'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!