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!