My new life

Squirt has definitely settled into his new surroundings

Since moving (or should I say “being moved”) to Abuja my routine has changed somewhat from the days in My Old Squat. My new daily routine goes something like this:

7.00 am: Wake up and try and find my way out of my bed. It is the biggest bed in the world. I could sleep 10 of me in it.

7.05 am: Feed Squirt who will be incessantly meowing and climbing up my leg to get my attention.

7.10 am: Put on the kettle. On a proper gas cooker, not a little camp gas stove on the floor.

7.15 am: Shower. Or rather wash out of a bucket, as is the case for at least 50% of the week. Or last week, 100% as we had no water all week, which confuses me slightly given we’ve just paid our water bill, so we are seemingly paying just for the privilege of thinking that the water MIGHT be turned on at some point. In the very distant future. Although we were helpfully told the other day that one of the massive water tanks in the compound belongs to our flat. Why we weren't told this sooner I don't know, it would have made life an awful lot easier.

7.30 am: Try to exhaust Squirt in the hope that he’ll go to sleep and not notice me leaving for work.

8.00 am: Leave home with my flatmate and head to our office. No walking up
hills from the End of the Earth involved, no pied piper style march with 10 children on each hand, no having to say good morning to every single person I pass, just need to flag down a passing cab or walk to the end of our road where there are always taxis parked waiting. The hardest part of our very easy journey to work is negotiating the taxi fare and trying not to spill the flask of tea I take to the office with me. I flatly refuse to pay more than 200N, but every morning almost without exception this involves me pretending to walk away when the driver demands more than that, then the driver following and accepting 200N. I’m not just being mean, transport here is EXPENSIVE. On the VSO allowance we really can’t afford to pay more for things just because we’re not Nigerian, which is effectively what it boils down to. I got told the other day that I was a Nigerian woman by a man in the market though, so at least I seem to have nailed the whole bargaining thing. Anyway, I digress.

8.15 am: Arrive at work.

8.20 am – 1.00 pm: Work work work. It’s busy, which is great. The office has recently purchased a new air freshener. For two days last week I thought one of the ladies in the office had started wearing quite possibly the worst smelling, strongest perfume ever to be invented. Until someone said it was the air freshener. I like the air to be fresh and all, but not so fresh you can actually taste it, which is currently the case.

1.00 pm: Go with my flatmate to try and find lunch (this isn’t a problem for her, but she has to suffer the fate of living and working with me, and me finding food for lunch is a daily challenge). I normally settle on icecream which I can get from over the road. I am more than happy with this arrangement, having to eat icecream isn’t really something I consider to be a bad thing. But one of the women who works there is constantly telling me that icecream isn’t food and I need to eat food. Although since Squirt has come into my life I’ve been going home at lunchtimes to feed him.

1.30 pm – 5.00 pm: More work work work. Not only am I busy but I also get to listen to Radio 1 live because my office has wireless internet. It’s awesome.

5.10 pm: Repeat the ridiculous charade of trying to secure a taxi for 200 N.

5.30 pm: Get home.

5.30 pm – 7.30 pm: What I do then depends. Either go for a run, go for a walk, go to the shop to buy things for dinner, clean, do washing (if the water is on). I think I drive my housemates crazy, someone as fidgety as me really would be better suited to living alone. I was saying last night that I thought I was finally adjusting to the slower pace of life here, and that I’d probably struggle adjusting back again when I get home, and my housemate just looked at me in amazement and said that if this was me on “slow pace” she couldn’t imagine what “fast pace” looked like. Well, I thought I’d slowed down anyway!

7.30 pm – 8.00 pm: Think about what I’m going to have for dinner. Since I’ve moved to Abuja a miracle has happened. I’ve started COOKING. Let’s not go overboard, I’m still likely to be a disappointment to my exceptionally skilled father in terms of my cooking ability, but still, I have branched out from eating bread, avocado and tomato every night. Heat and a range of ingredients and cooking implements are now involved.

8.00 – 11.00 pm: Watch a film, use the internet, talk to people on Skype, get chewed to pieces by Squirt.

11.00 pm: Bed. Whilst My New Squat is considerably quieter than My Old Squat (mainly because my neighbours no longer consist of the worst people in the world), I now sleep to the lullaby of the various calls for prayer that take place throughout the night. I actually like hearing this, I find it really soothing for some reason.

And weekends? Lots of fun things, including swimming/eating/showering at the British Village (I have no shame, they have hot water and we have no water, it’s a no brainer), going to top up my addiction to my Music Man (his new name. It’s not stalking, really, it’s a public place. I’d never do anything weird like turning up at his house or anything. Well, not yet anyway), going to the market, watching films.

After writing this I’m starting to wonder what’s wrong with me and why I still sometimes miss Calabar. My accommodation is better, my diet is better, I’ve got Squirt, and most importantly – my placement is immeasurably better meaning my mental health will hopefully be put under slightly less strain than it was for the first 6 months of my placement!

Squirt Update: He’s going for his first inoculations tonight. It’s not something I’m looking forward to. He’s a very vocal and very active cat. Given I wasn’t planning on adopting a cat whilst I was here, a cat carry case wasn’t one of the things I brought out with me, so I have to carry him around in a cardboard box and cling onto him in the hope that none of his attempts at escaping are successful. I also need to talk to the vet about all the things I need to get done before I can bring him back to the UK with me, as theoretically I only have just over 3 months left on my placement, and it takes that long to get him cleared for travel. I have a feeling it might be a frustrating and expensive process!