Dedication or disillusion?

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

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!

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

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

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.....?"

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

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