Time and Tide.

Time and Tide
Being in Lagos is like being fed hallucinogens to induce a psychotic episode and then being pushed into a small nightclub, with one hundred thousand people in a space meant for one thousand, with loud techno music blaring at a pain inducing volume and five hundred disco lights. And no air conditioning. Imagine a Saturday night out in Brighton and you get the picture.


The only difference being that in Brighton at some point approaching daybreak somebody will open a door and you will either leave of your own accord or you will be physically ejected. You will then stumble or crawl home and have Sunday to recover in order to carry on a charade of sanity and probity when you show up for work on Monday. In Lagos there is no door. Or sanity. So I leg it to Abuja.


But before I can get out the madness continues. The old boy taxi driver is listening to a conversation I am having with my colleague and we are talking about the tragic fuel dump fire last year. This conversation started when as we were driving down Bar Beach I saw a youth with a full jerry can of petrol between his legs which he was motioning for drivers to come and buy to save them the hassle of all day queuing. I was remarking say is it not rather odd for this chap to be straddling a full gallon of petrol on a very hot day whilst banging a tin cup on the lid in order to attract customers! I mean I know that sense is no longer common these days but still….
Anyway the old boy then pipes up to say "Oga you would not believe what my eyes saw when I went to the scene that day oh". Both my colleague and I then asked him say "wetin carry you go there, poke nose or wetin?" I just want to go see for myself and the thing wey I see that day. Hhmm. Human being just roasted beyond recognition. Even sef I see one mama and her pickin burnt together". And then the killer tag line. "I tell you Oga I could not eat meat for a whole three days.!!!" Oro buruke pelerin. Bad talk but with laughter. Three whole days!! We self are now looking at him like oboy you really tried oh and he is so proud of himself. Yeye man.


Arriving in Abuja from Lagos is like stepping from behind the gates of a prison after serving a long stretch into the arms of a loved one or even your wife (Iyawo will kill me when she reads that one). There is something about the place that between landing at the airport and arriving at your hotel thirty to forty five minutes later just eases away all your anxieties. That is until you get to the hotel and have to interact with the chaff (not a misspelling. Think wheat and then … you get the picture).


I tried to book into the Nicon Hilton over the phone before leaving Lagos and was told It would cost me ninety thousand naira per night. I am not even going to try and put that into perspective except to say that that is just under $700 by my estimation. For one night. The lady sounded disappointed when I said no thanks. "Oga but why now? This is the cheapest room we have left". Oya, keep it now. Maybe you can get one of the Lagos Big Boys to book it for a year. Cheapest my £%%^. How can you even use that word when charging $700 per night?


On to option number two. The Sheraton. From whence I am sending this missive, costing less than half the Nicon price but still offering me 70s décor, fan "air conditioning", a saggy mattress and excellent views of the Ladi Kwali (???) convention centre. Oh please bear in mind this is in one of their newly refurbished rooms which basically boils down to - we removed the skanky carpet and replaced it with one cheap laminate floor. Now we are just like a first class hotel in New York. Abi Oga what do you say?. Yesterday I phoned to complain that my room smelled of piss and a couple of hours later somebody knocked on my door to ask me if there was a problem!
Oh well, never mind. It is my own fault. If I no like am I for siddon for Oyinbo man land dey enjoy de creature comforts with all the other creatures. Abi no be so.


Off to dinner. We are just about to leave when my friend reveals that the restaurant we are going to was robbed recently. Armed robbers came in through the kitchen and cleared the Client’s of all valuables. In Abuja. Where there is an armoured tank carrier on every corner. Hmm. Anyway we decide it is best that we eject all non arm robbable items from our beings for safety. We then proceeded to have a raucous lovely meal which as usual was dominated by stories of the woes of life in Naija.


There’s the one about my friend’s posh flat. If you look at it from the outside it could be in any metropolis in the world and you would not say it was out of place. On the inside however, well another story. Leak after leak, air conditioner breakdowns, electrical fault (i.e. standing in the shower, switching on the tap only to get a very nasty shock because the plumbers that fixed the boiler connected the electricals back incorrectly. Standing in a pool of water is not a good time to find this out by the way).


Then there are stories about hiring cooks who can’t you know, cook. And my favourite about the cleaner who asked after the interview where the washing machine was. "Washing machine fun kini? For what?" He was asked. "For washing" he replied. "No. We actually meant washing, as in using your hands to wash". "Hands ke, he replied. Look at my fingers. Washing is not good for them oh. That will not be possible". And so it goes.


On the way out and back we drive by a property that can only be described as super palatial. I enquire as to if it is a block of flats but no it is a family dwelling. And who might the family be I wonder. You see I just never realised that there was so much money in sugar and cement. All those years ago if I had told my parents that I wanted to sell sugar and cement they would have immediately called a "family" meeting where all the women would be crying silently into their head ties and looking at my mother with pity and shaking their heads whilst the men would be looking at me like something from under their shoes whilst consoling her about her misfortune for ending up with such a son. After all from the outside it looked like she had done everything right. Pele jo. Adura ni ogba. (Sorry oh. Only prayer will cure it).


Today after my meetings it was off to lunch. I had suggested that we meet at the British Council building which is a very nice open roof top terrace (p.s the British High Commissioner’s house is no laughing matter either oh. The building takes up a whole hill. Must be seen to be believed). So anyway I was just there waiting for my lunch partner wounding a bottle of water (I am a muslim now. Aba what is your own?) when I got a call to say there is a change of venue we are now going for Ofada rice. I am new to the Ofada rice thing but it is like a local rice. Think of Uncle Benz then think of the opposite end of the spectrum. Anyway, is it not food? So off we go. We arrive at the place and I tell you something. People are making money in this country oh. Don’t believe all these lies you see on CNN. Here I was thinking we were heading for one mama put joint only to arrive in this big house with a huge sign saying Ofada House or something along those lines. A whole house built on selling Ofada rice. Man the food was good sha. It was one of those places where even though the AC was actually working and was on full blast we were all sweating, blowing our noses and soaking our shirts from the pepper in the food whilst asking for just a little bit more.


I am even thinking of going back there tonight but I don’t want them to be looking at me like this one likes his food oh. Waki and die. So I will go to the Chinese instead. No one knows me there.


To conclude another observation. How much money does the UN have? Today alone I cannot tell you the number of brand new Jeeps, Mercs and other assorted luxury vehicles that I have seen driving around this city with the UN badge. Is this not a bit much for a humanitarian organisation? IMHO.


Peeps tomorrow it’s back to Lagos. There’s only so much of this quietness, smooth streets, brand new taxis,huge mansions and no horns that a Lagos boy can take. This place is too sane for me to cope with.