Trying to do tourist type things here just isn’t easy. Last weekend we were meant to be going on a trip to the jungle to stay in one of the monkey sanctuaries for the weekend, but the cost was out of our budget this month. So we decided to do something else that was recommended in the guidebook, and take a boat trip up the river to a place called Creek Town. The guidebook said that the boats left every day at 12.00pm. So off we went to try and find the boat. Now, despite Calabar being on the edge of the river, actually getting to the water has turned into Mission Impossible. We have tried several times. The last time we did manage to get down to the water’s edge, but it involved climbing down a very steep incline and trespassing on the Navy Base, and when they saw us taking a photo a big scary man started running towards us and shouting at us and we thought we might end up getting shot so we left very quickly. Saturday’s excursion started off with the same challenges. We did manage to find our way down to the river, but trying to find the place where the boats left from was slightly beyond us. After a 40 minute walk in the midday sun we asked someone, who told us we needed to turn around and go back in the direction we had come from. But just as we were about to do that we heard gunshots coming from that direction. So we decided that perhaps the boat trip wasn’t worth risking a gunshot wound for, and carried on walking in the wrong direction. After a cold drink and 20 minutes in the shade we decided to give it another go, and got a tricycle to take us to the place where the boats went from. And then it got a bit simpler, because sure enough after a 20 minute wait we were in a boat. And even had life jackets. The trip up the river was lovely, with the riverbanks surrounded by jungle on either side. I could almost pretend I was in a Bond film. Until I looked around me and saw I was sharing a 2 person seat with 4 people and was traveling in something little larger than a canoe with sewage filled river water splashing up into my eyes. But still, we’d got our boat. Once we got to Creek Town we bumped into another VSO who is based 30 minutes away in a little village, and offered to show us around there. So we jumped on the back of motorbikes and off we went again. A slightly cramped and very hot bus journey home a few hours later completed our adventure. It was great getting out of Calabar for the day and going somewhere quieter and more remote. Whilst I don’t think I’d survive a placement in a rural village, it was definitely nice to have a break from the constant noise and chaos that seems to surround life here.
The rainy season is finally starting. I woke up the other morning and knew something wasn’t right, but couldn’t work out what. It took me about 10 seconds to work out I felt cold for the first time in 3 months. I also rocked a great look on the way to work. It was raining, but I didn’t feel brave enough to bring out the wellies just yet, so I put on my hiking boots instead. With a pair of narrow legged suit trousers. I sometimes wonder if I’m serving any purpose here other than providing a constant source of amusement to everyone around me. The rain is causing some logistical issues though. I have no choice but to walk the 30 minutes up and down the hill each day to get to the main road to get public transport to and from work. And several times in the past week it has chosen to rain at just the time I was walking. Given I have to carry my laptop to and from work every day, I can see this ending badly. Another slight challenge is that every time it rains the mobile phone networks stop working. I have 3 different sim cards with 3 different networks (this is normal here, I'm not just being very odd!), and not one of them will work whilst it's raining. The rainy seasons lasts until October.
We had a slight challenge at work last week. The office assistant was going on 2 weeks leave, and before he left he put down a whole lot of rat poison. Presumably knowing he wouldn’t be around to have to try and locate the corpses. So we opened the doors to the office on Tuesday morning and it smelt like a morgue. And could the rat(s) be found? Oh no. So I spent the day trying not to breath because it felt like my lungs would burn from the dead rat aroma. We finally found one half melted rat at about 4pm, but that didn’t get rid of the smell so I started to wonder if I’d been sat surrounded by the smell for so long that it was just coming from me.
The Parcel Treasure Hunt continued this week. I got another slip of paper through at work telling me to go and collect another parcel. So off I skipped to the post office. A 20 minute walk in the midday heat. Doesn’t sound much, but it also involves walking along the one road in the city that I do my very best to avoid because little children line the sides of the road and cling on to me whenever I walk past begging for money, whilst their parents just sit and watch their children walk into the path of oncoming traffic. I feel like an absolute monster every time I walk down the road because they create such a scene hanging off me and I just have to keep telling them to turn round and go back to their parents. My colleagues have told me in no uncertain terms not to give them money because it all just goes to their parents and they wouldn’t see any benefit from it. So monster that I am, I carry on walking and try not to cry because I just want to pick them up and buy them something to eat and make sure they’re safe. So I arrived at the post office and went to the dodgy cage filled room, this time prepared with my torch from the start. But my parcel wasn’t there. They had ‘found’ a car and had just gone to deliver it to the delivery address, but now I wouldn’t be able to get it until the next day, because they wouldn’t give it to anyone but me, and obviously I wasn’t at my office – I was at the post office. So why did they bring me a card telling me to come and collect it if they were planning on delivering it? Because they hadn’t known they would be able to find a vehicle. So off I went to the post office again the next day. And guess what? They had taken my parcel to be delivered again, despite the man telling me he would keep it at the post office. BUT then I got back to the office slightly grumpy and 10 minutes later the post car turned up with not one, but TWO parcels. Debs, Claire and Mike Phelps, you’re amazing. I now have lots of lovely things to eat, lots of books to read, a magazine, new music to listen to, shampoo and conditioner, and the best thing in the world – rubber gloves. I can’t find them anywhere here and I always want to scrub my hands with bleach after I’ve cleaned My Squat with bare hands. So thank you lovely people, you turned a pretty bad day at work into a great one.
Some other highlights this week:
• We made a Betty Crocker cake mix, and despite it being the first time the oven we used had been turned on in a long time, and not having a cake tin or icing, it was amazing. Especially with the icecream we had it with that survived a 20 minute walk/taxi journey in the heat.
• Getting to know two other british people who live in Calabar. They’ve both been here quite a lot longer than we have, so are fountains of knowledge.
• Discovering fried yam. I have finally found some food I can eat when we go out in the evenings, rather than just sitting and watching everyone else around me eat.
• Finally getting my gas canister refilled. It was an interesting experiment to see how long I could last without having any means of cooking or boiling water to drink, but it’s definitely a relief to have it refilled. Although it’s such a hassle getting it done (walking for 30 minutes carrying a 7kg gas canister, getting a public taxi to the gas place, waiting 30 minutes for it to be refilled and praying no one nearby lights a match, getting a taxi back and carrying a now much heavier gas canister back down my hill for 30 minutes) that I will definitely be rationing it even more than I was before.
Some bad bits:
• Having to eat fish. I was bought the dreaded bean cake again, and once again I asked if it was vegetarian and was once again told it was. I cut into it and all this flaky white stinking fish fell out of it, but it’s so rude to refuse food here that I just had to eat the whole thing whilst trying not to gag. I had to hide the fact that I had to make a pretty hasty run to the sink afterwards though, because my stomach just didn’t want to keep that down. Fish and me are never going to be friends.
• A creepy man on my road who has somehow managed to find out my name and thinks we should be ‘best friends’. I was walking home from work one night this week and he ran up to me and started taking my photo on his mobile phone. I was not impressed to say the least, and asked him what he thought he was doing. He wanted my photo to put on his facebook. No thank you. After asking him more times than I can count to stop it, I had to get a bit meaner and use some phrases I’d prefer not to have to use again. Living here is a constant test of assertiveness. And for someone like me who struggles with being assertive, it’s a challenge at times. I thought he’d have got the message (there was really no room for misunderstanding what I said to him) but he still insists on trying to talk to me whenever I walk past. It’s the first time the Sam Death Glare has failed. I’ll have to find some new tactics. Which may possibly involve throwing his phone in the gutter next time.
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