On a quiet Sunday morning, as I was going for a walk, a stranger approached me and said, “Good morning, sir.” He then asked, “I see you on walks around the estate, with a camera. Are you into architecture?” I told him the reality is more prosaic: “I’m a birdwatching and photography hobbyist.” His reaction was one of disbelief, disgust, or pleasant surprise—I couldn’t tell. “Isn’t that what ‘Oyinbo people’ do?” he blurted out. Seven years after the COVID-19 pandemic forced me into a more intimate conversation with the space my species occupies on this planet, I realized I had strayed into a culturally dubious territory.
Cultural Perceptions of Birds in Nigeria
A few months earlier, on a larger birdwatching excursion outside urban Lagos, our group walked by a gathering of villagers. Pleasantries were casually exchanged, and we moved on to the faint whisper of a stray comment. One of the team we had just passed was overheard telling another that “àwọn ègbè ẹ l’ẹyẹ nìyẹn,” loosely translated as “those are members of the bird group.” As we moved through the thickets, the import of this statement exercised members of the team. On the surface, there was nothing wrong, but for many Nigerians, birds (and bats) are shape-shifting elementals—often witches on their way to meetings of their covens—or even more unsavory entities. Being called members of the “bird group” was seen as maleficent, both as a description and as a possible reflection of our societal standing.
Environmental Consequences of Bird Aversion
This cultural aversion extends to trees, which are often cut down because they harbor birds, especially nocturnal raptors with eerie calls. The local attitude is to bring down all vegetation that harbors birds. This conflicts with the environmental benefits of trees, such as inhaling carbon dioxide, exhaling oxygen, providing shade, and preventing soil erosion and flooding. The birdwatcher struggles to win arguments for preserving wildlife habitats in Nigeria. The role of despoiled wetlands in Lagos State’s flood management underscores these failed arguments. Wetlands act like natural sponges, storing excess water and releasing it gradually to reduce flood height and speed. Instead, Nigeria paves over wetlands and relies on environmental sanitation days to clear debris and clogged sewers.
The Importance of Wetlands and Birdwatching
Wetlands are among the most important ecosystems for nature conservation, supporting an extraordinary diversity of life. Although they cover only a small fraction of the Earth’s land surface, they provide habitat for a disproportionately large number of species. By destroying wetlands, we also constrain space for birdwatching. A familiar Nigerian question is: “Who has birdwatching helped?” This provokes another query: “What would urban planners in Nigeria do with the 843 acres (341 hectares) of Central Park in New York City?” Most would likely create a concrete refuge for real estate developers. Yet Central Park is a birdwatcher’s paradise, a celebrated stopover for migrating birds. Few Nigerians visiting New York stop at Central Park to experience its avifauna.
Active Threats to Birdwatchers
Nigeria does not look favorably on birdwatchers. This manifests passively in cultural stigma, and actively in threats from miscreants who demand ground rent for using birdwatching gear in their yards, and security personnel who cite possible security breaches. Toting cameras, lenses, and binoculars is almost as taboo as addressing older persons by their first names. A couple of years back, an older, more experienced birdwatcher told me, “If the mosquitoes bite, then you are in the right spot.” Biting insects are a birdwatcher’s less pleasant nightmares, but in Nigeria, the mosquitoes are figuratively bigger and their bite more savage.
