From the surplus to the ridiculous to well.....Lagos!

Apologies for the silence (and this long post) but I decided to take some time out for a short break in the Big Apple which was closely followed (i.e next day with a business trip to Lagos). I write this from the safe confines of my hotel room on the island. The lights are working, the football is on and all is well with the world. But first, the Big Apple.

This is my fourth\fifth trip to the Big Apple and it never ceases to amaze me how it has changed (there is hope yet for Lagos I tell you). On my very first trip some 15 years ago I was chased down the street by some boys in da hood who were after my jewellery consisting of a wristwatch and a bracelet. I was only saved by jumping into a taxi and speeding off. I mean the driver sped off. Not me. Because obviously that would be theft. I could hardly complain about being mugged if I then went on to steal a taxi could I?

I then visited with my family not long after 9-11 and was amazed at the transformation. The streets were clean. The people were friendly. We walked around in the middle of the night without fear. It helped that there were heavily armed cops on every street corner but sill even the air smelt fresher. This is when I fell in love with the place. Also the fact that they had been considerate enough to ensure that I did not have to break the MANCODE by having to ask for directions. How difficult is it? Avenues and Streets. They cross each other. Once you get your coordinates. You are there.Brilliant.

So this last weekend with the £ gaining in strength and Virgin waving a return ticket for £235 in my face I decided this was one offer I could not refuse. This time was different though. This time the whole place was flooded with pasty faced tourists from all corners of the United Kingdom loading up on cheap goods. Around every corner it seems was an Irish person, Scouser, Manc., Brummie and my favourites – the East end wide boys having a larf. Half price? Luvly jobbly.

Some stores had queues around the block with security guards announcing how long it would take the humble shopper to get into the promised land. Now this hanging out might be a British speciality and part of the national psyche but it is at times like this that my conk Naija blood rises to the top. Queue ke? In the cold? Olorun maje. Keep your cheap electricals, your half price suits, your giveaway designer perfumes, your 4 carat jewelery. As long as I can have easy access to your Dunkin Donots them home boy is good to go.

To say that America is the land of plenty is to state the obvious. America is the land of plenty sha. My goodness. The malls are packed, the shops are packed, the department stores are packed. The streets are packed. No wonder they need 50 storey hotels and offices. I am surprised the whole place just doesn’t spontaneously combust and explode. I did see some people that are soon going to explode but again in America that is stating the obvious. Who the hell needs to eat a triple burger with everything, fries, onion rings and a half gallon of sugared water? Put your hands down!

My favourite part of the whole trip was walking around the corner of Macy’s to be confronted by about fifty Police cars with their lights blazing. There was me thinking Osama must have heard about the sales. But no. According to the cop I asked they were doing a show of force to ensure that Osama knew who was the boss. I am sure he must have been quaking in his mountain hole in Afghanistan, Pakistan, Iran, Syria, Lebanon, California Lagos? – you just never know do you?

Having enjoyed four days of just walking and shopping (amazing how I can do that given the right environment) it was time to depart. And so it was that I left the land of excess with my excess luggage (wetin? No be my money?) to return to good ole blighty.

On to London for a day and now in Lagos which is of course where things go from the ridiculous to the absurd in the blink of an eye. Let’s start at the airport. Firstly, well done to FAAN for a fantastic job at MM Airport. It is not yet world class but you come in, the place is spotless, the AC is blowing you hither and thither ( I always wanted to use that term) and the travelators and escalators whisk you straight into the welcoming arms of the Immigration people. A few questions later, Stamp stamp. Next. Fantastic. I really do enjoy flying into Lagos now.

So anyway off to the loo. My stomach has been worrying me. I know that it has been worrying those of you that know me for a while but that is another discussion. I am sure it has nothing to do with the Burger and chips in Macy’s Tuesday lunchtime, followed by Thai pea soup and then syrup spongecake in the Virgin lounge, followed by pasta chicken meal on the plane, followed by sardine and tomato scrambled eggs with soft white bread Wednesday afternoon at home, then a Mexican meal to celebrate my daughter’s birthday in the evening and topped off with Shepherds pie and cheesecake in the Virgin lounge. I am sure it was propably the glass of water I had sometime in that 48 hour bingefest ( I hate that stuff. It interferes with all the sugar in my system).

Anyway I digress. Off to the toilet following the sign saying you know - Toilets. That was my first mistake. That sign led me to toilets all right. But they were ex toilets. They used to be toilets but they were no longer toilets. Now they were just locked doors still with the Male\ Female logos attached. To the front desk to ask. Pointed into a corridor down which was a light which luckily led to toilet cubicles, Two assistants. One cleaning a urinal, the other not. One empty cubicle. Unflushed. Seat up. Puddle on the floor. Make eye contact with Pot Idol. Can you please clean this. Credit to him he jumps to it. Place is wiped , mopped and clean in a Flash (no pun intended. Obviously they did not use Flash, they used Omo like all good toilet cleaners).

Then I made the classic mistake. Started my business before making sure I had all the necessary requirements for a successful completion. Coat hook. Check, Clean floor. Check. Clean seat. Check. Start procedure. To my side is a devise designed to hold three toilet rolls. I say designed to hold because after some investigative fiddling and fumbling I realised that it contained none. Nada. Zilch. The procedure has already commenced and that programme stops for no one. There is however a kettle of water. This takes me back in the day. But not far enough. This is 2006 dammit.

So I make my distress known and am pleased to hear one of the Pot Idols running off to source my supply. He reappears not too long later with a half roll for which I am very grateful. Unfortunately my good fortune turns out to be bad luck for the lady in the next toilet. She had no option but to resort to the bucket. I know because the boys were discussing her options. Apparently she had two. One of them was Bob Hope and the other………….

An hour later luggage finally delivered we are on the road. To nowhere. The difference between landing at 5am and being on the road and landing at 6am and leaving the airport at am is, well, like night and day. If you leave at 6am you are fully ensconced under your duvet in your flophouse of choice in VI by 7am. If you land at 7am you are fully ensconced in a traffic jam on the way to VI by 9am.

I fall unconscious into bed, or should I say the rock hard rectangular thing with pillows on in the middle of my room. When I wake I decide I might like to actually do some work to repay my company for this jet set lifestyle that I lead. In order to do this I need to leave the hotel to go and see some Clients. This is when the trouble starts.

On my way out of the hotel I decide to grab a bite to eat. Feel some pity for me now. It had been a whole 6 hours since my last meal. Aha come on. I could feel myself wasting away. So off to the restaurant. On my very first stay at this hotel I had informed the restaurant manager that whilst most of their Clientele were Oyinbo and could survive on bland gruel. My sophisticated Naija palate required spice to survive and henceforth all my meals should be prepared accordingly. So when I placed my order with the waitress I informed her of this arrangement . Coincidentally, in walked the restaurant manager and as soon as she spied me she was off to the kitchen to further ensure that my palette was fully catered for. Exactly 20 minutes later I was holding an ice cold glass to my tongue after having devoured possibly the hottest Egusi soup ever. My face was dripping with sweat. My shirt was soaked. Two glasses of Chapman lay empty before me but still no relief. Damn it was good.

So fully fortified, at least for a couple of hours (look I have a high metabolism. Its just the rest of my body that can’t seem to grasp this) I jump into the car for the day’s adventures. What will the day bring I wonder? What drama will unfold before me? What could possibly go wrong today? To be continued.