Poker in Port Harcourt

Poor old Port Harcourt does not have the best reputation as a fun and vibrant city, and poor old us for being semi-stranded there for the day on New Year's Eve. We arrived the night before after rattling along 10 hours from Lagos with Cross Country bus line. Their logo looks just like the London underground, but my bones told me that this journey was most definitely over ground! So did my eyes as I watched the lush squigdyness of the Niger Delta pass by.

Anyhoo, we spent the day anxiously waiting for our fellow VSO chums to hotfoot it over from Cameroon, and desperately hoping we weren't going to have a New Year for five in Port Harcourt. With very little to do we entertained ourselves with a supermarket tour. A trip to Park 'n' Shop (Nigeria's most poshest supermarket, aka Park 'n' Rob by skint VSOs) was wildly exciting - mmm cheese, mmmmm nice bread... I'll have that, and that and that andthatnthatnthatnthatn...... Back in our hotel we happily munched and crunched through our feast, oggling MTV and enjoying a/c until NEPA 'took the light'.

Time for poker we thought, so we moved to the rooftop terrace for our first lesson. While the view was very..... um, something (concrete flyovers, tattered bill boards, hotchpotch shambled market, pot-holed p*ss smelling motor parks) it was just too hot, and the air sat on us damp and heavy.

Inside the bar the lesson commenced and soon bets were ever increasingly ferocious (but not me - far too conservative!). Our audience (there is ALWAYS an audience in Nigeria) were keenly eyeing our $50 & $100 bills that we were waving around until I equally keenly assured them they were fakes. Port Harcourt probably not the best place for a group of white people to be waving around convincing looking dollar bills.

(There is a lizard looking at me from my doorway as I write this - maybe it wants to come in and learn about HIV? I'll ask it...) Um, I digress, maybe because this isn't so interesting after all?
I was rubbish at poker too.
Boo.

Christmas on the beach

Tarkwa Bay is a 15min boat ride from Victoria Island (or VI as it's known locally). Lined with palm trees the pale sands dip into the lapping Atlantic. Sticks of bamboo hold shades of patterned cloth over blue deck-chairs. From these deck-chairs we didn't have to budge an inch. Drinks and fruit platters were served to us as we sat. Even suya delivery could be arranged from one of the numerous cooking shacks behind us. A craft market appeared at our feet as traders displayed their wares; "Madam, you wan' buy? I give you fair price, what price you want? I need to get to Kano tomorrow. Oooh that's very bad price, you no get anything for that price madam. Give me better price...." and so on. It was very stressful.

The sea was a perfect temperature, but bobbing around brought certain risks with it. From numerous bits of plastic bag wrapping around our legs, causing squeamish squeals and shudders, GIGANTIC containerships on their way in and out of Lagos, sending giant waves crashing onto the beach, and from trying to avoid pesky kids who wanted to play ball everytime we went in the water!

We were often joined by the children of our landlord, Francis, aged 7, and his sister Patricia/Gladys, aged 10. Apparently her mother called her Patricia, but her father thought it a rubbish name so he calls her Gladys. Gladys attached herself to me like a limpet. After seeing me float belly up she excitedly told her friends that "this one go sleep in water like she go fit dead!" I tried to teach her but she kept sinking. So we stuck to piggyback rides and swimming practice.

On Xmas eveing we had a secret santa and feasted on pringles, cake and vodka. We even had champagne, warm and mixed with fruit juice, and drunk from the cut-off bottoms of plastic bottles. It was very festive, especially with tinsel and my flashing santa hat. Even the bats wanted to join in so they flew into our candle-lit 'parlour' and squeaked and flapped around our cowering heads. A few games of cards late into the night made for a jolly jolly evening!

Bottoms up!

"But, what about armed robbers?"

I asked this question in a futile attempt to reassure myself that, despite being heavily delayed, our journey to Lagos would still be safe. Warnings of the dangers of traveling at night, after dark, especially at Xmas, were resounding around my head. "Oh, we're not expecting to see anything like that" was the reply. Not exactly inspired in confidence it was time to weigh up the alternatives.

A) Try again tomorrow, Xmas Eve, taking a bush-taxi, arriving after dark and having to negotiate ourselves around Lagos and our way to the beach.
B) Xmas for 2 in Abuja, knowing our friends are either on the beach or climbing mountains in Cameroon.

er, no.

Okay, so nowt for it than to board the bus leaving Abuja at 4pm instead of 11am. Expecting a journey from hell, I tried to distract myself with a Times Crossword. Did rather well actually, maybe fear focuses the mind. It gets properly dark here by 7pm. In my mind any journey after 7pm brought with it impending doom, when everyone on the road would be out to get us. My first time check with Chris our friendly driver informed me that we would arrive shortly after 9pm. During a comfort break at 7.30pm he dutifully told me we had about 3.5hours to go. Thank God for the most comfy chairs I have ever sat on in a bus, lolling me into a fitful doze, for we finally rolled into Lagos at 2am. But WE ARRIVED! And in two fully functioning pieces! Hurrah!

At our friends house a Chief's party was in full swing. Unfortunately the guest King (seriously) had already gone to bed, but there was hot food and a shower waiting to revive our travel weary heads. After greeting the Chief, pretending to dance, and a few 'I'M ALIVE' texts later, we were ready for bed. Phewf...

Wish me luck…..

I’m off to Lagos for Xmas! BARG. Should be very fun actually, lolling around on the beach on Xmas Day wearing my flashing Santa Hat. I wonder if it’s waterproof.

Then New Year should be spent in Opobo, in the South South. There are some other volunteers there who have invited us all for a party. Whoop.

HAPPY CHRIMBO & VERY MERRY NEW YEAR!!

So until next year…………

Pressies Pressies Pressies!

Santa managed to find me!!!!!! Lots of times, and I don’t even have a chimney.

Tee Hee Hee! Thank you all for making me the happiest girl in Abuja! My twig tree now looks well propa with its stash of goodies underneath! I’m going to ration my opening so I get a prolonged Xmas. Hurrah. You are an incredible bunch and thank you again for another amazing surprise! I’ve been singing along to my xmas minidisk, I’m sure if you listen hard enough you’ll be able to hear me……….

“’tis the season to be JOLLY,
Fa lala la laaaaa, la la la laaaaaa.”

“Good Evening Sister"

There is a family that lives in a small house just next to the path I take home. I’m not sure how many they are but there are a lot of small boys. When I pass I hear a chorus of ‘Good Evening Sister! Good Evening Sister!’ If I have more than one bag in my hands they will race barefoot to help, pushing each other out of the way. Having secured my bag/s my little helper will then strut proudly at my side for 10 meters until I reach my gate. Then he’ll sprint off back to whatever game/hard manual labour he was involved in.

“Clang Clang Clang Clangitty clangitty clang clang”…..

…………and repeat: “Clang Clang Clang Clangitty clangitty clang clang” and repeat…

It had been puzzling me for a while. What is this noise that rings out at random intervals through the night? Is it my tinnitus gone a bit skewy in the heat? A bit of research, and I found out that it is the security alarm. It means, ‘Ahoy there potential armed robbers! I’m awake and alert. No need to come here cos I’ll get you’. Throughout the night Potential Armed Robbers are thus warned, by the security clanging an old car wheel chained to the tree about 15 meters from my bedroom! This, together with the local churches, calls for heavy duty earplugs.

Creepy Crawlies

I really was very brave. I had a shower with Golliath the Cockroach peering down from right above me. I admit I had a bit of a crick in my neck from checking that he wasn’t preparing to launch himself on my head, but I held my composure well. My task of courage completed for the day I went outside to find my neighbour and frequent rescuer from tricky situations.

Me: There is a GIANT cockroach in my bathroom and it doesn’t seem in a hurry to move.
Neighbour: Oh! You want me to catch it?
Me: I don’t think you can. (my ceiling is very high and they move very fast as I found out when I tried to drop a bucket on it’s head)
Neighbour: (Giggle) I can. Let me kill it for you.
He comes into my bathroom
Neighbour: Ok, I see him!
Me: That’s because he’s a giant.
Neighbour: Nooooo. This one is small. You’ll see. They come much bigger than this.

Joy.

I hope my resident geckos hurry up and grow so that they can stop hiding in my towel and start eating cockroaches. Bleurgh.

ICASA

International Conference on AIDS & STIs in Africa

Plenty of meetings, discussions, roundtables, workshops etc on HIV/AIDS: some very interesting, some mediocre, some awful. It was a great place to network, and was motivating to hear of all the action being taken against HIV/AIDS in Africa. Something that interested/worried me was that I only picked up on one session about homosexuality. It’s referred to as MSM (men sex men), and is simply regarded as something that doesn’t happen here in Africa. But at an international conference, how can sexuality be sidelined in such a way? How are young people expected to understand themselves and others around them if discussions of sex and sexuality remain such a taboo?

Exhibition Hall.

This was a giant marquee type tent where organisations could display info about what they do, and distribute materials and information to participants. Seriously, the fight in that place was incredible, elbows and knees jabbing all around, people sweating and pushing to collect anything being given away, relevant or not. Somebody please explain what a policeman is going to do with armfuls of materials on HIV policy, info on laboratory kits, and samples of inter-uterine devices. Methinks the latter will end up as a Christmas tree decoration. Chortle.

Guara Falls

A beautiful lazy Sunday at the beach! Guara Falls is about an hours drive from Abuja, and is a stunning location. In typical me fashion I forgot my camera, so let me describe it: there’s water, lots of it and it’s falling over rocks. Not feeling particularly descriptive today so perhaps I should endeavor to go again with my camera. Anyhow, below the falls are little pools, bordered by strong currents that sweep you swiftly downstream if you’re not careful. While they are not to be messed with, the currents did reassure me that the risk of bilharzia was minimal. We spent a lovely chilled couple of hours there, picnicking and floating around, trying to avoid the fishing lines that were being planted by a man floating belly down on a giant calabash.