I once desired a vacation to Barcelona. The city of my second favourite team, Barcelona Football Club, after Arsenal. That dream is yet to come to pass. But recently, I experienced a better dream. Better, because it was an all-expensive paid trip that cost me nothing. It was a pre-my deputy corps marshal appointment package.
All thanks to Ifeoma, my wife. And my sons who chose to surprise a vacation dreamer like me. The family tag team arrangement suited me too well at a time when in the teasing found in a video shared by my friend, Adeyinka, I was suffering from a disease that is rampant among people who travel abroad
The disease, according to the video, is called SMCD-severe money conversion syndrome – a congenital abnormality that makes one convert prices to their local currency. That disease is common when our local currency is weak compared to the dollar or pound sterling.
Meanwhile, our destination was Mallorca, the home of Real Mallorca or RCD Mallorca Football Club, a professional football club based in Palma on the Island of Mallorca in the Balearic Island. Mallorca Football Club may not rank in the same class as my darling Barcelona.
However, this club, for football followers, was once among the big boys; they had their peak in the late 1990s and early 2000s, during which they reached a best-ever third place in La Liga in 1999 and 2001 while they won the Copa del Roy in 2003 following final defeats in 1991, 1998 and 2024.
They also won the 1998 Supercopa de Espana and reached the 1999 UEFA Cup Winners’ Cup final. The club was founded in March 1916 and has a stadium with capacity of about 26020. It is nicknamed, Los Pirates (The Pirates); Los Bermellones (The Vermilions). The club is proudly occupying the fifth position in the La Liga 2024-25 season with the likes of Villarreal and Osasuna trailing behind.
The trip to be candid was my first vacation ever. In my 28 years serving our great fatherland, I have had privileges to travel for courses, workshops, and visits but never had a real vacation. This trip was the first and I look forward to others. Maybe to Barcelona. To Paris. Toronto. Atlanta, Nairobi Kenya, and Kigala among others.
Sadly, the trip was brief but eventful. It was four nights of serenity. Peace. Fun and bonding with my family. Plenty to eat and drink. An opportunity to mingle with all races; blacks, white and European, Asians, and Spanish citizens.
The trip was no doubt packaged by heaven as protest broke as soon as we left following grouses by natives over the effect of tourism on housing cost for natives. They took to the streets of other Spanish cities demonstrating against their reliance on tourism from Barcelona to Mallorca sporting signs like ‘’tourist go home’’.
Candidly, for the first time in a long while, I felt like never returning. I felt like spending more time on the island. Visit more places. Meet more people and make new friends away from my religious attachment to my lovely Nigerian friends, colleagues, and pals. It could have been my version of japa, a Nigerian slang that has gained widespread usage among Nigerian youths seeking for greener pastures outside the shores of Nigeria.
Despite these little hiccups against tourists, I am still dreaming of Barcelona. Malaga. Or Valencia. On my first historic and memorable visit, my attraction was not the bonding. Or the serenity. Not the food and drinks. Neither the smoothness of the two hours’ flight. It was neither the beaches that adorn the tourist site.
But the road. Yes, the road. Narrow but not naked. The signage was a far cry from what we have back home according to a report by the Federal Road Maintenance Agency which often gives thumbs up to roads in Abuja, the Federal Capital Territory, Lagos, Akwa Ibom, especially Uyo among the few.
These select few, it says, meet standards and this has been my focus for more than once. When I wrote on a piece I captioned, NAKED ROAD, I noted that road signs are highway pictures provided to assist pedestrians and road users in the safe usage of the highway.
They are basically placed at the roadside to impart information to road users on traffic regulations, special hazards and other road conditions. You should not only be familiar with the individual signs; you should recognise the special shapes and colours because the signs are classified and coded according to functions and retro-reflectivity.
I then dwelt on what is retro-reflectivity? It is the return of light incident to the source in the direction it came. Retro-reflectivity is the basic quality requirement of highway appurtenances. Retro-reflectivity increases road safety. If some minimum reflectivity is not maintained, the signs, delineations or markings will not accomplish the job they are intended to perform.
To authenticate my position, I cited the position of FERMA in a FERMA publication, which noted that, ’’Our signs are yet to be of international standard. Except for roads in some parts of Abuja and Lagos, our highways are yearning for United Nations international standard signs and markings both in shape, colours, and above all in retro-reflectivity.
In Mallorca, driver behaviour was top notch; responsible driving, driving by approved speed limit, belted and buckled as well as proper lane discipline without hopping from lane to lane or driving against traffic popularly known as one-way driving even when cops or traffic police were near absent on the road.
There were no potholes. No vandalised infrastructure. No rickety vehicles. No obstructions. No abandoned vehicles. No learner driver disregarding rules put in place for their safety; just compliance by all road users including pedestrians. Zebra was not questioned like we do back home. No VIPs disregarding safety of all. No blaring sirens. No happy trigger wielding security operatives. Just sane humans obeying rules for the good and safety of everyone.
No defaced signage by politicians’ campaigning for votes yet disregarding safety of lives. No tussle between the various arms of government on whose responsibility it is to do what. No washed off- road markings. Everything just seems to be in place for the only picture of ensuring lives were not lost.
The drive from Mallorca to Palma where we boarded the flight was no different. Well tarred roads. Signages adorned. It was a delight indeed. There were no bad boys waiting to harass travellers even as early as 3am when we set out on the one-hour drive. We arrived just at the nick of time and headed straight to the boarding lounge enroute another two hours’ drive to our final destination with a dying nostalgia to retaliate with a second visit when the cash is available or in the event of another family awoof.
