Lagos as my own

That’s how Nigerians behave

2009-10-22T04:24:00.000-07:00

My father and I were on our way to visit an aunt when we got into one of those quintessential Lagos face-offs at a 4-way stop. No one wants to let anyone else go and the people who decide they want to be mature and take the high road regretted it instantly as allowing any space means that some other genius can poke his car’s nose (or wheeled contraption) into it. After about 45 minutes of swearing for people and their ancestors we wiggled out of the situation with my father still fuming uncontrollably. As I tried to calm him down he utters that inevitable sentence “that’s how Nigerians behave!”
I hate that statement, being a blind patriot and nationalist aside, I hate that people use it as though they are not part of the qualifier that they have just grouped the people in. Tell someone about how you almost got robbed “That’s how Nigeria is” or about how you got into an argument at the bank because you were frustrated and just wanted to go home- “is it not Nigeria?” It doesn’t matter the offence; no one wants to hear both sides of the story. The conclusion is standard- you were right and everything that went wrong was Nigeria’s fault hence “that’s how Nigerians behave.”
So I thought about letting the statement go, my father is stuck in his ways but then I re-think because hey! This man is going to impart wisdom on my children and I don’t want him telling my children that Nigerians behave any certain way. So I go on a rant of how this statement alone creates an inferiority complex in our people and why the people that use it remove themselves from the problem so they don’t feel a responsibility to fix it. As I found my stride in my argument about to reach a denouement that could only be perfected by the national anthem I heard my father snore quietly in the front seat. I tap him in disbelief “Daddy, are you sleeping?! He smiled and said “Sorry sweetie, what did you say?!”
“Don’t worry- that’s how Nigerians behave...”

The seige

2009-09-02T09:17:00.000-07:00

My house has been under seige. Our movements have been monitored and we have had to keep a watchful eye in order not to piss off our captor. You see, there is a mouse in the house. That's right...a mouse and it has been there for about four days or at least that's as long as i've known it was there. I've nicknamed him the captain as he cannot be taken down; Poisoned bread apparently doesn't work, sticky paper seems to be be his friend and humans are just entities that he has to deal with on a daily basis. He has eaten parts of my saltine crackers, a snickers bar, I think some plantain chips and a bit of my shoelace.He actually resides in the kitchen between the cooker and rack where we keep the plantains but he vacations in my closet within the shoes from time to time.

Four days ago at about 2am, I was watching television and I heard it...that all too familiar rustle from a corner in my room. I stood on my bed and scanned the room and there he was, all of the size of a big pencil eraser (you know the one that was half white and half black but the black part never worked). He didn't scurry or run, he walked, actually, he meandered across the floor towards the wall that was close to my bed. That was all I needed to see to flee into my father's room in a distressed state. He promptly told me to "Go deal with it" so I woke up the housekeeper instead.

Our housekeeper is about 40 years old and is used to these distressed calls from me. After he cleared the sleep from his eyes he walked somberly behind me probably remembering the happy times in his life before I came to be in it. After baricading himself in my room and making a series of loud "mouse-catching" sounds he emerges and says he has baricaded the mouse in my closet (where I keep my lotion and deodorant) and so I should probably not open it until the morning when he will be in a better position to catch it. Though distraught, I am comforted by the fact that it is at least quarantined and I go to bed and have dreams of mice running through my hair.

I spent most of the next day ashy, musty and outside of the house ( which apparently translated to our housekeeper to leave the animal in my closet). I get home at about midnight to find that I still cannot open my closet. Soon, its 2am and i'm on the phone with a friend and I see the captain through the corner of my eye. He squeezes himself out of the closet, scurries accross the floor and squeezes himself under the door into the hallway. After the shock has worn off I tell my friend that i will call her back I contemplate screaming for my father but decide against it as he will probably feel a serious urge to throw something at me (It's ramaddan so I wouldn't want to test him).

The next morning, as i was getting dressed for work i decided to get something from the kitchen and who else is there but the captain- having a morning stroll around the plantain rack probably on his way to get his morning newspaper. He sees me and makes a cartoon like dash behind the cooker. That was the last I saw of the captain. I hear tell that three days later he was found dead with no possible traces or cause of death; most just said natural causes.

Sometimes I sit in my room with the window open and when a breeze blows through and I hear a little rustle I always sit back and sigh and wonder if Tom from Tom and Jerry was really the bad guy after all.

Where is your handset?

2009-07-17T04:52:00.000-07:00

I have an aunt that I visit so often that I have her gateman’s phone number. So a few nights ago, I decided to pay her a quick visit. The generator was on so there was no point knocking on the gate, I could have been screaming bloody murder and no one would have heard me. Naturally, I called the gateman but the phone told me, very politely, that his phone was switched off. I called a few more times, for good measure, and then decided to leave. Just as the car was turning around, I see the gateman running down the street waving his arms frantically for me to stop. He gets to the car and apologises profusely, “I called you now, your phone is off” He smiles and says “my battery don die, you for call me on my GLO, but sometimes network no dey”
I like the fact that everyone in Lagos has a cell phone actually scratch that I LOVE the fact that everyone in Lagos has a cell phone. You can get in touch with anybody, anywhere without even leaving your house. This is a particularly calming thought for me because I remember people who would make pilgrimages from places like Ikorodu, dress their children in matching ankara and come to visit my parents at the crack of dawn on a Sunday morning just to be sure that we were at home when they got there.
The savvy Lagosian patron has a plethora of choices for phones but it seems that all stakeholders at the Nokia corporation have each put at least two children through university with their revenue from Lagosians alone. As with everything else in Lagos there are rules and I believe I have mastered the top ten:

1. In order to solidify your big boy status you must have at least 3 phones and one of them has to be a blackberry
2. You must and I repeat, must have enough money on your phone at all times to be able to flash (in case of emergency)
3. If someone does not answer the phone the first time you call them, call them incessantly and on their different phone lines. I mean, no one minds getting 30 missed calls just because you wanted to say hi
4. It is always ok to call someone in the middle of the night because it’s free
5. The best way to show that you care about someone is to send them credits but this might backfire if the person doesn’t use them to call you
6. You can always get out of trouble by saying “you called me? When? It must have been network problems...my phone didn’t ring”
7. Text messages are a legitimate way to invite your closest friends and family to an event
8. When you are making a phone call volume control is non-existent
9. Your phone’s obnoxiously loud D’Banj ringtone should never be silenced( even at the movie theatre)
10. The people who are the most succinct when they call you will become Wole Soyinka narratives when you call them

To this end I implore, for my next birthday I don’t want to go out to dinner or for you to send me flowers just show up at my door with nothing but a bouquet of MTN recharge cards and a smile.

A minor rant- Phonecalls

2009-06-29T04:34:00.001-07:00

People don't seem to share the same sentiment that 9am is the first "Godly" hour. Why do people think it ok to call you at 6am and not just once but multiple times. Some people even have the gall to "flash" you and expect you to wake up and call them back...what the fudge man?!

Six degrees of separation, ha!

2009-06-29T04:32:00.001-07:00

My uncle flew to Abuja to attend the wedding of his bosses cousin's son who was also his distant cousin on his mother's side. I am not related to this person because I am his relative on his dad's end. This wedding in Abuja also had the Lagos leg of the tour; you see the bride is Hausa and the Groom, Yoruba (kudos to making Wazobia a reality).

Now, my friend, who is Yoruba on one end and Igbo on the other, said he was going to Abuja to attend HIS cousin's wedding. I found out that his cousin was the bride which makes me wonder where he got a Hausa relative. I wonder how long it will be before we start growing extra appendages and acquiring superhuman abilities from all the very close genetic breeding going on.

Well, put me down for a third boob or glowing in the dark...

I forgot to post this...

2009-06-29T04:21:00.000-07:00

Now I don't know about you but it seems that when travelling sometimes I feel that I am being treated like a second class citizen by some of these airlines. By sheer luck I was upgraded on my flight out and I got to enjoy the luxuries of the leeches in power and the owners of franchises. I slept like a baby and enjoyed meals that would require way too much effort in my own kitchen but alas the dream didn't last and on the way home I was returned to my pitiful existence of peanuts and shared in-flight entertainment.

It has to be said that not all economy class cabins are horrid symbols of society made to make you feel inadequate and an underachiever but the Delta airlines company is a very different story. I know, I know- I should have known from the beginning but I like to give everyone the benefit of the doubt before I write them off for all eternity so I tried them out. I mean, direct to Atlanta, no stop over, no transit visa and as the South African voice on DSTV says- no wahala.

I am now a personal believer that there was a meeting at the Delta Airlines office that summised “we don’t need that- send it to Nigeria, they’ll take anything.” It’s safe to say that I'm going to write them off for all eternity. Horrible service, horrible accommodations- actually horrible everything. I felt as if I was being punished for not being in the upper class cabin....note to self, marry rich ;)

What did you bring for us?

2009-06-15T08:54:00.000-07:00

After my two weeks of relaxation and rejuvenation, I was ready to come back and take over the world. I have come back to this socially acceptable harassment of what did you bring for us. This morning my tailor, who only comes to my house when she wants to expedite a payment, came over at a quarter-past eight o’clock. Seeing as I was in mid work dress mode, I threw on a robe and went to see her. When I asked her why she was there she said she wanted to make sure I was home to ask what I brought back for her.
I have only been back for a few days and the first thing everyone I have seen has asked me is “what did you bring for us?” When I say everyone, I mean, most of the people in my office including the young man who operates and services our generator, the people who look after my house, our driver, my uncle’s driver and the people who run the chemist near my house.
The average travelling individual is allowed to take 2 bags with a linear dimension up to 158cm and weighing up to23 kilograms each. You can also have a small bag of carry-on luggage that can be 56cm by 45cm by 25cm at most, oh and a purse (not withstanding your chromosome branding)
Now, I explain this to you because even if ALL these people were in my sights to buy things for, who do I look like Yar’Adua’s next governor-entrusted kid? If you add up all the people in my family from both sides the numbers are going into the hundreds. I will leave out friends and significant other for the sake of argument but financial restraints notwithstanding, where the hell am I supposed to put it all?
I finally rifled through my un-unpacked bags and found two Snickers bars at the bottom. I then had to apologise to her that I had not brought her more and when she seems content with the fact that the chocolate was just to placate her and she was worthy of more she left. I wondered what kind of delusional self-importance allows your tailor to harass you before your first cup of coffee for a present that she was not entitled to in the first place. If I had that kind of confidence I’m pretty sure I would rule the world

Only in naija?

2009-06-08T08:16:00.000-07:00

Every Lagosian knows that there comes a time when we have to get away from the city for solace and Starbucks coffee (I seriously don’t know why we don’t have one). So, as the weeks close in on my vacation my excitement builds and I start packing waaay before it is necessary.
The day finally arrives and I wake up extra early, we are on our way and there is absolutely no traffic from my house to the airport. I check-in and get searched for contraband items and then I have to get into another queue to get searched for drugs on a table separated by no more than a 2-inch space from the first one; “Was there seriously no way for you guys to figure out a way to do that at the same table?” but I shrug off the thought of the inefficiency until I get to the NDLEA officials who make a mockery of any kind of search and proceed to ask “anything for the boys?” I cannot describe the irritation i feel anytime i am openly asked for a bribe and I could rant on for hours about it but that’s not what this story is about...
After, this minor jilt in my morning, i skipped off to immigration, which took almost twenty minutes and headed to board my flight. After having my boarding pass checked, I waited to board the plane...15mins till the plane took off, 10mins, 5mins and still no boarding. Then a woman (sans PA system) announces that the flight will be delayed for 2 hours due to a technical problem but they will serve snacks and drinks while we wait. She apologises for the inconveniences and then we wait.
As the end of the 2 hours approaches, i await the boarding call but still nothing...then the woman, stands on a chair and announces that the flight has been cancelled because, and i have to say this perfectly, it seems that birds flew into the engine of the aircraft and they would not be able to resolve the problem today. As I get up, thinking how possible it will be to find another perfect travelling outfit, i wonder if things like this only happen in naija...

Dedication or disillusion?

2009-04-28T07:23:00.000-07:00

I was out with my friend the other day. We were in Ikeja, if I had any sense of direction I would tell you exactly where in Ikeja but I don’t so I can’t. Anyway, as we were driving along we saw a brown car and on top of the hood (or bonnet, depending on how much MTV you watch) is a LASTMA official in an orange traffic vest holding on for dear life!
I assume this was a routine traffic stop that had gone terrible awry; the car looked as though it had no intention of slowing down, stopping entirely seeming not on the agenda. As I looked in amazement with my mouth open wide enough to be a fly’s playground, the driver of the brown car started to weave from left to right in an attempt to “shake off” the LASTMA official- as though he was a bug on the windshield! The LASTMA official on the other hand was gripping the car and still threatening to uphold whatever law the driver was supposed to have broken.

At this point I would have expected that he accept the fact that this man was not one to abide by the rules, cut his losses and try to get out of the situation with at least one limb intact (traffic control will prove rather difficult otherwise).

About three minutes down the road, the brown car turned left and we were going straight. I watched as the car drove away until I couldn’t see it anymore and wondered what would happen to them. I still don’t know if the LASTMA official was brave or stupid. He could have been taking his job so seriously that his deep desire for traffic control might have gotten the better of him and clouded his judgement as he jumped on the car. What will his superiors say about it? Will they commend him for his dedication to the force or laugh in his face?
I would like to think that he will get a congratulatory pat on the back. His fellow LASTMAns would want to hear his story of courage and dedication over and over again until he can’t tell it anymore. His supervisor would buy him a celebratory meal of boli and epa and at least for a little while he will be the hero at his local LASTMA office.

I know it won’t happen like that, it very rarely does...

Survival Guide to NYSC Orientation Camp

2009-04-09T01:47:00.000-07:00

Every year, Nigerian youth are asked the question "Would you like to serve your fatherland to build your patriotism all the while harnessing service and humility?" and every year the answer is a rousing, "...I guess, if I HAVE to."

Registration
• When you arrive at the camp you will be expected to register yourself because you are an excited corp member or a citizen who is being forced into it (either way, it’s acceptable). Plus they need records in case you get lost in the bush.
• Registration is long and painful. If you don’t like queues then you might want to consider getting a body double. According to NYSC statutes the most asinine way to do something is the way it MUST be done. Don’t offer efficient solutions, the officials get angry when you use words they don’t understand.
• When being given your NYSC “kit” and the official in charge asks you what your shoe size is just tell her not to bother because she’s going to give you the one closest to her anyway.
• Do not under any circumstances ask follow-up questions to any officials instructions lest they think you to have too much of “the logic”

Getting settled
• It is quite common for the living arrangements to be less than desirable but do not fear, you are allowed fresh air during the daylight hours.
• If you are a stickler for fire safety and a room with 40 people, no windows and one door freaks you out don’t worry about it, the fleeing of the bed bugs from the mattresses should be enough warning if there is a fire.
• There are many people from all parts of this great country who do not believe in personal space, boundaries and excess nudity making anyone uncomfortable. Just hope that person isn’t your bunkmate because it makes for awkward times.
• If you didn’t bring take a mosquito net then it bodes well for you to sleep in full body armour.
• Some women have chest hair- a lot of it
• There is no shame in crying through your first night, it scares away the mice (ok, there aren’t any mice, you were freaked huh?)

Taking a shower/ using the bathroom/getting ready
• If you are a germophobe of any kind then I suggest that you be excused from going to orientation camp altogether on the grounds of the area being dangerous to your psychological well being.
• If you cannot shower with cold water I would not suggest that you ask the kitchen staff to boil you water…trust me on this one.
• If you have a problem with public nudity (your or other people’s), then I suggest you bring your own privacy screen or hire a small child to hold a wrapper in front of you or other people (wherever the nudity may be) at all times
• Advice: using a flashlight and a mirror at the same time is more complicated than it seems.
Morning parade & Jogging
• You will be awakened in the wee hours of the morning by a bugle, don’t expect it to be in tune but then again, can a bugle ever be in tune? (my sister asked me that)
• You will be asked to have daily praise and worship conveniently disregarding the fact that you just might not have the same beliefs.
• The soldiers will make you jog unless you can come up with a legitimate medical excuse (explaining that it is psychological warfare to brainwash you into living as though you are in a police state is apparently not credible enough).
• The jogging is mostly outside of the camp premises; I would not suggest breaking free from the group in search of sanity and indoor plumbing because the chance that you will end up lost in the bush is rather high.
• Don’t try to explain logic to the soldiers who have blood alcohol levels high enough for them to be wary of sweating near an open flame.

Dining/Mami Market
• If you don’t support the theory that swill and rocks are a balanced diet then you always have the culinary assortments available at mami market.
o By culinary assortment I mean that an assortment of people have made the same meals
• Mami market is your all-in-one shopping centre/bar/restaurant/salon/tailor/phone charging depot. In other words, if mami market doesn’t have it then it probably doesn’t exist.

Military
• *Side note* There are soldiers trained by our national defense system that are there to teach you discipline and responsibility but after encountering them up close I greatly fear for our national security.
• If you have ever seen a two-year old throw a tantrum then you have seen a soldier demand respect. The problem is solved much the same way: either give them what they want or play a quick game of peek-a-boo.
• The soldiers will barge into your room under the pretence of making sure no one is evading activities. This is all well and good but if they start doing it when there are no activities scheduled or the wee hours of the morning then you should probably alert someone.
• All you need is one soldier friend to evade all punishment and strenuous activity.
• Women take heed, if a soldier offers you a Smirnoff ice, beware- it comes at a rather high price

Endurance Trek
• You will be asked to go on the endurance trek- it is a very, very long walk so I suggest you have menstrual cramps on this day (men too, if you can pull it off).
• If your Mp3 player hasn’t been stolen yet then it would be the best companion
• It might take all your resolve but try to resist the urge to remove all your clothes because of the heat; your brightly coloured undergarments might just attract the inhabitants of the bush.

Ending ceremony
• There will be a ceremony at the end of it all. The ceremony is not actually to celebrate the accomplishment of you making it through camp but is actually an avenue to ass-kiss the governor of the state but at this point you won’t care because indoor-plumbing will soon be a reality and not an urban myth.

Can I pass? No way!

2009-01-08T06:37:00.001-08:00

Driving is an art wherever you go; you have to understand the contours and temperament of any city to be able to adjust properly to their driving style. I have always known that in order to be able to drive in Lagos one has to have the right balance of daredevil and clinically deranged. Road etiquette is considered a hindrance to proper driving and anything that shares the road is seen as a target.

Being driven in Lagos even takes time to get used to but in time you stop ducking behind the seat and covering your eyes with your hands whenever you see an okada whizzing through spaces that would make you believe that they were two-dimensional.

I have to comment on the fact that there have been some improvements made on the roads in Lagos, there have even been traffic lights installed. The craziness of the Lagos driver has been spoken about countless times and at this point one should have adopted the "if you can't beat them, join them" mentality.

The most spectacular thing about the roads is exactly who or what one has to contend with:

Things with wheels: one would expect to have to deal with other cars, some buses and maybe even a tanker or two but in Lagos you have to take into consideration that everything with wheels believes it has a place on the road. Of course you have the okada, which now has a 2.0 model with a backseat and aluminium casing known as the "keke Maruwa." There are people with wheelbarrows/ carts transporting everything from gallons of water to an improvised pharmacy (tip: the heat does not bode well for the condoms so... take heed). These are not difficult to deal with; if they have wheels then they can wheel the hell out of my way!

Things without wheels: one would never expect to deal with these entities but they believe they have a place on the road as well and woe betide you if you tell them different. There are dogs, chickens, rams, horses, markets, and of course people. Many, many people, people having conversations, people fighting, people washing your windshield without your permission, people selling things and even people having a shower (I've always wanted to shout "hey! You haven't washed behind your ears"). One has to make provisions for these or you will have to deal with getting blood off your car on a daily basis.

I have to actually give credit to the LASTMA officials who try to keep order on the street with their series of roadside calisthenics. They are fully equipped with a chord on their shoulder and a baton to beat people into submission or a stupor (whichever comes first).

Oh well...

Xo, Nola

A journey into the bureaucracy

2009-01-01T00:25:00.000-08:00

Seeing as I needed to update my passport and I am somewhat of a social
masochist I journeyed into the land of the civil servants today, also
known as the Nigerian Immigration Office. I only had to take my
picture and seeing as civil servants in any respect are people who
were made especially to work in slow motion, I resigned that the
process should take me no more than 2 hours (just a simple point and
click right?).

Before I even get into the labyrinth that is the immigration office I first encountered a barrage of people outside the gates. These people were selling everything: leather passport cases,passport photographs, food, drinks, ice cream and of course recharge cards. Apparently, these hawkers have presented themselves to be a
problem because right in front of the gates was a sign that said
"Please do not patronise touts." I wondered to myself if they actually
think of themselves as touts or just business savvy entrepreneurs who
concur with the rule about the touts...hmmmmm.

I wriggled my way through the people and found myself a waiting area
under a huge canopy. The first thing that caught my eye was that there
was a VIP section for taking photographs! I watched the people who
went through the VIP doors and they included a police officer, some
kind of government official, a few people that I could only identify
as "big boys" and a reverend father (I guess the latter has been
deemed a VIP by higher powers). As I sat and waited, I noticed that
there were about 3 chickens parading themselves around the waiting
area. There was a particularly bold one that was so used to human
interaction that it walked between people's legs. I thought to myself
"if the chickens were having their pictures taken, this one would
definitely be a VIP."

After waiting a meagre 3 hours, I was called into a room only to find out that there was a line of about 15 people ahead of me. I know what you're thinking, 15 aren't that many, and they're just taking a picture, right? Ha! This could have been the case but the person taking the pictures had the attention span of a
gnat. He would take a picture, get a phone call, be spoken to by random minions of the bureaucracy about how the oga has demanded that some people be moved to the VIP. He was also asked if he wanted to order an egg with his lunch because Iya Shaki had run out of beans.

It is my belief that in every waiting room there is a child who is
employed to be loud and very difficult to control. In this one, there
were two. They ran, they screamed, they spat, they twirled, they cried
and this was all before they even had to take the picture! Their
mother looked very resigned to the noise but would make feeble attempts to bribe them to be quiet with biscuits and what I believe to have been orange-flavoured milk. As I was considering having my tubes tied, my turn came, I took my picture, got fingerprinted, accepted the fact that everyone looks like a convict in their passport picture and left the office.

I can only advise that on your next trip to the bureaucracy bring
something to read, an MP3 player and maybe your own tranquilizer gun (if the children go a little too far).

Xo, Nola

The Culture of Hair

2008-12-22T10:43:00.000-08:00

One of the best things about moving back to Lagos as a woman is that you can get your hair done pretty much anywhere for pretty much any price. You can choose to go to an upscale salon with a full on nail studio and spa within. They have skilled attendants in matching uniforms that can reproduce any style in any magazine with ease and charge you what some people pay as rent in some areas. They have security guards who go to great lengths to help you park but only after you have located your own parking space and started to move towards it. They have attendants who always have a broom at the ready to sweep up any errant hairs lest they irritate the high end customer. The buildings are air conditioned and the chairs are comfortable. Most of the time, the television is on a channel that most of the customers would, if not like to watch, then be okay ignoring. The hairdressers always seem to have the temperament of women on their periods (the men too) but you are at least comfortable with the fact that you will leave the salon looking like a million bucks.

You can also go to the middle range salons whose attendants might not necessarily have a uniform but make the effort of each wearing a faded white t-shirt with what was once the company’s logo on it. They also have security guards but they are not the ones that help to park, they are the ones who watch you park your car and then watch someone else block it in. Then proceed to feign absolute ignorance as to when the blocking driver parked and who the driver is. They will stand beside you and mirror your frustration about the “idiot” that parked there. The good thing about them is that they are always willing to go into the salon to help locate the person and come out of the situation the Good Samaritan. These salons also have attendants with brooms but not so much at the ready. They will probably sweep up when a customer has been cocooned in her own hair extensions or when the “madam” is coming in. They cannot be faulted because they have better things to do like gossip about which of the braiding girls is pregnant. The decibel levels of these places is competitive with a football stadium and one dare not interrupt the conversation of the two women doing your hair....even if your entire head is aflame. These buildings are air conditioned as well but that depends on which part of the salon you’re in and if there is fuel in the generator. The television’s are always on but most of the time to a channel that pleases the hairdressers more so than the “hairdresees”. The prices vary greatly and it is wise to ask if you are paying for extras such as shampoo, or maybe the use of the salon’s comb. The hairdressers are constantly angry and impatient but if you find one who understands you and your hairstyle then the rest is gold.

Of course, you have the “under the bridge” hair salons. They are quite grimy but they only subscribe to the hardcore Lagosian as clientele. If you can get past the carbon monoxide poisoning then you should be ok (I mean, you can get malaria from mosquitoes anywhere so that should be expected). There might not be air conditioning but there should be a steady breeze from the cars whizzing by overhead. The hairdressers are mostly animated women who have impressively fashioned a fully functional hair station from one table and half a mirror. This is probably the best place to get the most interesting gist of people who you might not know.You find yourself concerned that the 70 year old Alhaja down the street might be pregnant for the boy that sells credit. If one can brave it, it is the cheapest option and probably brings the least amount of disappointment (you can hardly go there with the expectation of getting a full on spa experience).

This being said, hair styling is subjective, you just need to know where to look.

Xo, Nola

"Is it me or is the A/C blowing hot air.....?"

2008-12-02T06:44:00.000-08:00

I was lured out of my house and comfort zone because I was told that I was going to get fitted for an awesome outfit and then out to lunch. Somehow I ended up at the mechanic with the driver trying to figure out why the A/C wasn't working properly.

Now, as any self-respecting Lagosian knows, there is absolutely no way that you can actually be at a mechanics workshop for anything less than an eternity but the mechanics and the driver conspired and told me that it would take no more than 30minutes...and I "chopped".

Needless to say, six hours later I am still there, possibly having what can only be described as a sunstroke and being entertained by a rather erotic show of a worker pouring 2 bags of "pure water" over himself to beat the heat. At this point I have resolved to just accepting my fate and was trying to find an adequately soft spot to just die on but then it happened, we were done! The waves of emotion that crashed over me cannot be explained in actual words. It was all okay, we were leaving, I wouldn't die here, I might actually get to eat real food instead of dirt and car parts and to top it all off, the A/C would be working properly.

I got in the car, ready to take a nap the whole way home and no more than a mile from the mechanic's shop the driver looks to me and says "Is it me or is the A/C blowing hot air.....?"

xo, Nola

The Nigerian Psyche

2008-11-21T02:13:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, I wake up at about 5:30 in the morning for about ten minutes before I fall back asleep (I don’t know why it might have something to do with me falling asleep at 9pm like a geriatric). Normally this is a generally peaceful process but this morning was different, this morning I heard a noise in the distance, possibly down the street. It sounded garbled and distant and to tell the truth, I didn’t really care what it was but it got closer and louder, enough to make me get up to see what it was.

It was a man, walking down the street with a megaphone in his hand, preaching. This was no ordinary megaphone either; it was fashioned with its own little power system that the man carried in a bag beside him to amplify the sounds from just uncomfortable to downright obnoxious. I mean, for the love of all things that are good and pure in this world, why would you do that!

I don’t have a problem with spreading the word of the coming kingdom but it’s so intrusive and at such an ungodly hour. If I thought I was irritated, the Hausa muslims who are not entirely on board with the second coming thing must have been pretty pissed off.

Well, there is not much one can do about it short of joining the crusade; maybe I’ll take the side streets and he take the major throughways, I mean I’m up already...

xo, Nola

I'm a blogger now!

2008-11-15T01:32:00.000-08:00

...so I just decided to join the whole culture of blogging because lets face it.... people like to hear themselves talk.

I'm not sure about blogging culture but I assume digital introductions are in order. I'm Nola and I have been far flung from Nigerian soil for a bit but I'm back now...to Lagos, to family, to traffic, to smog, to congestion, to no light, to red-headed lizards and the whole nine....AND I LOVE IT!

A johnny just come, I've brought back some clearer eyes to see this place and some of the sights are just plain comical.

I still cannot bring myself to understand how a grown man, in a full suit at high noon can just whip "it" out and start to pee on the side of a major street, I mean, for real? It must take at least 30 seconds to hike up the jacket, before unzipping the trousers... ample time to think "hey, maybe I will not indecently expose myself on a street where there might be, oh I don't know...other people" but I digress. I don't get it but I guess I don't have to.

Lagos life is pretty spectacular, if you are open to the possibilities. I try to be sickeningly optimistic and so far it has worked for me. It is absolutely essential, if not, I might find myself going up to people and kneeing them in the crotch for what would be no apparent reason ( yes, women too!)

Anywhooo, I think I might like this blogging thing…I’ll keep you posted.

xo, Nola