My DHL parcel arrived from home last week. I nearly hugged the DHL delivery man when he turned up at my office. I think I scared him a little. I’ve lost quite a lot of weight since arriving here (cooking never was my forte!), meaning most of the clothes I brought with me no longer fit. To avoid continuing to walk around in trousers that displayed my underwear to all and sundry, my lovely family posted me a box of clothes that I’d left behind at home. Along with enough sweets and chocolate to keep me going for the next 10 months. It was the best day ever. Although if I eat everything that was in the parcel I won’t be needing the smaller clothes anymore, so it could have been slightly counter productive. I also now have wellington boots to wear when the rainy season strikes. The whole city has open drains running along the sides of the roads, which are already quite full in places. The thought of walking along in my flipflops once they are overflowing in the rainy season didn’t fill me with much joy. My wellington boots will be my new best friend.
The other day a couple of us were talking about how the reality of being here compared to our expectations when we first applied to do a placement. We had similar dreams of long work filled days followed by sitting under African skies drinking gin and tonics, talking about lots of important intellectual things, and listening to the world service. And the reality? We’re living in some sort of news vacuum. Trying to keep up to date with what’s happening in the world is a daily struggle. I can’t get radio reception on the solar powered radio I brought with me in My Squat – I’m too far down in a valley to get any sort of reception, including mobile phone and internet 90% of the time. Sitting under African skies? Well, yes. Technically. The pollution makes it difficult to make out any stars, but if you squint carefully you might catch a glimpse of one. The gin and tonics? Not on a volunteers allowance. I am however slightly concerned that I might develop a beer belly. Although we did treat ourselves to a carton (yes, a carton) of ‘Don Simon’ table wine on Easter Sunday. The carton claimed it was a product of Spain. We found that difficult to believe. If you tried to ignore the fact that you were swallowing vinegar it didn’t taste so bad. And as for the intellectual conversations? Well in my case this was always going to be something of a pipe dream. A lot of our time is spent discussing our latest physical afflictions that make us more attractive (!) as the days go on. My newest development is the hairs that have started sprouting from the tops of my feet. I seem to be turning into some sort of hobbit. VSO showed us numerous DVDs about the importance of exercising caution before entering into any sort of relationship whilst on your placement. They needn’t have worried. I’m a walking contraceptive.
The Easter weekend passed in a happy haze of chocolate and angel delight (courtesy of my DHL parcel!), beer, Uno tournaments, karaoke and Nigerian dancing. We went to a karaoke bar with two friends from my office on Sunday night. It was an eye opener. Jenny and I did an awesome rendition of ‘Manic Monday’. Thankfully the bar wasn’t that busy at that stage. A woman in the toilet asked me if she could buy my hair. I’m embarrassed to admit that I very nearly asked her how much she would pay for it before deciding that perhaps wouldn’t be the most sensible idea I’ve ever had, and quickly leaving the toilet. We spent over 2 days allowance on pizza in a lovely poolside bar on Bank Holiday Monday. The bar was also playing possibly the worst English film I’ve ever seen, and yet I was still glued to it. It was a good day.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Lacking in self-confidence? Don't come to Nigeria
I have had to develop a very thick skin. To say that people here are direct would be an understatement. Some choice comments I have received:
• You’re looking even whiter today, how?
• Your face is all shiny, apply some powder
• Is that a big spot on your chin?
• You’re sweating
• Your hair is looking messy. Park it up on your head where it will look better
• Why are you so red?
• You are too old to not be married, if you leave it any longer no man will want to marry you
• Your left leg is bigger than your right leg, do you have polio?
• You look really tired today
• Your legs are so scarred from bites, they look very bad
So there’s no room for being sensitive here, honesty is definitely considered to be the best policy.
I finally solved the problem with my electricity at the end of last week. I hadn’t had any for two weeks, which didn’t really bother me too much initially because I just charged my laptop and phone at work, but sitting in the dark did start to get a bit wearing. The electricity supply is by no means reliable, but I did used to have it for a couple of hours for a few evenings each week. And then I noticed the other evening that my neighbours seemed to have lights on. And I couldn’t hear generators going. Interesting. And then when I combined that with the fact that a couple of the people who ‘run’ my compound aren’t the most honest individuals I’ve ever met, and keep coming to ask me for money for various fictitious things, one of which involved a false electricity bill, I started to get suspicious. Sure enough, when I mentioned to the landlady that everyone else seemed to have electricity except for me, and then said the same thing to the security guard, and reinforced that I wouldn’t be giving any money for a false electricity bill, because electricity was included in my rent, my electricity magically came back on. Funny that. I was speaking to a colleague at work about the electricity situation, and she was saying how much worse it is now than it was when she was growing up. She explained that 10 years ago, whilst the electricity was never on all of the time, it was far more reliable than it is now, and if there was going to be an interruption to the electricity supply they would announce it on the local radio so that people knew in advance. It’s depressing that it’s got so much worse rather than having improved.
I’ve gradually noticed that the things that I found strange when I arrived here now just seem normal. So normal that I’ve just stopped noticing them. Here are some examples:
• No longer knowing the real colour of my feet
• Sleeping without any top sheet/cover. It’s just too damn hot
• Drinking all my water out of a plastic bag
• Sharing the back seat of a normal sized car with at least 3 other people, and possibly a baby and a small child as well
• Sweating continuously for 24 hours all day every day
• Washing my clothes in a bucket
• Flushing the toilet with a bucket
• Having a shower out of a bucket
• Making a mad dash to plug in anything electrical as soon as there’s a hint of a power supply. This includes carrying my phone charger with me everywhere I go in case I get lucky and get to go to a meeting somewhere with a generator or electricity
• Sweeping up dead cockroaches. Thankfully I no longer see them alive because I obsessively spray insecticide every morning and every night
• Doing most of my food shopping by stopping people on the side of the road selling things out of baskets on the top of their heads
• Sitting in the dark
• Forgetting what it’s like to ‘hear’ silence
• Being stopped by every other person who walks past me and being asked for my phone number because they ‘want to be my friend’
My struggle with anonymity continues. This morning I was walking up the hill to catch a taxi. I wasn’t wearing anything revealing, just a normal knee length wrap around dress that I wear to work. A man on the opposite side of the road shouted at me, “White woman, why do you dress so? You make my heart bleed with love for you.” This was a very busy road. With a lot of people within earshot. As he was shouting it, a woman was walking towards me wearing what could only have been her nightdress. It was silk, and sheer. It left very very little to the imagination. And yet despite this, I was still the one that was attracting the attention. It takes some getting used to.
And finally. I reached my all time low the other night. I don’t think it’s possible for me to get any more disgusting. I was getting myself some Indomie (instant noodles) for dinner, and noticed that the packet had been eaten. By Ratty. Ratty had also eaten quite a lot of the noodles. I hadn’t eaten anything all day, the noodles were the only thing I had that I could eat, and it was too late/dark to go out on my own and try and buy something else. So I just cut around where Ratty had eaten, and cooked them anyway. Not the most enjoyable meal I have ever had. I am going to go and buy a sealed container that I can keep all my dried food in so that Ratty and I no longer need to share food. My volunteer allowance doesn’t stretch to feeding pets as well as myself.
• You’re looking even whiter today, how?
• Your face is all shiny, apply some powder
• Is that a big spot on your chin?
• You’re sweating
• Your hair is looking messy. Park it up on your head where it will look better
• Why are you so red?
• You are too old to not be married, if you leave it any longer no man will want to marry you
• Your left leg is bigger than your right leg, do you have polio?
• You look really tired today
• Your legs are so scarred from bites, they look very bad
So there’s no room for being sensitive here, honesty is definitely considered to be the best policy.
I finally solved the problem with my electricity at the end of last week. I hadn’t had any for two weeks, which didn’t really bother me too much initially because I just charged my laptop and phone at work, but sitting in the dark did start to get a bit wearing. The electricity supply is by no means reliable, but I did used to have it for a couple of hours for a few evenings each week. And then I noticed the other evening that my neighbours seemed to have lights on. And I couldn’t hear generators going. Interesting. And then when I combined that with the fact that a couple of the people who ‘run’ my compound aren’t the most honest individuals I’ve ever met, and keep coming to ask me for money for various fictitious things, one of which involved a false electricity bill, I started to get suspicious. Sure enough, when I mentioned to the landlady that everyone else seemed to have electricity except for me, and then said the same thing to the security guard, and reinforced that I wouldn’t be giving any money for a false electricity bill, because electricity was included in my rent, my electricity magically came back on. Funny that. I was speaking to a colleague at work about the electricity situation, and she was saying how much worse it is now than it was when she was growing up. She explained that 10 years ago, whilst the electricity was never on all of the time, it was far more reliable than it is now, and if there was going to be an interruption to the electricity supply they would announce it on the local radio so that people knew in advance. It’s depressing that it’s got so much worse rather than having improved.
I’ve gradually noticed that the things that I found strange when I arrived here now just seem normal. So normal that I’ve just stopped noticing them. Here are some examples:
• No longer knowing the real colour of my feet
• Sleeping without any top sheet/cover. It’s just too damn hot
• Drinking all my water out of a plastic bag
• Sharing the back seat of a normal sized car with at least 3 other people, and possibly a baby and a small child as well
• Sweating continuously for 24 hours all day every day
• Washing my clothes in a bucket
• Flushing the toilet with a bucket
• Having a shower out of a bucket
• Making a mad dash to plug in anything electrical as soon as there’s a hint of a power supply. This includes carrying my phone charger with me everywhere I go in case I get lucky and get to go to a meeting somewhere with a generator or electricity
• Sweeping up dead cockroaches. Thankfully I no longer see them alive because I obsessively spray insecticide every morning and every night
• Doing most of my food shopping by stopping people on the side of the road selling things out of baskets on the top of their heads
• Sitting in the dark
• Forgetting what it’s like to ‘hear’ silence
• Being stopped by every other person who walks past me and being asked for my phone number because they ‘want to be my friend’
My struggle with anonymity continues. This morning I was walking up the hill to catch a taxi. I wasn’t wearing anything revealing, just a normal knee length wrap around dress that I wear to work. A man on the opposite side of the road shouted at me, “White woman, why do you dress so? You make my heart bleed with love for you.” This was a very busy road. With a lot of people within earshot. As he was shouting it, a woman was walking towards me wearing what could only have been her nightdress. It was silk, and sheer. It left very very little to the imagination. And yet despite this, I was still the one that was attracting the attention. It takes some getting used to.
And finally. I reached my all time low the other night. I don’t think it’s possible for me to get any more disgusting. I was getting myself some Indomie (instant noodles) for dinner, and noticed that the packet had been eaten. By Ratty. Ratty had also eaten quite a lot of the noodles. I hadn’t eaten anything all day, the noodles were the only thing I had that I could eat, and it was too late/dark to go out on my own and try and buy something else. So I just cut around where Ratty had eaten, and cooked them anyway. Not the most enjoyable meal I have ever had. I am going to go and buy a sealed container that I can keep all my dried food in so that Ratty and I no longer need to share food. My volunteer allowance doesn’t stretch to feeding pets as well as myself.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
I don chop
Or I have eaten. This has nothing to do with the content of this blog post, I just didn’t have a title for it, and I like taking every opportunity I can to use Pidgin English phrases. I think when I go home I might just speak in Pidgin. It’s much more interesting, and as several of my previous colleagues will attest to, I was never that proficient in the use of the English language anyway, so maybe Pidgin was just what I needed.
One way to describe life here is confusing. I keep getting asked questions that I struggle to answer, because I don’t know what I am expected to say. The mermaid question I gave in a previous post is a good example of this. Another question I struggle with is, “Are you back?” Which is what I get asked every single evening when I walk through the gate to my compound. I would have thought that my presence would be enough to confirm that I was back, but this question just keeps on being asked. So I just keep on saying, “Yes I am back”. I also didn’t know how to answer the man I was chatting to in a taxi the other day who asked me how Obama was. We’d already established I was from the UK. He seemed disappointed when he realised I didn’t know Obama personally; he lost interest in me pretty soon after that. However, then there are situations where I get asked a question and I don’t need to give my response a moment’s thought. Like the man who was sat on the side of the road with a group of his friends and started making disgusting grunting noises at me as I walked past, and shouted “Whitey, are you taking me back to your house with you?” It didn’t take a great deal of thought for me to respond to that question. Same goes for the man who followed me up the road in his car the other day shouting “you’re getting in my car” at me. After about 5 minutes of me saying “No I’m not” I gave a slightly more forceful response, which I won’t repeat on my blog.
I’m finding that I’ve had to lower my expectations somewhat since being here. I consider a good home cooked meal to be packet macaroni cheese, chopped tomatoes, and some groundnuts sprinkled over the top for protein. The highlight of my day last week was when I was able to put a cheese slice on pasta so it melted on top of it. I was walking along with Jenny in the area by her house last weekend and I got so excited, because I saw what I described at the time as a ‘huge shop’. No, Tesco’s hasn’t made it to Calabar. In actual fact, it was just a shack on the side of the road selling the usual assortment of tomatoes, onions, toilet roll, tinned tomato paste, washing up liquid and beans, along with a few additions like soap, margarine, sprite and ribena. But because it had a few extras, it was enough to put a spring in my step. Few things make me happier than when I am sat in My Squat in the dark trying to work out how I’m going to kill an extra hour before it would be considered a reasonable time to go to bed (although by default I am always ‘in bed’ when I’m in My Squat, because there’s no where else to sit) and the taps that I have left on in case the water comes back on start spurting. Given the irregularity of my water supply (it doesn’t seem to be on for more than 1 day a week at the moment) I have started drinking ‘Pure Water’ every day instead of boiling and filtering water. ‘Pure Water’ comes in plastic bags, and it’s like drinking from a bag with a goldfish in it that you win at a fun fair. I’ve got no idea how ‘pure’ it actually is, but it only costs 10 Naira for a bag (250 Naira to the £) compared to 100 Naira for a bottle of water, so it’s my only option, and it tastes a hundred times better than boiled and filtered water anyway. So as you can see, life’s a ball. And yet I’m strangely content.
One thing I do think Nigeria could do with is a mute button. Absolutely nothing is done quietly here. Sleeping is a complete nightmare. If it’s not the sound of the generators going all through the night to make sure my neighbours are nice and comfortable with their air conditioning (no, I don’t have air conditioning. Or a generator), it’s the music that plays 24 hours a day. If it’s not the music, it’s my neighbours shouting to each other through the walls of their Squats. Or the cockroaches scuttling along my floor. Or the crickets and frogs outside my window. Or the car engines revving. Earplugs are definitely one of the best things I brought out here with me.
SO… My first post arrived last week. I was inordinately excited. And this now means the gates on the sending of the care packages can be opened. So lovely friends and family, any of the following would be incredibly well received (this is in no particular order):
1. Letters detailing your goings on at home. In great detail. I feel like I’m living in a vacuum
2. Books (just anything good that you’ve finished reading)
3. Any old copies of magazines. It doesn’t matter how old, they will be more recent than anything I can buy here
4. Boots cucumber facewipes
5. Shampoo and conditioner
6. Shower gel
7. Sweets. Anything. I just need sugar (although nothing that would melt in 30 odd degree heat)
8. If anyone cares enough about me to put any music on blank CDs you’d forever be my hero. I listen to my ipod all night every night, and I’m fast getting bored of its content
9. Same goes for anyone willing to copy any DVDs. Anything.
And the week’s best transport journey…
The taxi driver who played Peter Andre, ‘Mysterious Girl’ on repeat for the entire drive to work. People who know me well know that one of my dirty little secrets is that I used to belong to Peter Andre’s fan club. I want to make it clear that this was when I was about 13 years old. Nonetheless, the taxi driver and I rocked it out to Peter Andre for the whole of the 20-minute journey. He couldn’t believe I knew all the words (yes, I’m a loser). He was desperate for me to teach him, and didn’t want me to get out at my stop. He offered to drive me round for free until I’d taught them to him. I don’t think my boss would have bought that excuse though, so off to work I went.
On the topic of being late for work. I received my allowance for March yesterday, and asked why it was less than it was meant to be. I had been ‘surcharged’ for 3 days lateness. Two of these days were taxi disasters (the one with the 20 litre jerry can of leaking petrol and the one with the fire extinguisher) and the third was just because despite standing on the road in the blistering heat for over 30 minutes and flagging down every taxi that drove past, it took forever to find one going in my direction. By ‘late’, I have to be at work by 8,30am. I have never got there later than 8.35am. I have seen colleagues mysteriously wondering in at 10.30am. But it seems even a burning car isn’t a good enough excuse, so I’ll just have to try my best to avoid any further transport disasters if I want to receive my full allowance!
One way to describe life here is confusing. I keep getting asked questions that I struggle to answer, because I don’t know what I am expected to say. The mermaid question I gave in a previous post is a good example of this. Another question I struggle with is, “Are you back?” Which is what I get asked every single evening when I walk through the gate to my compound. I would have thought that my presence would be enough to confirm that I was back, but this question just keeps on being asked. So I just keep on saying, “Yes I am back”. I also didn’t know how to answer the man I was chatting to in a taxi the other day who asked me how Obama was. We’d already established I was from the UK. He seemed disappointed when he realised I didn’t know Obama personally; he lost interest in me pretty soon after that. However, then there are situations where I get asked a question and I don’t need to give my response a moment’s thought. Like the man who was sat on the side of the road with a group of his friends and started making disgusting grunting noises at me as I walked past, and shouted “Whitey, are you taking me back to your house with you?” It didn’t take a great deal of thought for me to respond to that question. Same goes for the man who followed me up the road in his car the other day shouting “you’re getting in my car” at me. After about 5 minutes of me saying “No I’m not” I gave a slightly more forceful response, which I won’t repeat on my blog.
I’m finding that I’ve had to lower my expectations somewhat since being here. I consider a good home cooked meal to be packet macaroni cheese, chopped tomatoes, and some groundnuts sprinkled over the top for protein. The highlight of my day last week was when I was able to put a cheese slice on pasta so it melted on top of it. I was walking along with Jenny in the area by her house last weekend and I got so excited, because I saw what I described at the time as a ‘huge shop’. No, Tesco’s hasn’t made it to Calabar. In actual fact, it was just a shack on the side of the road selling the usual assortment of tomatoes, onions, toilet roll, tinned tomato paste, washing up liquid and beans, along with a few additions like soap, margarine, sprite and ribena. But because it had a few extras, it was enough to put a spring in my step. Few things make me happier than when I am sat in My Squat in the dark trying to work out how I’m going to kill an extra hour before it would be considered a reasonable time to go to bed (although by default I am always ‘in bed’ when I’m in My Squat, because there’s no where else to sit) and the taps that I have left on in case the water comes back on start spurting. Given the irregularity of my water supply (it doesn’t seem to be on for more than 1 day a week at the moment) I have started drinking ‘Pure Water’ every day instead of boiling and filtering water. ‘Pure Water’ comes in plastic bags, and it’s like drinking from a bag with a goldfish in it that you win at a fun fair. I’ve got no idea how ‘pure’ it actually is, but it only costs 10 Naira for a bag (250 Naira to the £) compared to 100 Naira for a bottle of water, so it’s my only option, and it tastes a hundred times better than boiled and filtered water anyway. So as you can see, life’s a ball. And yet I’m strangely content.
One thing I do think Nigeria could do with is a mute button. Absolutely nothing is done quietly here. Sleeping is a complete nightmare. If it’s not the sound of the generators going all through the night to make sure my neighbours are nice and comfortable with their air conditioning (no, I don’t have air conditioning. Or a generator), it’s the music that plays 24 hours a day. If it’s not the music, it’s my neighbours shouting to each other through the walls of their Squats. Or the cockroaches scuttling along my floor. Or the crickets and frogs outside my window. Or the car engines revving. Earplugs are definitely one of the best things I brought out here with me.
SO… My first post arrived last week. I was inordinately excited. And this now means the gates on the sending of the care packages can be opened. So lovely friends and family, any of the following would be incredibly well received (this is in no particular order):
1. Letters detailing your goings on at home. In great detail. I feel like I’m living in a vacuum
2. Books (just anything good that you’ve finished reading)
3. Any old copies of magazines. It doesn’t matter how old, they will be more recent than anything I can buy here
4. Boots cucumber facewipes
5. Shampoo and conditioner
6. Shower gel
7. Sweets. Anything. I just need sugar (although nothing that would melt in 30 odd degree heat)
8. If anyone cares enough about me to put any music on blank CDs you’d forever be my hero. I listen to my ipod all night every night, and I’m fast getting bored of its content
9. Same goes for anyone willing to copy any DVDs. Anything.
And the week’s best transport journey…
The taxi driver who played Peter Andre, ‘Mysterious Girl’ on repeat for the entire drive to work. People who know me well know that one of my dirty little secrets is that I used to belong to Peter Andre’s fan club. I want to make it clear that this was when I was about 13 years old. Nonetheless, the taxi driver and I rocked it out to Peter Andre for the whole of the 20-minute journey. He couldn’t believe I knew all the words (yes, I’m a loser). He was desperate for me to teach him, and didn’t want me to get out at my stop. He offered to drive me round for free until I’d taught them to him. I don’t think my boss would have bought that excuse though, so off to work I went.
On the topic of being late for work. I received my allowance for March yesterday, and asked why it was less than it was meant to be. I had been ‘surcharged’ for 3 days lateness. Two of these days were taxi disasters (the one with the 20 litre jerry can of leaking petrol and the one with the fire extinguisher) and the third was just because despite standing on the road in the blistering heat for over 30 minutes and flagging down every taxi that drove past, it took forever to find one going in my direction. By ‘late’, I have to be at work by 8,30am. I have never got there later than 8.35am. I have seen colleagues mysteriously wondering in at 10.30am. But it seems even a burning car isn’t a good enough excuse, so I’ll just have to try my best to avoid any further transport disasters if I want to receive my full allowance!
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Look away if you're squeamish...
This was what Jenny (another VSO volunteer) and I were faced with early this morning. I’m staying at Jenny’s for the weekend because of the elections, and she asked me to bring my Sticky Rat Mat with me, because she thought she had a mouse. Turns out she had a family of mice. But at least the Sticky Rat Mat has served its purpose. I did feel very sorry for the mice though. Not a nice way to go.
Thankfully the security guy at her compound was able to help with the disposing of the mice. We weren’t being particularly helpful as the most we could do was jump up and down screaming in our pyjamas. I won’t be reusing the Sticky Rat Mat. I think it had mice head left on it by the time he had finished. Whoever said doing a VSO placement wasn’t glamorous.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Every home should have one
I give you the Sticky Rat Mat. I bought one from a man walking along with a basket of them on his head. I wanted to go for the good old rat poison, but my colleague told me that Ratty would eat it, and then go and die somewhere in my belongings where I couldn’t find him, and I’d be haunted by the smell of Dead Ratty for weeks on end. So Sticky Rat Mat it was. I’ve been putting Sticky Rat Mat down in the mornings before I leave for work, and making sure I make a lot of noise when I come back, just so Ratty knows he has company. I’ve told my neighbour that if he hears a scream, he was to come and remove Ratty from the Sticky Rat Mat for me, because that’s more than I’m willing to put myself through. But Ratty is one step ahead of me, and has decided against having his feet glued to a board for 10 hours. Instead he just comes out in the middle of the night to say hello, when he know that I haven’t left the Sticky Rat Mat down, because being faced with that first thing in the morning would be too much for me. I’ve never been much of a morning person, without having to peel a rat off a mat before I get in the shower and have a cup of tea. The best part about the Sticky Rat Mat is the instructions make it clear that once you catch your prey, you just remove them from the mat and reuse it. Trying to ignore the bits of rat foot that are left stuck to it. So there you go, a useful and welcome addition to every household. I will give one word of caution – if you leave the Sticky Rat Mat down, make sure that you don’t walk around barefoot without looking where you’re going. Removing the glue from your feet is a time consuming and irritating process. Especially if you haven’t got a running water supply.
Elections, Backstreet Boys and Custard...
So my neighbour has a new CD. The Backstreet Boys. I never thought I’d hear myself saying this, but I think I preferred Celine Dion.
The elections were due to start on Saturday, and as no movement is allowed on election days, on Friday night I went to stay with another volunteer for the weekend so we didn’t have to be housebound on our own. We tuned into local radio on Saturday morning only to find the elections had been postponed until Monday. But then on Sunday we heard they had been postponed again until the following Saturday. So we’re waiting to see what happens next. On the plus side, we did make ourselves an exciting dinner on Saturday night to make up for the fact we couldn’t go out (my colleague still advised us to stay in) – spicy bean burgers, proper bread rolls, CHEESE SLICES, chips and beer. Apart from a minor chip pan fire, it was amazing. Combine that with a 2-day Uno tournament, and captivity wasn’t so bad.
Then the most exciting thing in the world happened on Sunday – I got back to My Squat and I had water AND electricity. At the same time. I didn’t actually realise that My Squat provided this service; I thought I could only have one at a time.
My emotions have been a bit crazy this week. I wouldn’t change being here for anything, but there are times when I really miss home. What’s confused me the most is that there are situations where I would expect myself to get fed up and miserable (a week without electricity, running water, and Ratty running around My Squat disturbing my sleep every night), and I am completely fine. But then I’ll be doing something like listening to Chris Moyles and I’ll burst into tears. I’m a strange human being. I think it’s because there is nothing here that is familiar or that reminds me of home. And so then when I come across something that does, it catches me by surprise.
The thing I’m struggling with the most at the moment is the complete lack of anonymity. It is literally impossible to do anything, or go anywhere, without attracting endless amounts of attention. I’m hoping that after a while people will get used to seeing me around, at least in the area where I live. You’d think the novelty would have worn off my now, it’s not as if I’m ever doing anything more exciting than walking or buying something from a shop!
And now for some cultural lessons learnt the hard way:
1. Never peel a mango. Just bite it and eat it like an apple. Yes, that’s right, skin and all.
2. When asked by a local colleague what you normally eat with custard, banana is not the right answer. This receives a response similar to when you try and peel a mango. Not good.
3. Be very specific when asking what ingredients certain foods contain. For example, if you are given a bean cake to eat and you ask if it is vegetarian and the answer is yes, follow this up with a question about what it has in it. Otherwise you’ll find yourself in a situation where you start to eat the bean cake, then ask what the ingredients are, and hear the word fish. You then have no choice but to carry on eating and smiling politely when all you really want to do is wash your mouth out with nail varnish.
4. Walking to work in flipflops in torrential mud and rain doesn’t create a particularly attractive look on very white legs and a cream skirt.
5. When asked by a colleague if you believe in mermaids, think very carefully before replying.
6. When being told that cats whiskers are poisonous and they kill you if they come into contact with you, once again think very carefully before responding.
And finally, the prize for the week’s most interesting transport journey goes to….
The taxi driver who picked me up and then did an emergency stop at the side of the dual carriageway in rush hour traffic because another car on the side of the road was on fire. He shouted at me to throw him his fire extinguisher, and off he ran to save the day. Bless him, he got to the crowd of people stood around the flaming car, told them all to get out the way because he had it under control, got his fire extinguisher poised and ready and… it was empty. Poor guy, I really felt for him, he looked crestfallen. Thankfully someone else arrived soon after with a slightly more useful fire extinguisher. I think he’s now realised that when he uses the fire extinguisher it then needs to be refilled.
The elections were due to start on Saturday, and as no movement is allowed on election days, on Friday night I went to stay with another volunteer for the weekend so we didn’t have to be housebound on our own. We tuned into local radio on Saturday morning only to find the elections had been postponed until Monday. But then on Sunday we heard they had been postponed again until the following Saturday. So we’re waiting to see what happens next. On the plus side, we did make ourselves an exciting dinner on Saturday night to make up for the fact we couldn’t go out (my colleague still advised us to stay in) – spicy bean burgers, proper bread rolls, CHEESE SLICES, chips and beer. Apart from a minor chip pan fire, it was amazing. Combine that with a 2-day Uno tournament, and captivity wasn’t so bad.
Then the most exciting thing in the world happened on Sunday – I got back to My Squat and I had water AND electricity. At the same time. I didn’t actually realise that My Squat provided this service; I thought I could only have one at a time.
My emotions have been a bit crazy this week. I wouldn’t change being here for anything, but there are times when I really miss home. What’s confused me the most is that there are situations where I would expect myself to get fed up and miserable (a week without electricity, running water, and Ratty running around My Squat disturbing my sleep every night), and I am completely fine. But then I’ll be doing something like listening to Chris Moyles and I’ll burst into tears. I’m a strange human being. I think it’s because there is nothing here that is familiar or that reminds me of home. And so then when I come across something that does, it catches me by surprise.
The thing I’m struggling with the most at the moment is the complete lack of anonymity. It is literally impossible to do anything, or go anywhere, without attracting endless amounts of attention. I’m hoping that after a while people will get used to seeing me around, at least in the area where I live. You’d think the novelty would have worn off my now, it’s not as if I’m ever doing anything more exciting than walking or buying something from a shop!
And now for some cultural lessons learnt the hard way:
1. Never peel a mango. Just bite it and eat it like an apple. Yes, that’s right, skin and all.
2. When asked by a local colleague what you normally eat with custard, banana is not the right answer. This receives a response similar to when you try and peel a mango. Not good.
3. Be very specific when asking what ingredients certain foods contain. For example, if you are given a bean cake to eat and you ask if it is vegetarian and the answer is yes, follow this up with a question about what it has in it. Otherwise you’ll find yourself in a situation where you start to eat the bean cake, then ask what the ingredients are, and hear the word fish. You then have no choice but to carry on eating and smiling politely when all you really want to do is wash your mouth out with nail varnish.
4. Walking to work in flipflops in torrential mud and rain doesn’t create a particularly attractive look on very white legs and a cream skirt.
5. When asked by a colleague if you believe in mermaids, think very carefully before replying.
6. When being told that cats whiskers are poisonous and they kill you if they come into contact with you, once again think very carefully before responding.
And finally, the prize for the week’s most interesting transport journey goes to….
The taxi driver who picked me up and then did an emergency stop at the side of the dual carriageway in rush hour traffic because another car on the side of the road was on fire. He shouted at me to throw him his fire extinguisher, and off he ran to save the day. Bless him, he got to the crowd of people stood around the flaming car, told them all to get out the way because he had it under control, got his fire extinguisher poised and ready and… it was empty. Poor guy, I really felt for him, he looked crestfallen. Thankfully someone else arrived soon after with a slightly more useful fire extinguisher. I think he’s now realised that when he uses the fire extinguisher it then needs to be refilled.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)