This is the strangest thing of all times...
Every last Saturday of each month is Sanitation Day in Lagos. Nobody is allowed out of their houses until 10am, no people, no cars, no nothing.
However, I am told that nothing actually happens!
There are NO rubbish trucks in Lagos at all!
I'm actually not really sure how the rubbish gets disposed of, well all the other stuff apart from what's lying on every streetcorner in heaps. I know some people just burn the stuff right there but that of course leaves all the metal and glass.
I suspect that a lot of stuff gets dumped into the sea which of course is very accessible everywhere as ther are many long bridges connecting the island.
Talking about bridges-they get swept each day (there is no rubbish there) by a brigade of women who move the sand? from one side to the other side? I can't see anything but they are sweeping...
I can't work it out.
Got some good news today-
since there are about 4 TV commercials to be produced I am being sent home to SA for a week to do the art direction there!
Yeah!!!!Home is going to be soooo good.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
The funnies and the saddies
Just wanted to tell you about some really bizarre signs, (which I get sight of when travelling to and from work with my trusty driver), that I have seen here so far.
I will attempt to take photos soon but have been too embarassed so far-always lots of people around.
The one I see frequently goes
"DO NOT URINET HERE", they mean urinate of course-and
"THIS HOUSE IS NOT FOR SALE -BEWARE 419" this is a scam which is going around here unlike the 419's that we know...
A family member dies and someone hears about it and proceeds to try sell the property to an unsuspecting victim demanding a large cash deposit.
Another funny one which I misunderstood at first is
"DO NOT POST BILLS"-thought that meant bills for something in the mail?
No, it means that you are not allowed to mount any posters or paint any advertising on this wall.
Some choice one's on stalls and taxi's as well
"WEEP NOT CRUSADERS" and many more of a similar intention
Need to tell you something about the driving around here, so you understand how things work in the traffic-amazingly well-although its chaos but everyone is mindful of one another and not too many accidents happen. Although there isn't a single car or taxi or truck that doesn't have a ding on it.
Well, first you fold in your side mirrors on your vehicle so you can get past other cars and you tape them down lest you are tempted to look into your side mirror for oncoming rear traffic-Not neccessary! The motorbike taxis 'Okada' cut short their handle bars as to be able to squeeze past the cars. Ingenious!
Honestly, there is a lick of paint between you and everyone else-no rules rules!
As there is usually no speeding what for the constant 'go-slows' (traffic jams)
it's mostly minor 'touch' you annoyances in the traffic.
They make sure that everyone knows you're right there with copious hooting.And I see some really inspiring stuff as well-SA cut a slice of this!
There are hardly any beggars-the only ones' I've seen are the severely crippled who join the traffic sitting on skateboards-they come to no harm!
There is a saying here that if you have 2 hands and 2 feet you can find something to sustain your life. Nigerians do not tolerate begging or lazyness. And it's true-everyone is trying to trade something-whether it be selling plantain chips in the constant go-slows, or selling fake watches, toilet brushes, door mats, peanuts, movies or Cd's, among many other weird things you see in the traffic.
Think I told you about the mobile taylors who carry their machines on their heads, measure you up and deliver the garmet the next day. Which reminds me the Batik cloth and other fabrics are truly beautiful and I must bring some back home.(As well as unstrung fresh water pearls)
No, I'm not saying it's anywhere near okay here but I am impressed with the spirit these people go about their survival.
Our so called squatter camps in SA are pure luxury in comparison to the ramshackle stilted shacks built into the bay for miles and miles.
No clean water, no electricity, no easy food to come by.
Ghanaens bring in wooden logs towed by barges that are hardly seaworthy along the treacherous coast and actually LIVE on the floating logs while on the way.
Must finish now-post getting to ,long.
Keep reading and commenting-it's a lifeline for me!
I will attempt to take photos soon but have been too embarassed so far-always lots of people around.
The one I see frequently goes
"DO NOT URINET HERE", they mean urinate of course-and
"THIS HOUSE IS NOT FOR SALE -BEWARE 419" this is a scam which is going around here unlike the 419's that we know...
A family member dies and someone hears about it and proceeds to try sell the property to an unsuspecting victim demanding a large cash deposit.
Another funny one which I misunderstood at first is
"DO NOT POST BILLS"-thought that meant bills for something in the mail?
No, it means that you are not allowed to mount any posters or paint any advertising on this wall.
Some choice one's on stalls and taxi's as well
"WEEP NOT CRUSADERS" and many more of a similar intention
Need to tell you something about the driving around here, so you understand how things work in the traffic-amazingly well-although its chaos but everyone is mindful of one another and not too many accidents happen. Although there isn't a single car or taxi or truck that doesn't have a ding on it.
Well, first you fold in your side mirrors on your vehicle so you can get past other cars and you tape them down lest you are tempted to look into your side mirror for oncoming rear traffic-Not neccessary! The motorbike taxis 'Okada' cut short their handle bars as to be able to squeeze past the cars. Ingenious!
Honestly, there is a lick of paint between you and everyone else-no rules rules!
As there is usually no speeding what for the constant 'go-slows' (traffic jams)
it's mostly minor 'touch' you annoyances in the traffic.
They make sure that everyone knows you're right there with copious hooting.And I see some really inspiring stuff as well-SA cut a slice of this!
There are hardly any beggars-the only ones' I've seen are the severely crippled who join the traffic sitting on skateboards-they come to no harm!
There is a saying here that if you have 2 hands and 2 feet you can find something to sustain your life. Nigerians do not tolerate begging or lazyness. And it's true-everyone is trying to trade something-whether it be selling plantain chips in the constant go-slows, or selling fake watches, toilet brushes, door mats, peanuts, movies or Cd's, among many other weird things you see in the traffic.
Think I told you about the mobile taylors who carry their machines on their heads, measure you up and deliver the garmet the next day. Which reminds me the Batik cloth and other fabrics are truly beautiful and I must bring some back home.(As well as unstrung fresh water pearls)
No, I'm not saying it's anywhere near okay here but I am impressed with the spirit these people go about their survival.
Our so called squatter camps in SA are pure luxury in comparison to the ramshackle stilted shacks built into the bay for miles and miles.
No clean water, no electricity, no easy food to come by.
Ghanaens bring in wooden logs towed by barges that are hardly seaworthy along the treacherous coast and actually LIVE on the floating logs while on the way.
Must finish now-post getting to ,long.
Keep reading and commenting-it's a lifeline for me!
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Left the compound this morning about 9.30 to make our way to Tarkwa beach-apparently one of several beaches near Lagos that is bearable to go to-for the lack of rubbish and oilslicks being washed up everywhere else. The tankers, hundreds of them in Lagos harbour wash out their tanks before filling up again and couldn't give a shit where all the waste raw oil is going-shame on the oil multi-nationals! Oh, ther was some black oil pods on the beach but I was relievd that there are no marine birds, so no harm done. They've all been eaten long time ago.
One catches a ferry outboard little boat to Tarzan jetty from which boats to Tarkwa leave frequently. More or less 'go-when-full'. This is also one of the only beaches where one can swim without being swept away into the ocean as the Atlantic current is extremely strong here.
It's reasonably sheltered but very close to the Lagos harbour entrance and you get a hell of a shock to see oil tankers passing by only meters away. Many of them all day long.
Luckily one of my colleagues has a membership to the Lagos Yacht Club and we headed for a reasonably nice sort of seperated shaded area where there are tables, chairs, some very old loungers and toilets as well as a hand pump shower to wash off the sea water. There is a long line of deckchairs with fabric covers, each owned by one of the many beach touts operating here, who will negotiate a price for the day. Makeshift stalls sell bear, cool drinks and some 'local chop'. Mainly 'Suya' which is the same heavily spiced sliced goatmeat I ate last night. There are large families of Lebanese who've made this beach their weekend outing.
There are many traders cruising up and down the beach with anything from sarongs, to African Greys in cages, some carvings, basketware and fake watches-5 for R 250.
The day was fairly nice as it was sheltered form the hustle and bustle in the enclosed area, but too long for me- all in all.
The heat of course is constant and the sea water isn't much colder than the outside temperature.
So, I was glad to leave at around 4pm (it was booke for 4 but only left at 4.20 hoping to not have to return for the 5 o'clock run-pain!)when the boat that dropped us came to pick us up again to deliver us back at Tarzan jetty.
Here, a legend in Lagos-Bob- reingns supreme in his restaurant/come bar and outdoor music venue where it is customary to have a drink before going home.
The place is riddled with 'Nightriders'/or 'Mosquitos' (as these local whores don't leave the men alone) by this time and I was amazed, disgusted and put out to see how many expats of all nations tag them along for the day out at the beach. The rest of them who don't have company by then will find it here.
I mean EVERY expat without exception had a black woman sitting with them. Most of the women are really stunning and young and you must know how it makes my stomach turn, to see them with these old, hairy, fat fucks trying to make a living and hoping that someone will marry them-a lot of them do! One must be carefull -I was told-what one says, as some of these old fat hairy farts are actually married to these young girls.
Just lost my faith in mankind again. FCOL!
I mean honestly-it's like a parade of 'Face of Africa' before you...
And no, a lot of Nigerian women are not fat! But tall, slim and stunning! On top educated and well spoken...they look like whores though make no mistake...
One can only wonder why...
Another experience was well had.
Signing off 'till next time.
Keep the comms coming!
One catches a ferry outboard little boat to Tarzan jetty from which boats to Tarkwa leave frequently. More or less 'go-when-full'. This is also one of the only beaches where one can swim without being swept away into the ocean as the Atlantic current is extremely strong here.
It's reasonably sheltered but very close to the Lagos harbour entrance and you get a hell of a shock to see oil tankers passing by only meters away. Many of them all day long.
Luckily one of my colleagues has a membership to the Lagos Yacht Club and we headed for a reasonably nice sort of seperated shaded area where there are tables, chairs, some very old loungers and toilets as well as a hand pump shower to wash off the sea water. There is a long line of deckchairs with fabric covers, each owned by one of the many beach touts operating here, who will negotiate a price for the day. Makeshift stalls sell bear, cool drinks and some 'local chop'. Mainly 'Suya' which is the same heavily spiced sliced goatmeat I ate last night. There are large families of Lebanese who've made this beach their weekend outing.
There are many traders cruising up and down the beach with anything from sarongs, to African Greys in cages, some carvings, basketware and fake watches-5 for R 250.
The day was fairly nice as it was sheltered form the hustle and bustle in the enclosed area, but too long for me- all in all.
The heat of course is constant and the sea water isn't much colder than the outside temperature.
So, I was glad to leave at around 4pm (it was booke for 4 but only left at 4.20 hoping to not have to return for the 5 o'clock run-pain!)when the boat that dropped us came to pick us up again to deliver us back at Tarzan jetty.
Here, a legend in Lagos-Bob- reingns supreme in his restaurant/come bar and outdoor music venue where it is customary to have a drink before going home.
The place is riddled with 'Nightriders'/or 'Mosquitos' (as these local whores don't leave the men alone) by this time and I was amazed, disgusted and put out to see how many expats of all nations tag them along for the day out at the beach. The rest of them who don't have company by then will find it here.
I mean EVERY expat without exception had a black woman sitting with them. Most of the women are really stunning and young and you must know how it makes my stomach turn, to see them with these old, hairy, fat fucks trying to make a living and hoping that someone will marry them-a lot of them do! One must be carefull -I was told-what one says, as some of these old fat hairy farts are actually married to these young girls.
Just lost my faith in mankind again. FCOL!
I mean honestly-it's like a parade of 'Face of Africa' before you...
And no, a lot of Nigerian women are not fat! But tall, slim and stunning! On top educated and well spoken...they look like whores though make no mistake...
One can only wonder why...
Another experience was well had.
Signing off 'till next time.
Keep the comms coming!
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Happy Saturday
First, apologies that I downloaded some pics more than once-lost track and couldn't be bothered to edit now.
Just got home from a day at a true traditional Nigerian wedding and can report that I ate goat (heavily spiced to disguise the strong flavour) and drank palm wine and am still alive as I am writing this.
The wedding took place in my compound as it was the bosses youngest who was given away today. The boss, MD as everyone calls him, is the big guy in the white outfit below.
My colleagues Tola and Ayo ( the 2 beauties in the green head gear) helped me get into my traditional garb, in which I was stewing away for the afternoon, Decorum was maintained, albeit barely with the help of many glasses of palm wine, a lethal concoction made from the sap of palmtree, which with the help of some human spit, ferments into something resembling vinegar with a taste of astringent. Yum!
If my stomach still hold up after today, I am made for Nigeria!
It was all very interesting though with some really funny elements...
The grooms family came all the way from Benin and was sitting at one long table and the bride's at another. As proceedings began, the praise women had their say and the MC took over to introduce everyone to the crowd. We, the expats, as you can see below were all dressed in the same fabric to denote our 'belonging' to the brides clan. Then 42 yams, 42 litres of palmwine, a big vat of honey and various other unrecognisable things were placed before the brides table-not sure about the significance of the 42.
Each guest was given a palm nut-about the size of a walnut, to consume right there and then but only to be picked up with the right hand...how do I discribe the taste? Bitter, dry, trying...
Then the praise women proceeded to 'get' the bride from her room. Anticipation!
A girl gets led into the centre court covered by a large piece of fabric and presented to the groom. Groom says 'no, no, no' this is not the one!
And praise women proceed in explaining that this girl was flown in at great expense first class and the groom has to pay now for her to be sent away. Many wads of money change hands (this is what we know as 'Lobola' in SA) this happens a few times with a variety of girl being brought in-but not the right one!
Finally the right one appears-again covered (she's the one under the purle cover in one of the pics below)-groom is now happy and father asks bride if she is willing and happy to now become part of another family, she nods okay and gets given to the father of the groom first. He's the one who will make sure she is going to be well kept-then she is handed over to the groom by his father.
I like this!
Puts enormous pressure on the family members to make sure that she will be okay.
She gets asked if she is happy NEVER to return to her own family and nods yes.
Lots of singing, dancing, clapping and cheering.
The party can begin. A band starts playing what sounds very much like Calypso and all there is left to be done is to shower the happy couple with hundreds of Naira notes before they cut their wedding cake,
Strange mix of Western and Nigerian traditional-but nice!
Can't really work out whether these people are Muslim, Christian or strictly traditional-all a mix of stuff. A bit of each.
All in all a very good experience and happy days...
Just got home from a day at a true traditional Nigerian wedding and can report that I ate goat (heavily spiced to disguise the strong flavour) and drank palm wine and am still alive as I am writing this.
The wedding took place in my compound as it was the bosses youngest who was given away today. The boss, MD as everyone calls him, is the big guy in the white outfit below.
My colleagues Tola and Ayo ( the 2 beauties in the green head gear) helped me get into my traditional garb, in which I was stewing away for the afternoon, Decorum was maintained, albeit barely with the help of many glasses of palm wine, a lethal concoction made from the sap of palmtree, which with the help of some human spit, ferments into something resembling vinegar with a taste of astringent. Yum!
If my stomach still hold up after today, I am made for Nigeria!
It was all very interesting though with some really funny elements...
The grooms family came all the way from Benin and was sitting at one long table and the bride's at another. As proceedings began, the praise women had their say and the MC took over to introduce everyone to the crowd. We, the expats, as you can see below were all dressed in the same fabric to denote our 'belonging' to the brides clan. Then 42 yams, 42 litres of palmwine, a big vat of honey and various other unrecognisable things were placed before the brides table-not sure about the significance of the 42.
Each guest was given a palm nut-about the size of a walnut, to consume right there and then but only to be picked up with the right hand...how do I discribe the taste? Bitter, dry, trying...
Then the praise women proceeded to 'get' the bride from her room. Anticipation!
A girl gets led into the centre court covered by a large piece of fabric and presented to the groom. Groom says 'no, no, no' this is not the one!
And praise women proceed in explaining that this girl was flown in at great expense first class and the groom has to pay now for her to be sent away. Many wads of money change hands (this is what we know as 'Lobola' in SA) this happens a few times with a variety of girl being brought in-but not the right one!
Finally the right one appears-again covered (she's the one under the purle cover in one of the pics below)-groom is now happy and father asks bride if she is willing and happy to now become part of another family, she nods okay and gets given to the father of the groom first. He's the one who will make sure she is going to be well kept-then she is handed over to the groom by his father.
I like this!
Puts enormous pressure on the family members to make sure that she will be okay.
She gets asked if she is happy NEVER to return to her own family and nods yes.
Lots of singing, dancing, clapping and cheering.
The party can begin. A band starts playing what sounds very much like Calypso and all there is left to be done is to shower the happy couple with hundreds of Naira notes before they cut their wedding cake,
Strange mix of Western and Nigerian traditional-but nice!
Can't really work out whether these people are Muslim, Christian or strictly traditional-all a mix of stuff. A bit of each.
All in all a very good experience and happy days...
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Some delight at last
Went to the Nigerian Field Society last night and became a member. R 100 for a year-not too bad. There was the most delightfull talk and presentation of Nigerian butterflies-believe it-from a UK guy who's lived and worked here all his life and now has the splendid job of being supported by a NGO to go hunt 'flutter-bys'. Most of the audience were expats. I'm envious!
Any way great guy, beer in hand,takkies and ancient T, presenting the most extraordinairy butterfly species that are only to be found in Nigeria. A primary school was hired to hold the event and I thought I was back in SA at Quest-although the atmosphere was very relaxed and jolly, with all manner of drinks offered to members and snacks.
These people organise outings for groups of expats mainly taking them to cultural and natural (the few that are left) sites around the country. Hope for the weekends at last!
There's a Nigerian Batik course (which they are very good at) coming up on Saturday, sadly I can't attend because I have an traditional wedding to attend.
So, all in all things are looking up , see?
This wedding is hosted by my MD, our fearless Nigerian leader at the agency for one of his relatives in our compound. Did I tell you the MD has his villa right behind the compound where I live now, so he can govern his kingdom? The common folk, like drivers and stewards, are not invited-big learning curve for me-as 'we don't lower ourselves to the that class' (MD speaking), very politically incorrect for our SA minds.
Here it is very much class, class, class-something the rest of the world is trying to leave well behind. I now understand that slaves were sold by their own countrymen here.
So, MD-as everyone calls him-says I must wear traditional dress and he will send me his taylor to be measured up today. One day before the wedding! As I can't attend not wearing the colours of the bride-mint and cream with lots of gold-was the instruction on the invite!
Taylor came, sewing machine on head-no kiddin', measured, showed me ancient styles of appropriate dresses in equally ancient scrapbook, fabrics chosen by MD and proceeded to get busy all through the night. With my dress!
I will have a fitting tomorrow with MD's seccie who will make sure everything is according to decorum. Lest I show leg or arm!
I will be given gold jewellry to wear on loan.
Now, this is something very special and I'm looking very much forward to sampling the local fair of goat stew, giant snails, yam pap and whatnot. Not!
The first runs are on the horizon after this-I'm sure.
Have been on a low level antibiotic since I've arrived and so far, so good.
Am hoping to get many photos to share with you of the event.
I know, pics have been scarce.
Having problems downloading as inet not very reliable. Took some video as well but this blog won't upload MVI and am struggling to convert to AVI.
Doing my best to keep going.
Later...
Any way great guy, beer in hand,takkies and ancient T, presenting the most extraordinairy butterfly species that are only to be found in Nigeria. A primary school was hired to hold the event and I thought I was back in SA at Quest-although the atmosphere was very relaxed and jolly, with all manner of drinks offered to members and snacks.
These people organise outings for groups of expats mainly taking them to cultural and natural (the few that are left) sites around the country. Hope for the weekends at last!
There's a Nigerian Batik course (which they are very good at) coming up on Saturday, sadly I can't attend because I have an traditional wedding to attend.
So, all in all things are looking up , see?
This wedding is hosted by my MD, our fearless Nigerian leader at the agency for one of his relatives in our compound. Did I tell you the MD has his villa right behind the compound where I live now, so he can govern his kingdom? The common folk, like drivers and stewards, are not invited-big learning curve for me-as 'we don't lower ourselves to the that class' (MD speaking), very politically incorrect for our SA minds.
Here it is very much class, class, class-something the rest of the world is trying to leave well behind. I now understand that slaves were sold by their own countrymen here.
So, MD-as everyone calls him-says I must wear traditional dress and he will send me his taylor to be measured up today. One day before the wedding! As I can't attend not wearing the colours of the bride-mint and cream with lots of gold-was the instruction on the invite!
Taylor came, sewing machine on head-no kiddin', measured, showed me ancient styles of appropriate dresses in equally ancient scrapbook, fabrics chosen by MD and proceeded to get busy all through the night. With my dress!
I will have a fitting tomorrow with MD's seccie who will make sure everything is according to decorum. Lest I show leg or arm!
I will be given gold jewellry to wear on loan.
Now, this is something very special and I'm looking very much forward to sampling the local fair of goat stew, giant snails, yam pap and whatnot. Not!
The first runs are on the horizon after this-I'm sure.
Have been on a low level antibiotic since I've arrived and so far, so good.
Am hoping to get many photos to share with you of the event.
I know, pics have been scarce.
Having problems downloading as inet not very reliable. Took some video as well but this blog won't upload MVI and am struggling to convert to AVI.
Doing my best to keep going.
Later...
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Keep the comms coming folks!
Tuesday night-
the shit's hit the fan in the agency with about 30 jobs needing to be done for the end of this week.
How does one cope with the daily challenges of just staying afloat with the lack of water in the morning, frequent powercuts, pressure from the boss and non-cooperation from a traffic novice.
Omigod! We are spoiled!
Usually get up at 7 am to get ready for transport to work at 8.30. Takes about 30 minutes to get there-luckily against the mainstream of traffic both ways. Turned on the tap in the shower and -yeah!- the water is flowing with even a bit of pressure, proceeded to lather up, shampoo hair and - nothing, not a drop! Luckily I had my bucket, which I fill as a matter of course, each evening-step out fully soaped and proceed to try and rinse off all the soap with the water from the bucket. Such is life here.
All this is exhausting but I hope and pray that I will, in time, become used to all this and it will become part of my life.
One big lesson so far for me is that I so appreciate what I have at my home in SA and I swear I will never complain again.
Suspect if you don't have to work here and are just an add-on to an expat, working life is manageable but with all the work on top?
I am challenged to the hilt!
Still finding it nearly impossible to understand what the people are saying, although some are very well articulated in English, some are just gooble-di-gook-no understand at all.
One of my studio guys, Henri, said he was going home now and it came out like 'Bon giornio', like the Italian for 'good day'...what???
When they greet you, they say 'yuwa'ckon(French inflection at the end)', which is supposed to be 'your welcome'. Well, you're wacko too!
Here goes the power...
More soon
Love ya all!
the shit's hit the fan in the agency with about 30 jobs needing to be done for the end of this week.
How does one cope with the daily challenges of just staying afloat with the lack of water in the morning, frequent powercuts, pressure from the boss and non-cooperation from a traffic novice.
Omigod! We are spoiled!
Usually get up at 7 am to get ready for transport to work at 8.30. Takes about 30 minutes to get there-luckily against the mainstream of traffic both ways. Turned on the tap in the shower and -yeah!- the water is flowing with even a bit of pressure, proceeded to lather up, shampoo hair and - nothing, not a drop! Luckily I had my bucket, which I fill as a matter of course, each evening-step out fully soaped and proceed to try and rinse off all the soap with the water from the bucket. Such is life here.
All this is exhausting but I hope and pray that I will, in time, become used to all this and it will become part of my life.
One big lesson so far for me is that I so appreciate what I have at my home in SA and I swear I will never complain again.
Suspect if you don't have to work here and are just an add-on to an expat, working life is manageable but with all the work on top?
I am challenged to the hilt!
Still finding it nearly impossible to understand what the people are saying, although some are very well articulated in English, some are just gooble-di-gook-no understand at all.
One of my studio guys, Henri, said he was going home now and it came out like 'Bon giornio', like the Italian for 'good day'...what???
When they greet you, they say 'yuwa'ckon(French inflection at the end)', which is supposed to be 'your welcome'. Well, you're wacko too!
Here goes the power...
More soon
Love ya all!
Monday, January 18, 2010
Where was I
...oh, yes, lest I forget!
Lagos...
Right, picking it right up with lots to tell.
Situation at the apartment more than trying over weekend-powercuts all the time, then one of the main powersupply cables in the compound went up in a wild fireworks with sparks hitting my windows.
Quiet evening by candle light after that with my novel, swapped with my driver Adam who is an avid reader-thankfully.
Then back to Shoprite on Saturday morning for some more decent supplies for the larder. Since I was on my own I had enough time to explore more thouroughly. Found the bathplug which the maintenance man couldn't find anywhere and that's working-if there was water. I am venturing to shower in the morning now by boiling the shit out of the geyser water in the day, then letting it cool down overnight, so at least have pre-boiled for the morning shower, well, if there is water. Have taken to filling a bucket each day, with the addition of lots of Dettol, just in case there isn't any in the morning-so sponge bathing has become the method of neccessity.Need all my bottled water for cooking, drinking etc...
If anyone out there mentions again "Oh, it's not so bad" I think I will kill. It's bad. Okay?
People who say that, have gotten used to the way things are here, is all.
I suspect that I will too. In time.
My word, that supermarket is sooo expensive. Need to be carefull with the funds available.
Which brings me to another story.
I gently and carefully asked Mr. MD if I could pleeeaase have my money for the repatriation expenses back as I was short of funds because of much expenses in SA to even get there-Visa,umteenths trips to the Pretoria embassy, courier, overweight luggage) R 1250 for an extra piece, no matter what the weight-odd). So, anyway, Friday night-a knock on the door at about 9.30, my usual bedtime- the steward Janet with a brown envelope, no name, no note, with a stack of filthy Naira in it. By that time I had forgotten my request.
I sit down and count, convert and it turn out to be the repat allowance promised.
Well-great!
I've never been paid by the maid before...
Bought some mince at Shoprite, although I had been warned to be fair, and proceeded to cook with it on Saturday afternoon. Heed the advice guys-it is atrocious stinking horrendously tasting something-gamey, goatey, whatever.
The rest of my purchases where okay.
Then on Sunday morning, my compatriotes invited me to join them on a trip to Lekki Conservatory, the only little enclave of nature left around here, 78 hectares of untouched swampland, just a few klicks from Lagos on Lekki Island (connected by a bridge to the mainland and the rest of the islands) a boomtown of new developments and headquarters of one of the big oil giants-who incidentally sponsor this little nature reserve.
Sadly, not much to see. One hears a few birds, there are 3 giant tortoises and the last little buck has just been poached for bushmeat. Apparently there are some crocs around...
Sticky hot walk along the figure of eight walk,lots of lianas, some old trees- barely talkes an hour and reminiscent of the swamps in Florida.
Then off to Lekki market. This is a good place to shop for fruit and veg, the little there is-pineapple, mango, paw paw, avo, mini potatoes, red onions, carrots, cabbage is about all the variety one can get, anywhere. The occasional peppers, spring onion, sad coriander, cilantro equally sad. Think I need to publish a cookbook-"100 ways with cabbage" or something like that.
But the saddest thing were the dogs in cages being sold for meat-mainly to the Chinese, I'm told. I had to look away to not burst into tears. Enough of that!
This place has a good curios section which I need to explore again. Lots of stuff from Ghana and other West African countries and nice Batiks from Nigeria. And one or two lion, leopard and other endangered wildlife hides-goddammit!
The rest of the weekend was spent 'doing' the fruit and veg purchased-to get them ready for consumption without getting the screaming shits. Remember that ALL of this is grown in hugely polluted soil-the manure of 15 million people.
Signing off for tonight.
Have some exciting things coming up this week.
Field Society member evening and traditional wedding on Saturday.
I will report.
Lagos...
Right, picking it right up with lots to tell.
Situation at the apartment more than trying over weekend-powercuts all the time, then one of the main powersupply cables in the compound went up in a wild fireworks with sparks hitting my windows.
Quiet evening by candle light after that with my novel, swapped with my driver Adam who is an avid reader-thankfully.
Then back to Shoprite on Saturday morning for some more decent supplies for the larder. Since I was on my own I had enough time to explore more thouroughly. Found the bathplug which the maintenance man couldn't find anywhere and that's working-if there was water. I am venturing to shower in the morning now by boiling the shit out of the geyser water in the day, then letting it cool down overnight, so at least have pre-boiled for the morning shower, well, if there is water. Have taken to filling a bucket each day, with the addition of lots of Dettol, just in case there isn't any in the morning-so sponge bathing has become the method of neccessity.Need all my bottled water for cooking, drinking etc...
If anyone out there mentions again "Oh, it's not so bad" I think I will kill. It's bad. Okay?
People who say that, have gotten used to the way things are here, is all.
I suspect that I will too. In time.
My word, that supermarket is sooo expensive. Need to be carefull with the funds available.
Which brings me to another story.
I gently and carefully asked Mr. MD if I could pleeeaase have my money for the repatriation expenses back as I was short of funds because of much expenses in SA to even get there-Visa,umteenths trips to the Pretoria embassy, courier, overweight luggage) R 1250 for an extra piece, no matter what the weight-odd). So, anyway, Friday night-a knock on the door at about 9.30, my usual bedtime- the steward Janet with a brown envelope, no name, no note, with a stack of filthy Naira in it. By that time I had forgotten my request.
I sit down and count, convert and it turn out to be the repat allowance promised.
Well-great!
I've never been paid by the maid before...
Bought some mince at Shoprite, although I had been warned to be fair, and proceeded to cook with it on Saturday afternoon. Heed the advice guys-it is atrocious stinking horrendously tasting something-gamey, goatey, whatever.
The rest of my purchases where okay.
Then on Sunday morning, my compatriotes invited me to join them on a trip to Lekki Conservatory, the only little enclave of nature left around here, 78 hectares of untouched swampland, just a few klicks from Lagos on Lekki Island (connected by a bridge to the mainland and the rest of the islands) a boomtown of new developments and headquarters of one of the big oil giants-who incidentally sponsor this little nature reserve.
Sadly, not much to see. One hears a few birds, there are 3 giant tortoises and the last little buck has just been poached for bushmeat. Apparently there are some crocs around...
Sticky hot walk along the figure of eight walk,lots of lianas, some old trees- barely talkes an hour and reminiscent of the swamps in Florida.
Then off to Lekki market. This is a good place to shop for fruit and veg, the little there is-pineapple, mango, paw paw, avo, mini potatoes, red onions, carrots, cabbage is about all the variety one can get, anywhere. The occasional peppers, spring onion, sad coriander, cilantro equally sad. Think I need to publish a cookbook-"100 ways with cabbage" or something like that.
But the saddest thing were the dogs in cages being sold for meat-mainly to the Chinese, I'm told. I had to look away to not burst into tears. Enough of that!
This place has a good curios section which I need to explore again. Lots of stuff from Ghana and other West African countries and nice Batiks from Nigeria. And one or two lion, leopard and other endangered wildlife hides-goddammit!
The rest of the weekend was spent 'doing' the fruit and veg purchased-to get them ready for consumption without getting the screaming shits. Remember that ALL of this is grown in hugely polluted soil-the manure of 15 million people.
Signing off for tonight.
Have some exciting things coming up this week.
Field Society member evening and traditional wedding on Saturday.
I will report.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Update after nearly one week
Amazing how the human animal gets used to just about anything and is limitlessly adjustable.
I have now spent nearly a week here and am starting to get into a routine. One needs a lot more time to get going what with the water and electricity situation. As I am writing this my Microwave is working on cooking some rice and lentils (a girl needs her carbs and protein),(dropped the same last night on the tile floor when trying to add water-result no food and extra work, ha, ha), never mind her vitamins, who's source is yet unknown.
Thankfully I took some pills along to combat anything resembling scurvy.Omigod-I'd give something really important for a punnet of Raspberries! Going to take lots of dried fruit from SA back next time.
I do need to shop more seriously this coming Saturday!
Everything takes so much extra effort-you wash your fruit and vegetables in Miltons fluid and let sit for 15 minutes before even attempting to cut the stuff, wash hands in Dettol solution frequently while busy with prepping and getting ready to eat, but then there's nothing much else to do at night.
Coming back to my first Saturday- of course we head out for the only recognisable supermarket for us 'fresh fish' (expats not having lived here for more than 3 months)
Shoprite, at The Palms Mall. Not much different from SA malls, but everything here is imported-ergo extremely expensive. A bootle of wine sets you back about N 900 (R 45) on average and no 'Dors Wyn' around.
So, I've taken to gin for my evening tipple. Around R 45 for a litre, much better value considering that I can easily finish a bottle of wine, 750 cc's in 3 glasses in an hour (no, not every night!). In total I spent R 1000 for some basic items,which included all the disinfecting stuff one needs here.
And I feel I don't have anything in the fridge.
Any dairy product are expensive-cheese, milk, yoghurt-as there is hardly any cattle around-mostly because of Tsetse Fly.
Saturday afternoon, I tried to find a place for all my things and relaxed in the evening with DsTV. Complete bouquet with frequent powercuts. There is just no way you can watch a complete movie here.Ever.
That's okay. As long as the AC is working-you just have no idea how Sauna-esque my apartment is when I get home.
Company policy is not to turn the gens on before frigging 6 pm, so if I do get home earlier, I sit and sweat lodge.
Having powercut as I write, so will continue tomorrow.
One last thing- am beginning to venture out.
Lagos Yacht Club reminiscient of Durban Yacht Club in the 80s, pleasant and nice respite for after work chilling from the chaos.
Had my first Nigerian meal at 'Sweet Sensation' eatery next door to office and survived, so far.
I have now spent nearly a week here and am starting to get into a routine. One needs a lot more time to get going what with the water and electricity situation. As I am writing this my Microwave is working on cooking some rice and lentils (a girl needs her carbs and protein),(dropped the same last night on the tile floor when trying to add water-result no food and extra work, ha, ha), never mind her vitamins, who's source is yet unknown.
Thankfully I took some pills along to combat anything resembling scurvy.Omigod-I'd give something really important for a punnet of Raspberries! Going to take lots of dried fruit from SA back next time.
I do need to shop more seriously this coming Saturday!
Everything takes so much extra effort-you wash your fruit and vegetables in Miltons fluid and let sit for 15 minutes before even attempting to cut the stuff, wash hands in Dettol solution frequently while busy with prepping and getting ready to eat, but then there's nothing much else to do at night.
Coming back to my first Saturday- of course we head out for the only recognisable supermarket for us 'fresh fish' (expats not having lived here for more than 3 months)
Shoprite, at The Palms Mall. Not much different from SA malls, but everything here is imported-ergo extremely expensive. A bootle of wine sets you back about N 900 (R 45) on average and no 'Dors Wyn' around.
So, I've taken to gin for my evening tipple. Around R 45 for a litre, much better value considering that I can easily finish a bottle of wine, 750 cc's in 3 glasses in an hour (no, not every night!). In total I spent R 1000 for some basic items,which included all the disinfecting stuff one needs here.
And I feel I don't have anything in the fridge.
Any dairy product are expensive-cheese, milk, yoghurt-as there is hardly any cattle around-mostly because of Tsetse Fly.
Saturday afternoon, I tried to find a place for all my things and relaxed in the evening with DsTV. Complete bouquet with frequent powercuts. There is just no way you can watch a complete movie here.Ever.
That's okay. As long as the AC is working-you just have no idea how Sauna-esque my apartment is when I get home.
Company policy is not to turn the gens on before frigging 6 pm, so if I do get home earlier, I sit and sweat lodge.
Having powercut as I write, so will continue tomorrow.
One last thing- am beginning to venture out.
Lagos Yacht Club reminiscient of Durban Yacht Club in the 80s, pleasant and nice respite for after work chilling from the chaos.
Had my first Nigerian meal at 'Sweet Sensation' eatery next door to office and survived, so far.
View from my office-charming
Here are some pics of my humble abode and office environment.
Will write post later...
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Clear and present Chaos
After the first weekend. 11.01.2010
Okay-day 3 and my first day at work-there is no internet or email, or a sketch pad (A3 photostat paper is all there is and will do) -nor any work for that matter-but the year is only but a puppy.
The weekend was more or less okay as the survival instinct kicks in and I revert to my original animal state. Lets start with Friday night…
Flight on Arik was safe with one Whitey and one local bloke in the snakepit and Lagos airport, much smaller than I thought, was more or less a breeze through immigration and customs and I was out of the building in a few minutes-walking into the outside is akin to walking into a sauna- to have a fag and wait for W, a colleague who came back with me, to be released by immigration. I mean-are you serious-he travelled with an expired visa. So they arrested his passport, rightly so and released him to go.
I meet my future driver, Adams and we introduce ourselves. Him : “You are welcome”-the general term for Howzit in Nigeria…we drag my 67kg’s of luggage into the boot and get accosted by several men in various dashing and immaculate uniforms and a cripple for dash. Adams says “No”-they say “Next time”…Same old, same old.
And head off into the chaos that is Lagos.
I’m not going to waste your time and talk about what you already know-except, it is worse. Attempted Kamikaze all around, a lick of paint front, back, sides and all four corners-but nobody died! Well, not for the next 30 minutes while I get whizzed through the landscape-how would I descibe this aptly; me, a bee, African no doubt, in a rabied hive perhaps. There are sooo many people! A sea of humanity in among driving cars, busses, motorbikes. They say, you can leave your home naked in the morning and arrive fully clothed, shod, shaved and groomed, watered and fed at work. Anything at all gets sold in the traffic. Lots of unrecognisable car wrecks, broken concrete and mounds of rubble mixed with rubbish, half finished buildings, derelict buildings and more rubbish everywhere. The locals are cocky, to say the least-confident, fearless, resourceful-African. Thankfully, there are hardly any animals, except for the colourful lizards in the most stunning orange and blue with a lick of white-little clowns. No, you can’t be a sissie in Africa…
One strange thing-
Coming from SA we are used to incredibly bright, sunny days with everything in hyper focus. Here, it’s semi dark in comparison, misty, murky, polluted, with an odd yellow tinge to everything, even the sky is a dirty yellow. I’m told it’s the Hamattan desert wind blowing in from the Sahara. For Africa I see little colour-everything is greyish, greige-brown with the exception of a myriad of yellow busses.
We arrive ‘home’. I’m in one of 2 units upstairs-3 meter high gate off the street (in brown) directly behing the Federal Secretariat which is several stories high and was vacated by the government when the seat moved to Abuja, into a broken concrete courtyard, 4 apartments in the building in an okay state of repair. We park and I get out of the beautifully airconned car and am immediately conned out of air outdoors-sweltering, humid hell. I am damp and everything sticks.
I meet my steward, stewardess really, Janet who greets me with the standard “You are welcome” and proceeds dragging my luggage in 2 parts of well over 30 kg’s (elegantly on her head, no prob) up a pitchblack and cooking stairwell to my front door.
Voila-I’m in my own personal interior décor hell-everything is brown and magnolia. And everything is like what I think it must have been like in SA 50 years ago. Although it’s fairly clean and has a beige tile floor. It’s a open plan dining/lounge effort with a mega size flatscreen on the wall. The dining chairs are covered in a quasi African print which I could have lived with ordinarily, matching the lounge suite in, you guessed it, beige and brown. The walls have the colour of the sky outside. From there one enters the bedroom on one side and the mini kitchen, no cats to swing here, on the other. Bloody hell, it’s boiling in here! I hunt for AC’s, turn both of them on it’s coldest setting. Haven’t mentioned the curtains, yes beige with brown drapes made out of some sort of negligee material. And the dining room 6-seater has a lace curtain on it.
From the main bedroom with a supersize double bed, hard enough to double as a wall, covered in frigging brown and beige roses (I think I’m beginning to get a neurosis) you find the en-suite at the end and alas, not all is lost in the colour department, enter into an underwater world of sickening blue, Dolphin border et all. Sort of underwater torture.
Image the ubiquitous Avocado Bathroom Suite in blue…Too much blue!!!! Omigod…
I retreat to beige and brown and realise I need a clean-up, drenched is an understatement. But first for some basic sustenance with Adams to the Goodies Supermarket around the corner. I quickly run through the shelves and grab some bread (SWEET), cheese (PRETTY GOOD) , cooldrink, Dettol, Milton’s etc and find a bottle of gin at a surprisingly cheap rate-salvation. Everything else is hideously expensive and the little trip sets me back about R 1000. Listen, there is nothing there I normally eat, okay?
Home and bath time. By the time I get to run the bath, boil the water in the geyser for at least 1 hour, then add cold and 5 capfulls of Dettol, I’ve had about 20 powercuts-I kid you not. It’s all very well, but everytime the power konks out you get up and put the AC on again-it does not restart automatically and of course you stumble around in the dark, cigarette lighter in hand. Needless to say, I gave up on TV some time ago. I’ve brought my own sheets, coverlet and neckroll and rip the flower linen off the bed, exchange it for my crisp white 500 threadcount cotton sheets. Instant bliss. And after 2 stiff gin and juice fall into a deep exhausted sleep.
Sarturday morning –I’ll come back to this.
One last thing-when I came to work on Monday morning after my weekend spent in solitary confinement in the beige and brown, I got to work and found myself in the same depressing, yes, you’re right, beige and brown office interiors. FCOL!!!
Okay-day 3 and my first day at work-there is no internet or email, or a sketch pad (A3 photostat paper is all there is and will do) -nor any work for that matter-but the year is only but a puppy.
The weekend was more or less okay as the survival instinct kicks in and I revert to my original animal state. Lets start with Friday night…
Flight on Arik was safe with one Whitey and one local bloke in the snakepit and Lagos airport, much smaller than I thought, was more or less a breeze through immigration and customs and I was out of the building in a few minutes-walking into the outside is akin to walking into a sauna- to have a fag and wait for W, a colleague who came back with me, to be released by immigration. I mean-are you serious-he travelled with an expired visa. So they arrested his passport, rightly so and released him to go.
I meet my future driver, Adams and we introduce ourselves. Him : “You are welcome”-the general term for Howzit in Nigeria…we drag my 67kg’s of luggage into the boot and get accosted by several men in various dashing and immaculate uniforms and a cripple for dash. Adams says “No”-they say “Next time”…Same old, same old.
And head off into the chaos that is Lagos.
I’m not going to waste your time and talk about what you already know-except, it is worse. Attempted Kamikaze all around, a lick of paint front, back, sides and all four corners-but nobody died! Well, not for the next 30 minutes while I get whizzed through the landscape-how would I descibe this aptly; me, a bee, African no doubt, in a rabied hive perhaps. There are sooo many people! A sea of humanity in among driving cars, busses, motorbikes. They say, you can leave your home naked in the morning and arrive fully clothed, shod, shaved and groomed, watered and fed at work. Anything at all gets sold in the traffic. Lots of unrecognisable car wrecks, broken concrete and mounds of rubble mixed with rubbish, half finished buildings, derelict buildings and more rubbish everywhere. The locals are cocky, to say the least-confident, fearless, resourceful-African. Thankfully, there are hardly any animals, except for the colourful lizards in the most stunning orange and blue with a lick of white-little clowns. No, you can’t be a sissie in Africa…
One strange thing-
Coming from SA we are used to incredibly bright, sunny days with everything in hyper focus. Here, it’s semi dark in comparison, misty, murky, polluted, with an odd yellow tinge to everything, even the sky is a dirty yellow. I’m told it’s the Hamattan desert wind blowing in from the Sahara. For Africa I see little colour-everything is greyish, greige-brown with the exception of a myriad of yellow busses.
We arrive ‘home’. I’m in one of 2 units upstairs-3 meter high gate off the street (in brown) directly behing the Federal Secretariat which is several stories high and was vacated by the government when the seat moved to Abuja, into a broken concrete courtyard, 4 apartments in the building in an okay state of repair. We park and I get out of the beautifully airconned car and am immediately conned out of air outdoors-sweltering, humid hell. I am damp and everything sticks.
I meet my steward, stewardess really, Janet who greets me with the standard “You are welcome” and proceeds dragging my luggage in 2 parts of well over 30 kg’s (elegantly on her head, no prob) up a pitchblack and cooking stairwell to my front door.
Voila-I’m in my own personal interior décor hell-everything is brown and magnolia. And everything is like what I think it must have been like in SA 50 years ago. Although it’s fairly clean and has a beige tile floor. It’s a open plan dining/lounge effort with a mega size flatscreen on the wall. The dining chairs are covered in a quasi African print which I could have lived with ordinarily, matching the lounge suite in, you guessed it, beige and brown. The walls have the colour of the sky outside. From there one enters the bedroom on one side and the mini kitchen, no cats to swing here, on the other. Bloody hell, it’s boiling in here! I hunt for AC’s, turn both of them on it’s coldest setting. Haven’t mentioned the curtains, yes beige with brown drapes made out of some sort of negligee material. And the dining room 6-seater has a lace curtain on it.
From the main bedroom with a supersize double bed, hard enough to double as a wall, covered in frigging brown and beige roses (I think I’m beginning to get a neurosis) you find the en-suite at the end and alas, not all is lost in the colour department, enter into an underwater world of sickening blue, Dolphin border et all. Sort of underwater torture.
Image the ubiquitous Avocado Bathroom Suite in blue…Too much blue!!!! Omigod…
I retreat to beige and brown and realise I need a clean-up, drenched is an understatement. But first for some basic sustenance with Adams to the Goodies Supermarket around the corner. I quickly run through the shelves and grab some bread (SWEET), cheese (PRETTY GOOD) , cooldrink, Dettol, Milton’s etc and find a bottle of gin at a surprisingly cheap rate-salvation. Everything else is hideously expensive and the little trip sets me back about R 1000. Listen, there is nothing there I normally eat, okay?
Home and bath time. By the time I get to run the bath, boil the water in the geyser for at least 1 hour, then add cold and 5 capfulls of Dettol, I’ve had about 20 powercuts-I kid you not. It’s all very well, but everytime the power konks out you get up and put the AC on again-it does not restart automatically and of course you stumble around in the dark, cigarette lighter in hand. Needless to say, I gave up on TV some time ago. I’ve brought my own sheets, coverlet and neckroll and rip the flower linen off the bed, exchange it for my crisp white 500 threadcount cotton sheets. Instant bliss. And after 2 stiff gin and juice fall into a deep exhausted sleep.
Sarturday morning –I’ll come back to this.
One last thing-when I came to work on Monday morning after my weekend spent in solitary confinement in the beige and brown, I got to work and found myself in the same depressing, yes, you’re right, beige and brown office interiors. FCOL!!!
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
How to turn brown tap water into safish bath water
This is a good one:
Been really worried about the stinking Cola coloured, bacteria and virus infected water that apparently comes out of the taps in Lagos (hey, there is no sewage system and the crap goes into the groundwater which comes out of the taps). Okay, to wash vegetables and fruit in the kitchen you use a bit of Miltons in it-I knew that and of course only bottled water to drink, brush teeth etc...
But what about showering? Am I supposed to wash in this filth?
Here's what you do (from an expat I met at the High Commission):
Take a 2 litre Coke bottle and cut off the bottom part.
Drill/poke 2 holes into the lower rim, opposite one another.
Attach a piece of string, ribbon or wire long enough to fit over the tap.
Cut out a square piece of preferably silk fabric (or cotton will do as well) which you tie around the nozzle/spout of the bottle on the other end.
Hang the thing over the tap, drop a few granules of HTH or similar into the bottle and run the water.
Hey presto-you have a rudimentary water sanitizer!
All the muck and some bacteria and viruses will be trapped in the bottle and the water will be reasonably clean.
Still no drinking though and your skin might get bleached if you decide to linger. Never mind what it will do to your hair. So, hairwashing will be done with bottled water in my case.
And perhaps, hope beyond hope, we will have a water purification plant at the compound?
Been really worried about the stinking Cola coloured, bacteria and virus infected water that apparently comes out of the taps in Lagos (hey, there is no sewage system and the crap goes into the groundwater which comes out of the taps). Okay, to wash vegetables and fruit in the kitchen you use a bit of Miltons in it-I knew that and of course only bottled water to drink, brush teeth etc...
But what about showering? Am I supposed to wash in this filth?
Here's what you do (from an expat I met at the High Commission):
Take a 2 litre Coke bottle and cut off the bottom part.
Drill/poke 2 holes into the lower rim, opposite one another.
Attach a piece of string, ribbon or wire long enough to fit over the tap.
Cut out a square piece of preferably silk fabric (or cotton will do as well) which you tie around the nozzle/spout of the bottle on the other end.
Hang the thing over the tap, drop a few granules of HTH or similar into the bottle and run the water.
Hey presto-you have a rudimentary water sanitizer!
All the muck and some bacteria and viruses will be trapped in the bottle and the water will be reasonably clean.
Still no drinking though and your skin might get bleached if you decide to linger. Never mind what it will do to your hair. So, hairwashing will be done with bottled water in my case.
And perhaps, hope beyond hope, we will have a water purification plant at the compound?
Monday, January 4, 2010
Some choice bits learned today
Here we go-do not ever hang your washing outdoors to dry unless in the boiling hot sun!
Putsi fly lay their eggs in damp clothing and damp soil (sorry, no potplants on the balcony, pals)and in those lovely cushions you think you will have on your patio. The little darlings lay their eggs in the damp linings of your waistbands etc and hatch. When you put on that wonderful fresh pair of whatevers they continue laying their eggs in your skin when you're wearing that garment. Charming!
After a day or two the larvae develop into worms and an inflamed boil-like infection will appear on your skin. After about 8 days they will emerge out of YOUR skin by themselves (although they tell me a little Vaseline will help the hatching process-if you're up to it).
Her comes the good bit-you take your tweezers and gently and with all the nerve you have left by then -pull them out the unwanted passenger.
You still with me?
Okay-disinfect the wound with some Betadine or suchlike and go to bed -without enibriating yourself with a bottle of something. WHAT???
Anyway, a hot tumble dryer will do the trick to kill them of before they take up residence on your body or alternatively a very hot iron-twice applied.
I'm told it kills the eggs.
Enjoy Nigeria!
Putsi fly lay their eggs in damp clothing and damp soil (sorry, no potplants on the balcony, pals)and in those lovely cushions you think you will have on your patio. The little darlings lay their eggs in the damp linings of your waistbands etc and hatch. When you put on that wonderful fresh pair of whatevers they continue laying their eggs in your skin when you're wearing that garment. Charming!
After a day or two the larvae develop into worms and an inflamed boil-like infection will appear on your skin. After about 8 days they will emerge out of YOUR skin by themselves (although they tell me a little Vaseline will help the hatching process-if you're up to it).
Her comes the good bit-you take your tweezers and gently and with all the nerve you have left by then -pull them out the unwanted passenger.
You still with me?
Okay-disinfect the wound with some Betadine or suchlike and go to bed -without enibriating yourself with a bottle of something. WHAT???
Anyway, a hot tumble dryer will do the trick to kill them of before they take up residence on your body or alternatively a very hot iron-twice applied.
I'm told it kills the eggs.
Enjoy Nigeria!
The Visa saga-part 3
Okay-I'm not going to bore you any more with the gory details, other than to say I got the wrong visa and had to go through the whole unpleasant story again. The lovely C attempted to extort an extra R2000 from me ontop of the R2000 I had to pay for this, the correct visa.
I now do have the right Visa-an STR-which will enable me to work and live in Nigeria and will eventually be converted to a permanent residency visa.
Well, if it ever comes to that.
If this was any indication what it's going to be like, I'm certainly in for a rough ride. Lying and cheating has always offended my European sensibilities and this is something I will have to get used to. Oh boy...
I now do have the right Visa-an STR-which will enable me to work and live in Nigeria and will eventually be converted to a permanent residency visa.
Well, if it ever comes to that.
If this was any indication what it's going to be like, I'm certainly in for a rough ride. Lying and cheating has always offended my European sensibilities and this is something I will have to get used to. Oh boy...
Friday, January 1, 2010
The visa saga-part 2
So, where was I...
yes, his highness the HC has arrived and the passports are lying in an empty office next door.
By this stage I'm seriously dehydrated-no evidence of a water dispenser or God forbid, a coffee machine- (if I ever, ever, ever have to come back to this forsaken hell of a place-I'll make sure there's a fully packed picnic hamper and books to read.
Also I have now been sitting for 4 and a half hours and am in dire need of a bathroom.
None in sight around here-BUT I'm told to go to the main entrance into the mansion-there's one there. I go and enter a royally interior decorated entrance hall with crystal chandelier et all.Through another set of double story heavy double doors and find the bathroom sign. In and on, but not after I spray the seat with disinfectant, which i carry around with me always and my own papertowels-did I mention there was no bogroll anywhere? So, don't forget that if you should ever have to go...
It stinks and there is a teatowel which has long forgotten its original color to wipe one's hands. The white painted door has multible black handprints in a sort of layered effect-clearly no-one bothers to wash hands.
FCOL! How difficult can it be to keep 2 toilets clean?
I step out and into the passage, somewhat relieved and ...bump into the lovely C. who hands me my passport.
What???
It has my single entry visa in it!
Success at last!
I fetch my friend who stares at me in disbelief and we get on the road back to Jo'burg where we eventually arrive at 5.30pm.
BUT...I have a visa and all is well.
For now.
Part 3 to follow shortly.
yes, his highness the HC has arrived and the passports are lying in an empty office next door.
By this stage I'm seriously dehydrated-no evidence of a water dispenser or God forbid, a coffee machine- (if I ever, ever, ever have to come back to this forsaken hell of a place-I'll make sure there's a fully packed picnic hamper and books to read.
Also I have now been sitting for 4 and a half hours and am in dire need of a bathroom.
None in sight around here-BUT I'm told to go to the main entrance into the mansion-there's one there. I go and enter a royally interior decorated entrance hall with crystal chandelier et all.Through another set of double story heavy double doors and find the bathroom sign. In and on, but not after I spray the seat with disinfectant, which i carry around with me always and my own papertowels-did I mention there was no bogroll anywhere? So, don't forget that if you should ever have to go...
It stinks and there is a teatowel which has long forgotten its original color to wipe one's hands. The white painted door has multible black handprints in a sort of layered effect-clearly no-one bothers to wash hands.
FCOL! How difficult can it be to keep 2 toilets clean?
I step out and into the passage, somewhat relieved and ...bump into the lovely C. who hands me my passport.
What???
It has my single entry visa in it!
Success at last!
I fetch my friend who stares at me in disbelief and we get on the road back to Jo'burg where we eventually arrive at 5.30pm.
BUT...I have a visa and all is well.
For now.
Part 3 to follow shortly.
The Visa saga-part 1
Where to begin?
I was told to head out to the Nigerian High Commission in Pretoria with the paperwork-a large stack of application forms, uni certificates, all sorts of department of the Interiors stuff I was given and all manner of other wasted trees-all in all 42 pages.
D, one of the expats told me to get the single entry business visa ( although the application form says STR visa) for 1 month and all else would be done by my new employer once in Lagos. The cost would be R 490.
Okay, so my 'moral support sista and me leave Jo'burg at around 9 am and get to Pretoria, which is a complete mystery to me regarding navigation, at 10 am.
The offices officially open each day at 10 am.
There is no-one there and we are told to wait.
About 30 minutes later the gates are open by one C, a young lady who leads us to a pokey office at the BACK of the High Commission building. No entry into the grand old mansion at the front door for us commoners.
She proceeds to disappear into the back of the side passage and leaves us in the waiting area without acknowledging our presence much.
Oh my, this is not starting off well. I'm already getting hot under the collar.
Some time later she re-appears, now in her cubicle type office divided by a glass window with a pidgeon hole in it and proceeds to get her cellphone messages.
Eventually I hand over the paperwork and explain my needs to her. She fingers through the pages and says that this is a STR application and I need to pay R 6000 repatriation fee for this.
We leave and get back into the car where I make a phone call to D who says I must get the single entry 1 month visa for R490.
I go back and say...
No,no, I just want the visa for R 490...
And hand over R 500 wishing to pay for this. She goes, no, no, you have to pay this at Standard Bank. I say, okay can I have the account number and direction to the nearest Standard Bank please.
She goes: Do you have a piece of paper and a pen?
Oh, I forgot to say there is nothing in her office other than a phone and a Bible ...make of that what you will.
Right...
We get back into the car, get directions and find the Standard Bank where I pay the R 490 into their account (hey, if you want the account number to make a donation for some writing paper, pens and perhaps a computer, so the lovely C can do some work-just let me know)and head back to the High Commission where there are now 2 more people waiting in an empty office backroom.
Did I tell you how filthy the place is? My morally-supporting-me-sista turns an African oil painting right way up, which is resting on a shelf thing.
Eventually it is my turn again, I hand over the papers, the deposit slip and am told that the visa will be ready in 2 weeks. Hang on-I'm leaving next week Friday!
But D said with a gift? of R 300 I can get an 'Express' visa.
So, I go: I'm needing this visa 'same day' so can I pay an extra R 300 and get it expedited? Yes, that's fine-in cash please.
Now, we do take money in cash. I receive the receipt for the original R 490, NOT the R 300 and am told to wait.
Hmmmh, by that time it's about noon and we are starting to get thirsty, hungry and grumpy.
I ask if the High Commissioner is here-she says, no- when is he expected?- I don't know if he will be here today or what time he will arrive.
Hah! I have his number!
I phone him and he tells me he's on his way.
We wait.
And wait.
People come and go-most are sent away. The strategy appears to be to find something that is missing or incomplete or we simply make up a new rule.
We wait.
And wait.
C comes and goes, gets her cellphone messages.
We wait.
Others mostly go.
It is now 2pm and there is a stack of passports and paperwork on the floor-mine is on the top!
The commissioner is finally in the house.
2.30-C comes and picks up the stack of passports and paperwork-I find it later in an empty office adjoining this one through the window when I'm having my 40est smoke-I now using nicotine medicinally to curb the hunger and thirst.
To continue shortly.
I was told to head out to the Nigerian High Commission in Pretoria with the paperwork-a large stack of application forms, uni certificates, all sorts of department of the Interiors stuff I was given and all manner of other wasted trees-all in all 42 pages.
D, one of the expats told me to get the single entry business visa ( although the application form says STR visa) for 1 month and all else would be done by my new employer once in Lagos. The cost would be R 490.
Okay, so my 'moral support sista and me leave Jo'burg at around 9 am and get to Pretoria, which is a complete mystery to me regarding navigation, at 10 am.
The offices officially open each day at 10 am.
There is no-one there and we are told to wait.
About 30 minutes later the gates are open by one C, a young lady who leads us to a pokey office at the BACK of the High Commission building. No entry into the grand old mansion at the front door for us commoners.
She proceeds to disappear into the back of the side passage and leaves us in the waiting area without acknowledging our presence much.
Oh my, this is not starting off well. I'm already getting hot under the collar.
Some time later she re-appears, now in her cubicle type office divided by a glass window with a pidgeon hole in it and proceeds to get her cellphone messages.
Eventually I hand over the paperwork and explain my needs to her. She fingers through the pages and says that this is a STR application and I need to pay R 6000 repatriation fee for this.
We leave and get back into the car where I make a phone call to D who says I must get the single entry 1 month visa for R490.
I go back and say...
No,no, I just want the visa for R 490...
And hand over R 500 wishing to pay for this. She goes, no, no, you have to pay this at Standard Bank. I say, okay can I have the account number and direction to the nearest Standard Bank please.
She goes: Do you have a piece of paper and a pen?
Oh, I forgot to say there is nothing in her office other than a phone and a Bible ...make of that what you will.
Right...
We get back into the car, get directions and find the Standard Bank where I pay the R 490 into their account (hey, if you want the account number to make a donation for some writing paper, pens and perhaps a computer, so the lovely C can do some work-just let me know)and head back to the High Commission where there are now 2 more people waiting in an empty office backroom.
Did I tell you how filthy the place is? My morally-supporting-me-sista turns an African oil painting right way up, which is resting on a shelf thing.
Eventually it is my turn again, I hand over the papers, the deposit slip and am told that the visa will be ready in 2 weeks. Hang on-I'm leaving next week Friday!
But D said with a gift? of R 300 I can get an 'Express' visa.
So, I go: I'm needing this visa 'same day' so can I pay an extra R 300 and get it expedited? Yes, that's fine-in cash please.
Now, we do take money in cash. I receive the receipt for the original R 490, NOT the R 300 and am told to wait.
Hmmmh, by that time it's about noon and we are starting to get thirsty, hungry and grumpy.
I ask if the High Commissioner is here-she says, no- when is he expected?- I don't know if he will be here today or what time he will arrive.
Hah! I have his number!
I phone him and he tells me he's on his way.
We wait.
And wait.
People come and go-most are sent away. The strategy appears to be to find something that is missing or incomplete or we simply make up a new rule.
We wait.
And wait.
C comes and goes, gets her cellphone messages.
We wait.
Others mostly go.
It is now 2pm and there is a stack of passports and paperwork on the floor-mine is on the top!
The commissioner is finally in the house.
2.30-C comes and picks up the stack of passports and paperwork-I find it later in an empty office adjoining this one through the window when I'm having my 40est smoke-I now using nicotine medicinally to curb the hunger and thirst.
To continue shortly.
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