By Hafsat Abdullah

Beyond the facade of calmness overlaying the landscape and the welcoming ambiance, which ushers one into its location, is the beautiful testimonial of one of Nigeria’s natural wonders, the Gurara Waterfalls.

It is unusually tiresome at work today, I find out I am dissolving and losing something I cherish about myself – my laughter and easy outlook on life. I know what I need because I have often prescribed this to friends and colleagues. Go and see nature and you’d realize that life is beautiful, I will say with a lyrical voice. I plug in my headphone as the bus leaves Minna, the Niger State capital. I slip in and out of sleep while Asa’s I had to run away and hide, set on repeat, accompanies me on the journey.

“Gurara!” I jolt awake and thank the driver. The bus zooms off and the first thing I notice is the signpost announcing the waterfalls. The waterfall, also known as Nigerian Premier Fall, is one of the major tourist destinations in Nigeria. It is located at Km 69 along Minna-Suleja road. Before it was made popular pre-Independence by the Europeans, the waterfalls had been employed by the locals for fishing and rituals. This has however given way to receiving tourists: it is now a resort with a recreation centre and the prospect of a five-star hotel.

A brief visit to the falls and the experience cannot be forgotten in a jiffy. I am required to pay an entrance fee of ₦500, which I learn could have been more if I had come with my car. The barricade is lifted by a man with a welcoming facial expression who comments on my figure. “Slim aunty, no fall for wata o.” I smile and tell him I can swim.

I start the 30 minute-walk with a group of tourists. As we proceed, I realise the place is not as quiet as it had earlier been. I can hear the commanding heaviness of water falling from a very high level. I look around and notice that everyone around me is also fascinated by this awesome sound. There is a mishmash of the cool and warm sensational veil that embroiders one with every step taken closer to the falls.  There is something unavoidable about the sound. Even before I see the falls, I hear it, about four miles, distinct like a battalion of an army marching to war. My heart throbs for peace and excitement as I quicken my pace.

There is a fruitful mango tree, which momentarily houses a group of people dressed in blue polo shirts. We are offered roast corn even before we sign our names on the register.  After signing in, I am introduced to my tour guide. There is a minibar made with red bricks at the entrance and an open hall for small parties. The building is situated at a strategic point, rendering tourists a wholesome perspective of the falls while sitting and relaxing. The tour guide is a patient and interesting man with answers to every question you have about the falls.

The falls is at its best display from April to November, good around December to January, and passable around February and March, due to the Dry season.

The tour guide leads us to a red brick walkway, for a proper view of the waterfalls, which appears as though one is viewing the falls from an equal level, only that the walkway is barricaded a safe distance from the waterfalls. At that moment, I do not remember anything. I only stare and wonder. How can something this huge and exuberant be hidden from the gaze of civilization and its attendant impact? As I watch, I imagine a heavy hand holding a mighty jug, pouring milk over fifty meters away from the ground.

The whiteness of the water is surreal. For once, since I left the house, I am grateful for the sun. As the water touches the base, it tumbles up and produces a big, visible rainbow on the water as it flows downward, into a calm river. I envy the thick bushes on either side of the falls: they remind me of well-fed children, with their greenish lush.

The tour guide leads us to a staircase, which he claims is as old as the waterfalls itself. Only that now, it has been reworked with cement. He points at a shorter route to the end of the falls – a smaller set of rocks buried in water. The rocks sit on each other in a fashion that mimics a stairway. From where I stand, I see how treacherous climbing slippery rocks can be. He says we can try this route if we return during the Dry Season when the water level is low.

As we walk down the stairs, I breathe better when the guide tells me the snakes have all been hunted and taken out for the safety of tourists. However, he promises if I stay long enough, I will find monkeys who come out of hiding to drink water. The water, as I learn, rids itself of whatever impurities and dumps them at the bank of the river for whoever is responsible for cleaning the area. I learn it gets ‘angry’ whenever people throw things at it. I bend over and take a gulp with my hand cupped together, after the similitude of the tour guide.

The river is home to different varieties of fishes: tilapia, catfish, snake fish, and electric fish. Tourists who know how to fish are allowed to cast their hooks. And if you can make a fire, you can grill your catch and enjoy the freshness of the fish. The sands are white and ground, giving the feet a feel of the beach. There are trees and rocks to relax on.

I do not hear the sound of moving vehicles, engines, or machines – only peace, quietness, and security, as I stand opposite the waterfalls now.

There is a signpost warning that swimming is strongly prohibited. Movement is however allowed in the shallow part of the water. The guide explains that the sign will be removed when the water current is low in the Dry Season, then swimming can be allowed. I stow my swimming trunks away and pleasure myself with dipping my feet in the water and collecting beautiful pebbles.

Tourists can only make temporary tents, as there is no accommodation yet. However, the government is working to expand the offerings of the destination. There is a large piece of land enclosed from the falls earmarked for development.

Je’re. That’s what the orange-coloured fruit at the bank of the river is called, in the Gbagyi language. There is a sweet and sour taste to the fruit, like lime-flavored with sugar. I take seed with me and hope it prospers somewhere in my house, a token I can see and remember I was here.

Hafsat k. Abdullah is an award-winning spoken word artist, poet, novelist, model, and performance artist. This article was first published by Four Points Communications in NCDMB’s Local Content Digest magazine.

Ayodele Johnson

Ayodelé is a Lagos-based journalist and the Content and Editorial Coordinator at Meiza. All around the megacity, I am steering diverse lifestyle magazine audiences with ingenious hacks and insights that spur fast, informed decisions in their busy lives.