From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines, Going where I list, my own master total and absolute, Listening to others, considering well what they say, Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating, Gently, but with undeniable will divesting myself of the holds that would hold me. 
— Walt Whitman, "Song of the Open Road"

Today marks the official start of our new life of travel!  The unknown road -  no place like it!

Taking extended time-out from your normal life to travel the world on your own terms looking for adventure in normal life, and normal life within adventure. It is about time and how we choose to use it.

I  left my 'good' job after 20 years and decided that we do not live forever.  I consider the  9 - 5 to be more deadly than any desert that I will traverse.  So today Hubby and I fly to Gibralter and then on the ferry to Morocco to start our overland trip to Nigeria.

I'm alive, not only alive and kicking, but alive and kicking butt.  Life is good!

Ignore the naysayers and negative types - don't ever stop dreaming and follow your dreams!

In the beginning was the word, but now the word has come to an end, in all kinds of different ways. Young people have stopped talking. Instead they email and text.

When it comes to national languages, the loss of diversity is already alarming. What matters, however, is that Igbo is already giving way to English in key, highly prestigious fields of discourse – such as in science and academia and in the social domain.

In Nigeria, in particular, the elite is drifting away from its mother tongue. Children are being raised in English with a view to enrolling them in a global aristocracy. This hugely reduces the standing of Igbo, with far-reaching consequences, also at “lower” levels.

So why learn Igbo?

Language is a core aspect of every culture. Without language, there will be no heart-to-heart connection between species of any kind. The Igbo language is a cultural legacy our forefathers transmitted to us through the annals of time and space. This is an identity that we must keep. The day the Igbo language dies is the day the word 'Igbo' will be no more. Many Igbos are working hard to keep this prophetic 'dying day' from coming to pass; and we hope it never comes. This is important because of the spiritual (social) connection between a language and the people who speak it are inseparable. The Igbo language will survive so long as the Igbo people survive and continue to proudly speak and use their language as their means of daily communication. The survival of the Igbo language will depend on the survival of only those Igbo people who are proud of the language and truly speak the language as a core tool for interaction. That is why there is need for the Igbo to promote Igbo.

So for the past two years I have been attempting to learn Igbo. I have been like a language junkie...seeking out anyone and anything who can feed my addiction.

I started with the usual Kedu (Hell0), Dalu/Imeela (thankyou), Biko (Please). Soon though that wasn't enough. My favourite phrase for a while was I bola chi just because I liked the way it rolled off the tongue and no matter it wasn't morning! Of course, it would never do without developing the African accent not easy in the UK.

So my quest continued, I bought CD's, Dictionary and studied short courses, eavesdropped into conversations and read every poster I could. The more I learnt the more I wanted to learn. Eventually reading and writing better than being able to speak and this is where I am now..having reached a plateau my personal goal is to be able to speak reasonably well and be understood before I leave Nigeria! Then at least I will be able to say that I am bilingual and can speak Igbo with pride....but more importantly I will have done my little bit to hold onto more than a language but a culture passed down from father to son; mother to daughter. May be one day the good Lord will allow me to continue in the same tradition...and when someone says 'I na asu Igbo?' I will be able to reply with pride 'Ana m asu Igbo!'

So my hubby was going home! His first homecoming for fifteen years and he was both excited and nervous at the same time! It would have changed for him.

Amongst the Igbo's are strong bonds of kinship and brotherhood as evidenced in the maintenance of cultural groups, town unions and community development associations in distant lands wherever they are. Though Igbo's may be widely travelled, they do have a strong home coming mentality. Many towns where Igbo's stay in Diaspora usually feel homesick during the festive periods of Christmas when they all go home to their various villages to celebrate with family and friends. Some communities observe a mandatory mass return every three years. This is a chance for the people to take stock, get to know each other again and, of course, receive the blessings of their ancestors for the coming year‟s challenges

The village of Nteje in Anambra State is my husband's 'village'. Now don't get me wrong when I say village. An African village is a very different thing to the UK village it is made up of some 10,000 people. That does not include those in Diaspora. Therefore, whilst I am in Nigeria I am under the protective custody of every Igbo person there as is their way. So I should be very safe indeed.

You see in Igbo culture I have not just married my husband but his family and the whole community. I am, therefore, known as 'our wife'. The more I come into contact with indiginous Igbo's the more I come to fully appreciate my husband's upbringing. They say it takes a whole village to raise a child and that is true whether in the homeland or in Diaspora for an African. To think that so many people want only the best for you is difficult to comprehend for a simple Oyibo (white person) like me. I once asked my husband what does it feel like to be surrounded by so much love? His answer; very reassuring and comforting.

Occasionally I get glimpses of this in the way I have been welcomed and accepted into the culture, for all intents and purposes I am now Igbo and Nigerian to boot and known as 'our wife'. I hear the cries of horror from my Oyibo sisters as they automatically think that I will become second class or have to walk 10 steps behind my husband...to put your mind at ease the Igbo's worship their women and treat them with the utmost respect. Wives and mothers play a very important part in the Igbo culture and are not only equal in status but revered. Igbo men are very generous and loving and the family is everything to him. He will pay very close attention to his role within the family and is very hands on. The average age seems to be about 30-35 for an Igbo man to find a bride. He takes the task of finding a bride very seriously indeed and will take his time finding the right person to settle down with. Not surprising then that divorce is rare in Igbo society as once he has married he concentrates on providing for his wife and family and this becomes his raison d'etre.

A girl could do a lot worse than choosing an Igbo man but be prepared to get to grips with the culture and make frequent trips to his homeland.

Before we can get to all that lovely travelling there is the preparing to do....and boy oh boy is there a lot.

Vaccinations alone are an issue. I think we have to have every shot bar one and that including Rabies. Best be safe than sorry though! Hubby isn't too impressed as he's not keen on having shot as he has a needle phobia. Hey ho...he'll thank me for it when he's bitten by a leopard or some wild animal!

On top of that we have to think about sunscreen. I've bought shed loads of Factor 50 and Factor 30 deciding that the Factor 50 should be ok and when I take a tan that Factor 30 is a must for the time we are out there. I've also bought plenty of Deet bug spray to protect us from the nasty mossie's and an additional mossie net to be sure. The tents will have them but I'm not sure what condition they will be in so i'd rather have double protection thank you.

Next on my list is a decent hat...noooo not the type you wear on Blackpool beach but something robust and that will let the air flow through and can be dampend down for added cooling in the harsh desert sun. I have also invested in a scarf that looks like a tube as this will be useful for protecting my head and shoulders from the sun and for when we are in Muslim areas I can cover up out of respect.

Shoes are a big problem. I can't carry shoes for every occasion boohoo. So i've decided to take a pair of walking sandals which are practical but not the nicest looking things. I can then buy things as we travel.

Any clothes that we take need to be easy to wash and dry and minimum iron but also keep me cool during the day. I've decided to take a tracksuit for sleeping in as it's very cold at night and can be frosty in the desert.I think given the severity of the sun it may be wise to take something to cover me when wearing a costume...not least because time has taken it's toll and I am no longer a lithe teenager for jumping about in a scanty bikini on beach days! My excuse is sun protection at all times! The Muslim bathing costume shown here is looking very appealing just now!

It seems sensible to take a mixture of shorts (knee length) to hide the chubby legs and longer ones for the evening to stop the mossie's biting and also if we are in Muslim areas. I plan to buy a lot of local clothes on the way as I am sure they will be cheap and practical.

I will take my Naija national dress though as I love getting the opportunity to wear this and buy more when I hit Ghana...there is a definite elegance and style and you can basically design the outfit yourself, although I need to be more adventurous with this.

Add on to all that a first aid kit, cameras and bits and pieces we will soon exceed our 10kg limit each in the rucksack!

"Mam, why are there so many races in the World and why are we all different colours?”

To which my mother replied, "We are all flowers in God's Garden and he makes them all colours"

From a young age I was fascinated with Africa and anything African. Strange then really that it took so long for me to meet someone of African descent.

My Uncle John first fired the imagination. Talking about the lands that he had travelled to whilst in the Merchant Navy. I used to listen intently imagining all the trees, colour and different sights and sounds...and Oranges. I said I wanted to go to Africa where the Oranges grew!

Little did I realise at the time that my Uncle was, in fact, talking about Nigeria as he worked for many years on the Palm Lines out of Lagos, moving commodities including Palm Oil on the West Coast of Africa for many years and his first boat was Katsina Palm.

Being an avid reader as a child with a high reading age I soaked up all I could on Africa, I knew as much as one could from living in England. Who spoke what language and the different beliefs of all the African tribes. I read biographies of people who visited Africa, missionaries and other intrepid explorers and longed to follow in their footsteps.

At the age of 10 I announced to my mother that we should all up sticks and move to Kenya. Of course, she flatly refused. What on earth do you want to move there for? she asked. So I can own an elephant and stop them becoming extinct and I want to live with the people. My mother dug her heels in and said you can go when you're old enough.

I watched and read all about the Biafran War, the Ethiopian famine, Apartheid, Idi Amin and anything that affected Africa. South Africa was a favourite for a while but I decided I had to boycote Apartheid as it was totally wrong. I questioned why all the time, why where they fighting, why were they starving, why where they being segregated, what is wrong with whites and blacks mixing? I was worried about what was happening to the people and the children and I used to Pray for them every night. I used to ask Jesus to protect them and let them go free and help them. "Mum, why is God allowing this to happen in Africa?" came the inevitable question. My mother exasperated with my questions tried her best to give me the answers I wanted...but it just led to more questions as it all seemed so straight forward to me. She helped me with the sponsored walks and saving milk bottle tops or whatever the latest thing was to raise money for Biafra or some such. Although the day I gave my best beads to Oxfam flummoxed her somewhat. When she questioned me as to what I thought the Biafrans were going to do with beads, I replied indignantly, to make things and sell them. To me as a child it was straight forward, these people didn't need charity they needed help to get back on their feet and support themselves as I saw it and by making things to sell to tourists would allow them to be independent, earn a living and feed their families. Such is the nievity of a young child. Sensing that it wasn't that easy, I later decided to sell all my clothes, toys and belongings at a jumble sale. Mother wasn't impressed at that either but I did raise £7 which I duly sent off for Biafra.

My uncle was home from his trip at some point and when I asked if he was going to Africa where the Oranges grew he said yes. I was an obedient child and usually never pestered for things when told no. However, this was different, he was going to where the Oranges grew. I wanted to go. We went to Immingham Docks to see him off, as he came through the lock gates I shouted up 'can I come to Africa'. I was about 8 at the time. His Captain asked what I had said and he was telling him when the Captain kicked the rope ladder down the side of the ship and said if you can climb that you can come. I was up that rope ladder like a rat up a drainpipe. My mother, distracted by talking to someone turned and just caught hold of my ankle to stop me making the full ascent. I never ever got cross at my mum, it wasn't the done thing, but I was 'damn well cross' with her that day and let her know it. She chastised my uncle for encouraging me and saying you know how much she wants to go. I can't ever recall sulking but I did over that for weeks. In the end my mum said I could go when I was old enough. The same response 'when you are old enough', sigh.

At age 15 I had the opportunity to learn Swahili at school from the Headmaster, who had spent a bit of time in Kenya. There was no question I had to learn it! Kenya and an African language! So I signed up and Mr Robinson taught us Swahili. My party piece was to sing 'one man went to mow' in Swahili.

So when I was 18 first place I headed was Africa! I was 18 in the November and booked to go out on 26th December. I told my mum I'm going on holiday and when I told her where I was going she laughed and said, 'well I guess you are old enough now'. I was in heaven. I couldn't wait. Only it wasn't the Africa I had dreamed of. Two weeks in The Gambia in a hotel being shepherded about by tourist reps wasn't what I had in mind. I broke away from the main group and made my own way linking with the locals etc. It was enough for me to know that I wanted to go back some day, however, studying, work and career got in the way.

After a holiday to the Dominican Republic I had researched my family tree, after a long search I traced my maiden name back to Hispaniola where it appeared that my ancestors were brought over during the Spanish Wars after one landing by the British to Puerta Plata but were eventually fought off but not before they managed to take a few POW's. This would explain my unruly hair in my teens. I am often asked by hairdressers if I have 'black' genes.

It was just before I did my pilgrimage across Spain that I felt the yearning to return and considered my options. I was offered a research project in Botswana and a missionary position to set up HIV/AIDS projects in Kenya but it just wasn't right in someway.

Then out of the blue and through the very same Uncle who had travelled around Nigeria I was introduced to Shane. I never thought much about it but once we met we had so much in common at our first meeting we hardly stopped talking.

Shane was mixed race, his mother was from Hull where he was born and his father from Nigeria. I was born in Grimsby the other side of the River Humber and about the time I moved North to Scotland his father moved the family down to London. Only for us to meet a number of years later in Greenwich, London whilst I was visiting following my other African interest of Egyptian artifacts being displayed at O2.

We became inseparable and spent hours speaking on the telephone...one call was 10 hours long as we talked throughout the night! We talked about growing up in Lincolnshire, Yorkshire, Humberside, travelling across Europe and, of course, Africa. Shane being mixed race in Hull found it difficult being one of the 'few' black families in the area. I never fitted in because I just wasn't like other children in that my horizons were set much higher and I knew what I wanted. We never seemed to have any awkward silences. It was as though we had known each other before and just picked up where we left off and both had a tendency to finish off each others sentences. We even had the same sense of humour. Our upbringing was very similar too and we held the same core values and principles. We both wanted the same things and we both had strong faith.

The Igbo's were used in the Atlantic slave trade. The first time I came across Igbo culture was when in the Dominican Republic I heard the saying 'Igbo go hang themselves'. Being of a curious nature I researched such an odd saying and I found that Igbo's rather than being enslaved would rather kill themselves, and many did so they were set free as they didn't make very good slaves. No surprise to me then as they are inherently proud and not subserviant in nature. So in Hispaniola Haiti and Dominician Republic there are still Igbo communities that settled there. I sometimes like to think that perhaps if I traced my ancestry using DNA that there may be a teeny weeny bit of Igbo in there, and that is why I have this burning desire to go 'home'.

My family call my love of Africa an 'obsession'. I read a book called Negrophilia....apparently people suffering from negrophilia have an inordinate affinity for blacks (as opposed to antipathy towards them) so maybe that's nearer the truth...maybe...just maybe I've been a closet negrophiliac all these years. Is there a cure? Well, I sure as hell hope not, because for the first time in my life I feel like I belong. I feel like I am almost home...and perhaps my trip to Naija is part of that...heading home.

Afterall, they say that we all came out of Africa...perhaps it's time for me to return? Perhaps I've always had that calling.

After my engagement to my husband I started to take a keen interest in Nigeria, in it's history, the language and the people. They are amazing people, if a nation has an abundance of PMA (Positive Mental Attitude) it's the Nigerian's. Yet we only hear about the negatives.

Nigeria famous for her huge population of more than 140 million people and with more than 370 ethnic groups, has the highest population in the whole African continent. The country is made up of three major ethnic groups - the Hausa-Fulani, the Yoruba, and the Igbo - and they represent 70 per cent of the population. Another 10 per cent comprises of several other groups numbering more than 1 million members each, including the Kanuri, Tiv and Ibibio. More than 300 smaller ethnic groups account for the remaining 20 percent of the population.

My husband is from the Igbo Nation so I feel I can talk reasonably knowledgeably about the Igbo and happy to share what I have learnt over the short period of time. Igbo people have a dynamic and fascinating cultural heritage that says a lot about them, with most of the Igbo people being Christians.

Igbo people are industrious, friendly and educated people and not surprisingly they played an important role in Nigerian political development. They are proud to be Igbo. Igbo's embrace egalitarianism in a way I have not seen before, with hospitality being their watchword. The Igbo's have their traditional way of welcoming visitors, which is usually offering kola to guest, even before they made their mission known. When united in a common cause they are a force to be reckoned with. They will move mountains to achieve their goal.

The Igbo's have many cultures, which are further divided into many groups, due to dialects and boundaries among the eastern states in particular.

Nigeria has had a bad press over the years, most recall the Biafra War where the Igbo's in particular were victimized and more recently they think of corruption and trouble, but you know I think Nigeria is one of Africa's best kept secrets.

It is built into our genes. Many centuries ago, our ancestors wandered and hunted the African landscape amongst an overwhelming abundance of wild animals. In each of us is a primal urge to experience Africa for ourselves, even if it is from the safety of a Land Rover and the luxury of private, room-sized tents.

Africa's a big place, so just where do you go? Nigeria, of course!

Are we mad?

We must be...we have made the decision to take at least a year out and travel to Nigeria. I have always wanted to go and see Africa. The West Africa I visited many years ago got under my skin and I always planned to return. Now we have the perfect opportunity and a prolonged visit.

Some of our family and friends were quite concerned when we announced our plans to drive, however, we did our homework and joined an expedition travelling around the West Coast of Africa.

A few years ago hubby and I were idly discussing driving across Africa and both said what a road trip. For me it would be the ultimate trip....driving across a diverse continent and seeing the cultures....a few times we've joked about driving there and a few have warded us off. I spent some time mapping it out for my own curiosity and decided that it was too risky for two travellers alone...then the very next day I heard about a company that arranged Trans Africa expedition from UK to Accra in Ghana just over the border, taking the same route I had already mapped out. No way - this was worth investigating!

I searched their site and immediately emailed them for more information. I then noticed they did a larger trek down to South Africa which went via Abuja, Nigeria. I followed up the email with another asking if it was possible for us to do the Accra to Abuja leg too.

I phoned hubby and within minutes he was, 'Let's do it'! No hesitation. I explained it will be hard, sleeping out under canvas, living out of a rucksack and in an expedition bus, sand, rain, heat, exhaustion, days on the road etc but somehow it didn't restrain us any! It would take approximately 12 weeks! It seemed to be for us and being able to finish in Nigeria was the ultimate destination. We felt justified in using some savings and moving the dates forward to November!

So the decision was made and we started to plan in earnest....mad we may be but my explorer instinct has kicked in...I was born to do this!