Worker Bee

To work in Lagos you have to be of very strong faith in either a higher power or a bottle of gin. Functionality is optimum when you learn the cardinal rules:

1) Never expect a professional to be able to provide the level of service he claims he can give you
2) A deadline is about as effective as the 2.5 billion naira on-ramp to Falomo Bridge
3) The more money you pay upfront exponentially decides how fast the understanding of your deliverables will diminish.

I spend all day, EVERY day, trying to decipher management techniques that work with different types of people; screaming at them or pleading with them, maybe even threatening or actual physical violence. (There's the C.V. of a baseball bat on my desk, just in case).

After being 3 weeks late on a deadline, I journeyed to the office of one of my vendors to actually sit with him to make sure he was doing work.  Physically blocking him from leaving his desk, I spent 6 hours monitoring a project that had, at a prior instance, been referred to as being "cleaned up."  Resigned to another day of sitting on his head,as the sun was setting I ask what time we are meeting in his office the next day. My vendor then tells me that he is not working tomorrow;  tomorrow is a day that he exclusively spends with Eileen. Considering I'd never met his wife or any of his 5 children, I asked who Eileen was and to which he said "she's one of my girlfriends."

*yoga inspired deep breathing exercises*

Needless to say, I've been really stressed out lately.  I've been hoping for a while that when one of my work vendor's says "I will deliver it today" he doesn't actually mean " I will switch off my phone and ignore your emails because my time is more valuable than yours." Today, after my second cup of calming tea and my third distressed phone call to explain to someone that sending me the same design twice does not constitute a re-design, I  have decided to take my blood pressure.

A POSITIVE I.D.

My sister, lets call her “M.S.” is one of those people that can actually do math and draw a straight line without a ruler, you know, the show-offy types. She’s normally the person who walks in 45 mins after you started building your chest of drawers with the German instructions, coupled with a translation app that got a one star recommendation on iTunes  and shows you that the english directions are on the back and you actually bought a dog house by mistake. She's the together one.

Though Lagos and I have been long time lovers, my sister and Lagos have only ever been good friends. They are happy to see each other and go out for drinks but then gidi says something slick and they remember why they don’t actually hang out as often as they think they should.

On her last visit, she bought some boli, bole roast plantain and asked I.D. our house “help”, to please buy her 3 bottles of cold water. The following exchange ensues after I.D.’s 35 minute journey to the store:

ID: Aunty, they don’t have small bottles of cold water, should I still buy or buy the big one? The big one is cold

MS: Buy the big one and bring it back

(25 minutes later)

ID: Aunty, take

MS: This is one small bottle of warm water…

ID: The big one wasn’t cold

MS: If you were going to buy warm water, when didn’t you just buy them on the first trip?

ID: *blank stare*

MS: Just go and buy two more small bottles of water

(15 minutes later)

ID: Aunty, this is it

MS: *sigh* this is 2 bottles of Fanta and a can of Maltina

ID: yes, aunty

MS: what did I ask you to buy?

ID: Water, Aunty

MS: *long pause* where’s my change?

ID: Aunty, they didn’t have change

MS: *long pause* whatever

(ID lurks for 3 minutes)

MS: What’s the problem?

ID: Aunty, you go drink that malt? I want taste am because e cold well well…  

In my sister’s quest for rationality, Lagos provides no succour. There are always people who defy the very science that holds human kind together as a biological grouping and everytime she visits, she creates new ideas that she’s convinced will help the evolution of the Nigerian mind…until she gets to the airport where there are nine newly arrived flights but only one baggage carousel and people see no problem with unloading bags with tons of toilet paper and toothpaste from “the overseas”.  

One and the Same

Attending events in Lagos is like a full time job, between birthdays, funerals, thanksgivings and helping people remember their deceased from 15 generations before, any self respecting Lagosian knows, a party isn’t a party until you and a thousand of your closest friends are wearing the same material aka “aso ebi”

(I actually don’t know where to buy ankara material from as I just wait until there’s an event I have no intention of attending)

If anyone knows my dad he’s one of the most generous people on the planet, like he can give away the shoes that you’re wearing and follow up with the question “you didn’t still want those did you?” He feels like he has a civic responsibility to the entire human race and trust me, dude takes it seriously. So, his “dashing” of leftover  aso ebi material to anyone he deems wanting, is as expected as a yellow girl with too much brazillian hair and pink blush at a Dbanj concert.  

On a fateful Friday, I had a meeting and woke up with just enough time to get dressed and out of the house. Laid out my newest ankara dress, took a shower, did my regular “getting dressed” dance in the mirror and headed out of the house, coffee mug in one hand and granola bar in the the other. I walked to and sat in the car, consumed by my phone when the driver gets in and we head out. My driver at the time was one of those ones that you brush off with a “the devil you know” shrug and do a novena everytime you get in the car; a typical Lagos Islander who voluntarily asked people to call him “Squadron” (yes, after the liquor).

 I get to my appointment and get out of the car and as I’m walking into the building, my driver gets out of the car  to help me carry bags in and reveals that he is wearing the EXACT same material as I am.  The look of absolutely mischevious glee on his face and the look of genuine horror on mine were of the same magnitude. The situation was out of my hands, I either sweat and struggle my way up the stairs with too many bags or he has to come with me.

I have no shame in saying this, I strapped those bags to my body and carried them up 4 flights of stairs. A little hard work and sweat I can deal with but allowing my chemically imbalanced driver revel in telling the receptionist the story about how we are both part of a Yinka Ayefele back-up band on the weekends is another thing entirely. 

The Ressurection

So I know that I've become one of the quintessential bloggers who forgets all about their blog but no be like that na...lol.You see, what had happened was, my love and I were separated for a while wn, but I am back now and shall try to be in full effect *dancing to Bobby Brown's every little step I take*


As I've tried to get back into the Lagos groove, I've decided that one of the best things about being able to say i"m gidi-grown is because I had a great many, very fantastic and inherently "Lagos" experiences in my childhood and that's one of the reasons i'm so fly (you know its true).

For example, I went to one of those primary schools in Lagos that most people know. I never understand the relevance of the question as you are now grown-up people at a grown-up social function, drinking Hennessy on someone else's tab, air kissing and pretending to not notice people you went to school with (don't front like you don't do it) and it always seems to crop up "what school did you go to?" Its like a multiple-choice exam and there are about 5 acceptable answers with and option of "none of the above."

Anyways, I went to one of those schools and I remember having my 6th birthday "party" and there's nothing better than being able to show up to class with a huge Barbie Birthday cake (life size barbie included)and rub it in everyone's face that you're the HBIC and they better not cross you if they want a piece.

SN: Let me explain how excited that cake made me, it made me do dances that you couldn't get me to do now even after 3 shots of tequila and a wine chaser, so...yeah, i was mad excited. 

So, my cake and I were dropped off at school with specific instructions to bring back a certain amount of it and the day went as expected, readin, writin, being held up my kids from a different class talking about they need a cake hook-up...regular stuff. Time came to cut the cake, people sang, clapped and then the absolute smallest pieces of cake are shared to my classmates and just as my brain is like "this does not compute" (and I swear it happened exactly like this and in slow motion), my teacher hacked off half of my remaining cake, wrapped it in foil and put it in her purse then looked me dead in my face like "and what are you going to do about it". As i was metaphorically taking off my earrings and getting out my vaseline, this woman took my barbie doll, licked the icing and cake of her legs and put my doll in the same purse,she was definitely looking to catch a fade...( I was 6, what powers did i have besides to cry uncontrollably and incessantly ask the question "but why?")

What's the point of this story? I'm glad you asked...

There are people all over this great city who pull stunts everyday only supported by the very revered notion of "yeah, i did it, what are you going to do about it?" From self-appointed managers to the security guards at the bank that stress you into leaving your silver pen at the door but let you hold your colt .45 above your head as the metal detector won't "notice". It seems like everyone is just waiting to hold their authority over you and make you say "uncle" and it is one of the most singe-handedly frustrating things anyone has to deal with.

I have no solutions to this problem,besides common courtesy and collective human respect(let's be real,that's not going to happen) ; I will say this, I hope that my old teacher is still teaching when I have kids and they start school because...that b*tch owes me a Barbie.