'We are sailing! We are saaaaiiiling!!'

Last weekend I went sailing. In a tent. Quite why four of us waited until rainy season to go camping I don’t know, but sometime last week the seed of thought began to sprout, and that was that. Public Holiday weekend of adventure.

A complete void of any sort of advance preparation (been here tooooo long!) meant we were several hours late heading to the bush. Threatening clouds began to build and growl right over the very hill we planned to pitch on. ‘Why are we heading towards the storm?’ someone enquired…. We continued. We wanted to go camping.

The car crawled closer to the hills, past burning electricity wires (yes really), manic shouts of ‘OYIBO!’, and teeming roads full of people dashing to get their jobs done before the downpour. ‘Er…. Do we really want to trek an hour up a hill and set up camp during a tropical storm?’… the collective decision was no. We decided to head for drier skies.

We were actually extremely fortunate. We set up camp under some trees, built a fire, cooked some meat, drank some wine, enjoyed the company of a fine English potter, and listened intrigued as he told us of the Abuja he knew in the early 70’s.

Then finally, it was time to hit-the-hay. No sooner had the last zip been zipped, than the patter of rain began to drum on the tents. The patter soon swelled to a deafening roar, lashing the tents as the heavens opened with rumbles and cracks. A tent pole was felled; ventilation flaps flapped and leaked; boys went to the rescue, bravely battling the elements for the protection of their fellow female campers.

Tentatively I felt the bottom of the tent. It was dry, but a strange sensation came to my hands. I pressed again and my sleeping mat undulated; ah hah! My very own water bed! The tent had apparently transformed into an anchored raft as a torrent of water swished right underneath.

In the warm light of morning it was apparent that we had decided to pitch our tents precisely in the centre of the flow of drainage from a cassava field. Nice one! The ground surrounding, and under our tents had been cut into deep groves by the enormous quantities of water swooshing downhill. No wonder I spent the night feeling I was riding the high seas in a life-raft!

Rollercoaster Ride

An emotion graph charting the ups and downs of a single day as a volunteer in Nigeria might be analysed thus:

8am: quietly determined
9.30am: quietly frustrated
10am: calm
11am: bored
11.45am: think am going mad.
12noon: want to get on the next plane home
1pm: Am I going backwards?
2pm: Glimmer of hope
4pm: Calm & determined.
4.30pm: Right. Lots to do. Might have to extend. Or come back.
5pm: Oh this is great!
6pm: EXTEND? WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WAS I THINKING?
7pm: Resolve.
9.30pm: Tomorrow’s a new day, will definately get something done then!

Babies

People keep handing me their babies to hold while they go and pee. Aside from the hazard of baby puke I don’t mind, but I was intrigued by the level of trust these ladies were bestowing on me. One lady explained that the reason they are choosing me for this responsible task is that in Ibadan, one lady gave her baby to another, went to ease herself, but when she returned the baby had been snatched, the woman no-where to be seen. I told my new teacher that maybe I wanted to have a Braaaaawwwn Bayby, and would run away myself. She laughed her socks off.

A Trip to Town in 16 Simple Steps

Money? Id? Keys?
Check

Sunglasses? Umbrella?
Check

Door double locked? Iron gate chunky padlocked? Times two?
Check

Ok, now you are ready to follow my simple steps for a hassle free trip to town.

1. Follow dirt track 10mins to tar road. Avoid new fountain from burst water pipe. Greet everyone you pass.
2. Once at tar road scrutinise okada (motorbike, machine) drivers to spot one that looks vaguely sensible.
3. Lifting arm 30°, waggle fingers to attract attention.
4. Step back to avoid collision.
5. Greet okada man. Haggle price.
6. Climb onto bike from left side to avoid an unpleasant singe on the exhaust.
NB: Do NOT touch the driver. You can hold the wrack behind you to prevent embarrassing body slams when braking. This is not always effective and depends on urgency of brake.
7. Arriving at bus stop only put legs down when 100% sure the okada has finished weaving through the crowd of guys calling “Wuse! Berger! WuseBergerWuseBergaaaah! Climb inside! Climb insideclimbinsiiiide!”
8. Grit teeth and stand strong. Search (with your eyes) for a bus that is almost full.
NB: You will not be able to move freely due to the 20 guys fighting, pushing and shoving around you, trying pay for your okada to ensure your custom.
NB2: Do not be fooled into jumping on a bus that is just pulling away. They are all just pulling away, and once they gain another passenger will roll back to wait for more.
9. Scramble on to bus. Mind your head. Wriggle bum into 5” space.
10. Wait for bus to fill.
11. Wait for 4 more people to fit in before being ready to set off.
12. When the conductor feels like asking, pay him. Be prepared to wait for change, it will come.
13. Do not think about speed or driving quality, or wonder what that cranking noise is underneath the bus.
14. With destination in sight, signal to conductor (if he’s awake), “Conductor? Conductor! Nicon dey”
15. Wait for 10 people to shift so you alone can alight. Mind the sliding door as the driver impatiently starts to leave before your back half is out of the bus.
16. Signal another okada using steps 2-6 above.

A Cry for Help

You know you are in need of help when:

A baby pukes all down the front of your smartest (ahem) black shirt two hours into the working day and you send six messages home to tell your friends.

You write a blog entry about de-worming AND confess disappointment at discovering nothing.

You re-send the baby puke message when it bounces back.

De-worming

My six month anniversary passed a couple of weeks ago. A full six months of eating suya, meat-pies, meat stews and other delights from various chop-houses and street stalls. I’ve lost a little weight recently, and been having mild tummy-aches. So I decided to de-worm.

I had visions of teams of spaghetti-like snakes writhing around my intestines, wriggling about Medusa-stylee, thrashing wildly as de-worming chemicals take effect before passing out in their millions to be flushed away.

I took the pill yesterday.

There is nothing to report.

Most unexciting.

A Friend Indeed….

I just had a wonderful flying visit from a friend. She brought me the most recent Marie Clare, the June issue of Glamour, a new bag, and a giant packet of Twix’s. I got a night in the Sheraton, and she let me take the free soaps and hot-chocolate sachets. We went for dinner, we chatted, she filled me in with news from home. I couldn’t have asked for more.

And how did I entertain her?

What did I do?

Took her to work, paraded her around, made her walk to my house at midday, made her assist me in a workshop (holding up posters of the female reproductive system), marched her up a bushy mountain in the steaming afternoon heat, dragged her to a bush-bar, then finished her off with the noisiest smokiest fish bar in Abuja.

All in one day.

I am a true beast.

But I think she enjoyed herself! (??!?!?!?!?!)