is ineffectual or collusive regulation, and abetted by deficient maintenance and sabotage. In the face of this black tide is an infrequent protest — soldiers guarding an Exxon Mobil site beat women who were demonstrating last month, according to witnesses — but mostly resentful resignation.

Small children swim in the polluted estuary here, fishermen take their skiffs out ever farther — “There’s nothing we can catch here,” said Pius Doron, perched anxiously over his boat — and market women trudge through oily streams. “There is Shell oil on my body,” said Hannah Baage, emerging from Gio Creek with a machete to cut the cassava stalks balanced on her head.

That the Gulf of Mexico disaster has transfixed a country and president they so admire is a matter of wonder for people here, living among the palm-fringed estuaries in conditions as abject as any in Nigeria, according to the United Nations. Though their region contributes nearly 80 percent of the government’s revenue, they have hardly benefited from it; life expectancy is the lowest in Nigeria.

“President Obama is worried about that one,” Claytus Kanyie, a local official, said of the gulf spill, standing among dead mangroves in the soft oily muck outside Bodo. “Nobody is worried about this one. The aquatic life of our people is dying off. There used be shrimp. There are no longer any shrimp.”

In the distance, smoke rose from what Mr. Kanyie and environmental activists said was an illegal refining business run by local oil thieves and protected, they said, by Nigerian security forces. The swamp was deserted and quiet, without even bird song; before the spills, Mr. Kanyie said, women from Bodo earned a living gathering mollusks and shellfish among the mangroves.

With new estimates that as many as 2.5 million gallons of oil could be spilling into the Gulf of Mexico each day, the Niger Delta has suddenly become a cautionary tale for the United States.

As many as 546 million gallons of oil spilled into the Niger Delta over the last five decades, or nearly 11 million gallons a year, a team of experts for the Nigerian government and international and local environmental groups concluded in a 2006 report. By comparison, the Exxon Valdez spill in 1989 dumped an estimated 10.8 million gallons of oil into the waters off Alaska.

So the people here cast a jaundiced, if sympathetic, eye at the spill in the gulf. “We’re sorry for them, but it’s what’s been happening to us for 50 years,” said Emman Mbong, an official in Eket.

The spills here are all the more devastating because this ecologically sensitive wetlands region, the source of 10 percent of American oil imports, has most of Africa’s mangroves and, like the Louisiana coast, has fed the interior for generations with its abundance of fish, shellfish, wildlife and crops.

Local environmentalists have been denouncing the spoliation for years, with little effect. “It’s a dead environment,” said Patrick Naagbanton of the Center for Environment, Human Rights and Development in Port Harcourt, the leading city of the oil region.

Though much here has been destroyed, much remains, with large expanses of vibrant green. Environmentalists say that with intensive restoration, the Niger Delta could again be what it once was.

Nigeria produced more than two million barrels of oil a day last year, and in over 50 years thousands of miles of pipes have been laid through the swamps. Shell, the major player, has operations on thousands of square miles of territory, according to Amnesty International. Aging columns of oil-well valves, known as Christmas trees, pop up improbably in clearings among the palm trees. Oil sometimes shoots out of them, even if the wells are defunct.

“The oil was just shooting up in the air, and it goes up in the sky,” said Amstel M. Gbarakpor, youth president in Kegbara Dere, recalling the spill in April at Gio Creek. “It took them three weeks to secure this well.”

How much of the spillage is due to oil thieves or to sabotage linked to the militant movement active in the Niger Delta, and how much stems from poorly maintained and aging pipes, is a matter of fierce dispute among communities, environmentalists and the oil companies.

Caroline Wittgen, a spokeswoman for Shell in Lagos, said, “We don’t discuss individual spills,” but argued that the “vast majority” were caused by sabotage or theft, with only 2 percent due to equipment failure or human error.

“We do not believe that we behave irresponsibly, but we do operate in a unique environment where security and lawlessness are major problems,” Ms. Wittgen said.

Oil companies also contend that they clean up much of what is lost. A spokesman for Exxon Mobil in Lagos, Nigel A. Cookey-Gam, said that the company’s recent offshore spill leaked only about 8,400 gallons and that “this was effectively cleaned up.”

But many experts and local officials say the companies attribute too much to sabotage, to lessen their culpability. Richard Steiner, a consultant on oil spills, concluded in a 2008 report that historically “the pipeline failure rate in Nigeria is many times that found elsewhere in the world,” and he noted that even Shell acknowledged “almost every year” a spill due to a corroded pipeline.

On the beach at Ibeno, the few fishermen were glum. Far out to sea oil had spilled for weeks from the Exxon Mobil pipe. “We can’t see where to fish; oil is in the sea,” Patrick Okoni said.

“We don’t have an international media to cover us, so nobody cares about it,” said Mr. Mbong, in nearby Eket. “Whatever cry we cry is not heard outside of here.”
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Producer Paul Julius is confident that the tens of thousands of dollars he has spent producing the soap opera “Tomorrow’s Tears” will be recouped, no matter the electricity shortages, lack of investors or grease-palmed government officials hampering his shooting schedule.Fighting to be heard over a steady stream of traffic and actors complaining about the lack of food, money and air conditioning, Mr. Julius explained the plot of his soap, which he hopes to sell to local TV stations. “I changed the subject from the normal stuff: blood, magic, stepmothers, etc.,” he said. “This is going to be about real-life issues.”Mr. Julius is an up-and-coming player in Nigeria’s film and television industry, known as Nollywood, which has grown from its infancy in the 1980s into the one of the world’s biggest movie industries, but is facing some real-life issues of its own.In 2006, nearly 900 movies, almost all straight-to-video, were shot in Nigeria, trailing only India and almost doubling Hollywood’s total for the same year, according to a Unesco report released this month. Currently around 40 movies are shot every month in Lagos, Nigeria’s commercial capital, not counting the dozens of television dramas that are also shot here. The industry generates an estimated $250 million a year, and is popular throughout Africa and immigrant enclaves in Europe and the U.S.But rampant piracy means substantial losses for producers and directors already operating on tight budgets. Understaffed and bribe-ready police means copyright enforcement is minimal. Inadequate roadways inhibit a small distribution network itching to grow. Constant electricity outages stall production schedules. These problems threaten to derail the industry.Nigeria’s messy and often corrupt oil industry drives much of what happens in this country. It is the biggest oil producer in Africa, and as much as 95% of the country’s export earnings come from oil. Nigeria has taken in roughly $400 billion in oil-generated revenue since 1970 but the standard of living for most Nigerians has actually decreased.Nonetheless, the country’s residents have an impressive appetite for movies. The most successful Nollywood movies are often melodramas like “Living in Bondage” and “Domitilla,” filled with adultery, bribery and elements of local mysticism.A comedy, however, may have given Nollywood its best chance at international exposure. “Usuofia in London,” about a Nigerian man who lands in the big city straight from his native village, may be the best-selling Nollywood movie to date, with an estimated 500,000 copies sold. Only a handful of Nigerian movies have made it to international film festivals, such as “The Rivals,” directed by Aquila Njamah, which was shown at the New York International Independent Film and Video Festival in 2007.Most Nigerian movies are produced fast and cheap, shot in a few weeks for $15,000 to $25,000, then roughly edited and handed off to marketers and eventually street-side vendors, or video clubs, as they are known locally. Financiers, usually friends or family members of the producer or director, want to see their investments recouped and care little for artistic exploration or high-quality technical effects.Directors are under pressure to keep each movie on schedule and under budget. Profits, when made, are small. Producers estimate that as much as 70% of their yearly revenue is lost to piracy. “I would say the biggest challenge facing the industry at the moment is lack of structure, and a high level of informality,” said Emeka Mba, the chairman of the National Film and Video Censors Board, the Nigerian movie industry’s main regulatory body.There is no formal distribution network for Nollywood producers. A finished movie in Lagos is burned onto around 15,000 DVDs with no copy protection and released into the market. If it’s a hit, demand swells. Vendors need more copies. But the producers often can’t keep up. So the movie is copied by pirates and thrown back into the market. The producer can only hope he made back his investment in time.“We’ve been crying to the government. If these things are not checked now, Nollywood will go into extinction,” said Cosmas Ndulue, 42, a producer and owner of one of only two indigenous DVD manufacturing companies in Nigeria.Industry officials and government agencies have started paying closer attention to piracy, but so far there hasn’t been much of an effect. A recent police raid on a well-known DVD-copying operation resulted in a brief confrontation between police and piracy-ring leaders. The pirates stood their ground and burned a police truck, then went back to work making knock-off Nollywood copies. The only repercussion for the offenders? A bill for the damage to the police vehicle.As piracy takes a larger and larger chunk of the profits, finding enough money to shoot a movie is becoming even more of a challenge. Chico Ejiro, a producer and director, has been struggling to find financing for his movies. A few years ago, during the shooting of his movie “Sisters on the Run,” he sold his car to keep the production afloat. This year he convinced a local bank to sponsor “100 Days in the Jungle,” a film about abduction and village lore, but it was a flop and Mr. Ejiro says the bank quickly soured on Nollywood.Mr. Julius, despite his production headaches, is optimistic about the future of Nollywood, as are most industry players. While watching two of his actors struggle to finish a scene on a busy Lagos street, Mr. Julius was looking forward to a complicated shoot that would involve a substantial police convoy, hundreds of extras, and foreign actors.“I need someone to play the British prime minister in the big scene we’re shooting this weekend,” Mr. Julius said, eyeing a reporter up and down. “Am I looking at him?”
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