I managed to go 7 months without having to encounter the Nigerian healthcare service. Until last week when I had to take myself to a clinic in Abuja. The clinic itself was completely fine; that’s one of the benefits of being based in Abuja, there’s a clinic that VSO recommends here. I did however find some elements of the experience slightly amusing. When I registered at the reception I was given the number 35 so went to sit down to wait until it was my turn. I had assumed that I would follow whoever had number 34. Silly me. It became clear that it didn’t really matter what number you had in your hand, what was far more important was how much of a fuss you made and who could run to the door of the consultation room the fastest when the last patient came out. I’ve never seen so many clearly ill people move so fast. Not being one for pushing in or creating a scene, I didn’t relish the prospect of this. The man next to me asked when it was my turn. I pointed at my ticket and said after number 34 and he burst out laughing. It seems the numbers are really quite meaningless. Thankfully my friend was with me, who is far more used to the ways of doing things here, so I didn’t have to wait too long. Then when I was in the consultation room being examined, a woman walked in, sat down, and started talking to the doctor. I have no idea who she was, but they seemed to have a lovely conversation about how their children were, about general life in Abuja, and about how busy the clinic was. After 10 minutes she got up and walked out and the doctor returned to my consultation. I then had to repeat the fun game of jumping the queue when I went down to the lab for the next stage of the ‘process’. The lab technician was very friendly. He wanted me to take him to the UK to do his attachment in microbiology. I had to gently explain that perhaps that wouldn’t work, because 1. I am not living in the UK; I am living in Nigeria, and 2. On my VSO allowance I don’t really have the money to support myself and a random stranger doing his medical attachment. He looked quite upset, I almost wished I’d mentioned this after he’d done the blood test, I think he’d have been considerably more gentle with the needle if he’d still thought there was a chance I’d adopt him and take him home with me.
So, that was my first encounter with the healthcare service here, and also my first encounter with malaria. Not too bad after 7 months, but an experience I’m hoping I can avoid repeating for the remainder of my placement, I don’t really like going to the doctor at the best of times.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Flexibility and Adaptability
Two of VSO’s key selection criteria. And I now know why. Some things that have recently tested these characteristics:
1. De-worming. The less said about this experience the better.
2. Constantly being covered in bites and finding creatures crawling on my skin. I’m hoping that in the same way that whatever was living in the mattress in my Old Squat gave up and stopped chewing on me, the same thing will happen in my New Squat.
3. Being prepared to start a new placement in a completely new city 6 months into a 12 month placement. This hasn’t been easy. Abuja and Calabar are very different places. The local dialects are even different.
4. Electricity. Whilst I now have electricity most of the time, it’s weird how little it now affects me when we don’t have it. I now know I can easily live somewhere with a poor electricity supply. There have been several instances in my New Squat where I’ve found that I’m sat in my room in the dark without even realising it because it didn’t occur to me to try and turn a light on.
5. Water. The water in my New Squat is off every Friday until the following Monday (as well as several other times during the week!). Before I came to Nigeria, I would have thought this would be something that would have bothered me. But it doesn’t bother me in the slightest. Especially as we generally know it’s going to go off, and so we can make sure the bins of stored water are filled. I realised the other day how used to having a poor water supply I have become when I poured a bucket of water down the toilet in the office, only to then hear the person that went into the toilet after me actually using the flush. It hadn’t even occurred to me to try and use the flush, I’m so used to using a bucket. Sad but true.
6. Going to long drop toilets (or really just any toilets, plumbing isn’t Nigeria’s strong point) and trying to then avoid noticing that the hems of my trousers are soaking wet.
7. And finally and most importantly: accepting that there are things I have absolutely no control over. And that sometimes even when things are going very wrong, there’s nothing I can do about it apart from just waiting to see what happens next. People who know me well and know how much of a control freak I am will appreciate that this has been the hardest lesson for me to learn.
Life in Abuja has been ticking along. I’m getting into a routine, and finding my way around. Last week we got an extra two days off work as public holidays for Eid ul-Fitr to mark the end of Ramadan. Someone from VSO invited us to his house to chop. I’m so used to not being able to eat food here that I really wasn’t expecting to be able to eat anything and was just looking forward to catching up with people and going to a new part of Abuja. So I was very very excited when he brought out not one, but TWO massive dishes of salad. Not just salad, but salad with LETTUCE. It was a good day. We’ve also now got a DVD player in our flat, and we can buy DVDs from the market down the road for 200/250 N each (about £1). We’ve also found a place that does live music at the weekends that might be one of my most favourite places in the world. I’m developing a bit of an unhealthy obsession with the singer. I consider it to be a bad weekend if I don’t get to go there. I’ve so far managed to refrain from walking up to the stage, throwing myself at his feet, and clinging onto his ankles, but give me time.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
The end of the VSO Refugee
Or the VSO Internally Displaced Person would be more accurate. So I have a new placement. I started on Monday. And I am very excited. Anyone who knows me well knows how bad I am at not being gainfully employed. I need to be continually occupied or I am beyond irritating. The past few weeks have therefore been somewhat of a challenge. Thankfully I had the joy of moving into a flat that needed a clean. I clean when I am stressed. Actually that’s an understatement, I clean all the time. But I clean even more when I am stressed. I don’t think I have ever spent so many hours cleaning. VSO also took pity on me and gave me ‘tasks’ to do. I’m fairly certain these were just attempts at keeping me occupied so that I didn’t try to flee the country. Not that I could have done, I don’t even have my passport. But I was grateful nonetheless. I also spent a great deal of time at the VSO office making use of their internet and drinking endless cups of tea. Although having discovered the British Village this weekend, I am kicking myself for not having taken more advantage of it during the past three weeks. There is a pool that VSO’s can use for free. And not just that, there’s a bar that serves cocktails, and food that contains CHEESE. I might move in there and see if anyone notices.
Another volunteer came into the VSO office the other day and asked me where I was living now I’m in Abuja. I told her, and she looked less than impressed. I was very confused, given it is one hundred times better than where I was living before. Apparently whenever any volunteers come to stay in Abuja they ask to not be put in what is now my new home. And yet for me, it’s heaven. It seems that my standards are even lower than I had previously thought. I think the trick is to ensure that my expectations are at such a low level that there is never room for me to be disappointed. This coping mechanism has definitely helped to go some way towards stopping me jumping on the first flight home in the past few weeks. Quite a few people have asked me why I’ve stayed. And if I’m honest the thought of going home was definitely tempting at one stage. And at times it seemed like it might be the best thing for me to do. But I do not want the past 6 months to be the outcome of my VSO placement. And more importantly, I do not want the past 6 months to be the way I remember Nigeria. So, I decided to stick with it. And after now starting a new placement, I’m very glad I made that decision.
Despite having just said how much I like my new home, there is one thing about it that makes me very sad. There’s a monkey tied up outside on a piece of rope the length of my arm. Quite often I watch him trying desperately to get food that has been thrown to him and is just outside his grasp. It breaks my heart and I cannot understand how anybody could be so cruel. He spends most of his days just sat on the ground drawing in the dirt. I’m trying to think of something I can do to make it better but as yet I haven’t been able to come up with anything. If I go down to him then his owners would definitely see me. And I’m not entirely sure about what I’d do when I got to him. Whilst it would make me feel better to cuddle him, or smuggle him into my room, I’m not convinced that is something that would fix his life right now.
I got asked if I was a vegetarian the other day. Apparently I ‘look like one’. What does a vegetarian look like? ‘No meat’, ‘pale’ and ‘a sunken stomach’ were the responses I received. Great. I am definitely in the wrong country - that same night I was in a bar with a live band, and one of the women singing was what people here describe as ‘well endowed’. At home she would be described as curvy! And the song she was singing was about just how ‘endowed’ she was. And everyone loved it. The men were clearly enjoying the song (and more likely her dancing) and women who were equally as well ‘endowed’ all came and joined her. It was a refreshing change from being at home, where there is the constantly unhealthy obsession with people wanting to be thinner. The only slight downside was I left feeling like even more of a ‘vegetarian’ - I definitely do not have what would be described as an African figure. I need to start eating more groundnuts and avocadoes I think.
And finally, to continue with my constant attempts to be positive about my new placement, here are some more good things about being in Abuja:
1. My internet connection is much much faster here. I can upload photos and do video Skype without wanting to throw my laptop out the window. I can also listen to Radio 1 live. People who know how much I love Chris Moyles will appreciate how happy this makes me.
2. Being able to run around the area where I live. This would have just caused me endless hassle in Calabar.
3. The British Village. This is so good it deserves a second mention.
4. Access to coffee. I had my first latte in 6 months the other day. It was worth waiting for and it was even worth spending almost a day’s allowance on.
5. Having somewhere we can go for beer directly outside where we live.
6. Living in a compound that isn’t full of weird horrible men who flog people outside my window, constantly bug me for money, and turn off my water and electricity supply.
7. Having housemates. Having lived on my own for almost 5 years I didn’t think this would be something that I would find so comforting, but right now I am definitely happier that there are other people living in the same place as me.
8. Being able to have a cold glass of wine. Well, wine might be a stretch of the imagination. Vinegar would probably be a better description. But it beats not having wine at all.
9. Finding a café that sells macaroni cheese. It costs 2 days allowance, so will have to be saved for a special treat. But I at least know it’s there!
Another volunteer came into the VSO office the other day and asked me where I was living now I’m in Abuja. I told her, and she looked less than impressed. I was very confused, given it is one hundred times better than where I was living before. Apparently whenever any volunteers come to stay in Abuja they ask to not be put in what is now my new home. And yet for me, it’s heaven. It seems that my standards are even lower than I had previously thought. I think the trick is to ensure that my expectations are at such a low level that there is never room for me to be disappointed. This coping mechanism has definitely helped to go some way towards stopping me jumping on the first flight home in the past few weeks. Quite a few people have asked me why I’ve stayed. And if I’m honest the thought of going home was definitely tempting at one stage. And at times it seemed like it might be the best thing for me to do. But I do not want the past 6 months to be the outcome of my VSO placement. And more importantly, I do not want the past 6 months to be the way I remember Nigeria. So, I decided to stick with it. And after now starting a new placement, I’m very glad I made that decision.
Despite having just said how much I like my new home, there is one thing about it that makes me very sad. There’s a monkey tied up outside on a piece of rope the length of my arm. Quite often I watch him trying desperately to get food that has been thrown to him and is just outside his grasp. It breaks my heart and I cannot understand how anybody could be so cruel. He spends most of his days just sat on the ground drawing in the dirt. I’m trying to think of something I can do to make it better but as yet I haven’t been able to come up with anything. If I go down to him then his owners would definitely see me. And I’m not entirely sure about what I’d do when I got to him. Whilst it would make me feel better to cuddle him, or smuggle him into my room, I’m not convinced that is something that would fix his life right now.
I got asked if I was a vegetarian the other day. Apparently I ‘look like one’. What does a vegetarian look like? ‘No meat’, ‘pale’ and ‘a sunken stomach’ were the responses I received. Great. I am definitely in the wrong country - that same night I was in a bar with a live band, and one of the women singing was what people here describe as ‘well endowed’. At home she would be described as curvy! And the song she was singing was about just how ‘endowed’ she was. And everyone loved it. The men were clearly enjoying the song (and more likely her dancing) and women who were equally as well ‘endowed’ all came and joined her. It was a refreshing change from being at home, where there is the constantly unhealthy obsession with people wanting to be thinner. The only slight downside was I left feeling like even more of a ‘vegetarian’ - I definitely do not have what would be described as an African figure. I need to start eating more groundnuts and avocadoes I think.
And finally, to continue with my constant attempts to be positive about my new placement, here are some more good things about being in Abuja:
1. My internet connection is much much faster here. I can upload photos and do video Skype without wanting to throw my laptop out the window. I can also listen to Radio 1 live. People who know how much I love Chris Moyles will appreciate how happy this makes me.
2. Being able to run around the area where I live. This would have just caused me endless hassle in Calabar.
3. The British Village. This is so good it deserves a second mention.
4. Access to coffee. I had my first latte in 6 months the other day. It was worth waiting for and it was even worth spending almost a day’s allowance on.
5. Having somewhere we can go for beer directly outside where we live.
6. Living in a compound that isn’t full of weird horrible men who flog people outside my window, constantly bug me for money, and turn off my water and electricity supply.
7. Having housemates. Having lived on my own for almost 5 years I didn’t think this would be something that I would find so comforting, but right now I am definitely happier that there are other people living in the same place as me.
8. Being able to have a cold glass of wine. Well, wine might be a stretch of the imagination. Vinegar would probably be a better description. But it beats not having wine at all.
9. Finding a café that sells macaroni cheese. It costs 2 days allowance, so will have to be saved for a special treat. But I at least know it’s there!
Monday, August 15, 2011
Want to lose your sanity?
Then come to Nigeria.
I knew I had spoken too soon when I said I was enjoying my placement. Six months in, and things went very wrong. I can’t go into details on my blog, but unfortunately my placement didn’t work out and I had to leave Calabar. People keep telling me that there will be a lesson to be learnt from all of this, and that everything happens for a reason. I am struggling to work out what that lesson is. Other than the fact that I’ll probably never trust anyone again. Another lesson I have learnt is how isolating it feels to be in a foreign country and to not be able to trust the people who are supposed to be looking out for you (just to be clear, I am not talking about VSO, they have been very supportive). I’ve also learnt that I’m considerably stronger than I was when I first came out here. Yes, I’ve fallen apart and cried, but my first thought hasn’t been to give up and to go home (well, that’s a slight lie, but I soon moved passed that!)
So it looks like I’ll be starting a new placement in Abuja. I have moved into where I’ll be living here, and I am starting to feel more settled. There are definitely some positives with being here:
1. Food – it is one hundred times easier for me to get a lot of fruit and vegetables here. In Calabar unless I went to one of the markets I was limited to just being able to buy tomatoes, onions, avocados, oranges, pineapple and mango. This sounds like a lot of choice, but for a vegetarian, my diet got a little monotonous. Here I am able to easily buy potatoes, carrots, peas, yam, aubergine, peppers, tomatoes, onions, mango, pineapple, oranges, papaya, bananas… the list goes on. So I’m a happy bunny.
2. Electricity. I won’t go on about this as I am terrified in case I jinx it, but suffice to say electricity is almost constant here. I don’t yet trust it enough to stop obsessively charging everything though (almost as soon as I typed this, the electricity went out. It turns out we have an electricity meter. But no one told us we have an electricity meter. So we didn’t know it needs topping up. Not a mistake we’ll make again).
3. With electricity comes a fridge. Yes, a real working fridge.
4. Living somewhere that has more than one room. This is beyond exciting for me. There’s a lounge and a kitchen and places for me to sit other than my bed. And the kitchen not only has a fridge in it, but an oven too. And the oven works. Does it get any better?!
5. Having somewhere outside where I can dry my washing. Granted, it’s over a very dusty car park, but I still think that dusty clothes are better than clothes that smell of wet dog.
And the things I miss about Calabar:
1. The people who I’ve shared the ups and downs of the past 6 months with. It still hasn’t sunk in that I won’t actually be living there anymore and seeing them all the time.
2. The public transport. From paying 50 N for any taxi journey, I am now paying a minimum of 250 N. There are no shared taxis in Abuja, and so it’s a case of paying for a private taxi to get anywhere. On an allowance of 1,000 N a day, this is a challenge.
3. Feeling like I’m actually living in Africa. Abuja is a big city like any other. I could be anywhere in the world.
4. The street side stalls. The furthest you could walk in Calabar without seeing somewhere you could buy bread, phone credit, tomatoes, onions, water (and the list goes on) was about 5 metres. Not so here. There are no roadside stalls (apart from the few who seem to risk it and set up shop down some of the smaller side roads). So you have to walk to the nearest supermarket.
5. Feeling settled. Calabar had really started to feel like home. Yes, it had its challenges (especially in my last week there), but I was used to it. I wasn’t expecting to have to start all over again after 6 months.
But I’m not going to end on a negative. On the plus side, I get to experience living in two different places, get to meet new people and make new friends. So I’m telling myself that instead of just having the one VSO experience, I get two. Like I said before, onwards and upwards.
And a nice thought to end on… I was speaking to my housemate the other day, and for some reason the topic of de worming came up. Turns out that after 6 months I really should have done this by now. So that’s going to be a highlight of the next few days. Oh the glamorous lifestyle of a VSO volunteer.
I knew I had spoken too soon when I said I was enjoying my placement. Six months in, and things went very wrong. I can’t go into details on my blog, but unfortunately my placement didn’t work out and I had to leave Calabar. People keep telling me that there will be a lesson to be learnt from all of this, and that everything happens for a reason. I am struggling to work out what that lesson is. Other than the fact that I’ll probably never trust anyone again. Another lesson I have learnt is how isolating it feels to be in a foreign country and to not be able to trust the people who are supposed to be looking out for you (just to be clear, I am not talking about VSO, they have been very supportive). I’ve also learnt that I’m considerably stronger than I was when I first came out here. Yes, I’ve fallen apart and cried, but my first thought hasn’t been to give up and to go home (well, that’s a slight lie, but I soon moved passed that!)
So it looks like I’ll be starting a new placement in Abuja. I have moved into where I’ll be living here, and I am starting to feel more settled. There are definitely some positives with being here:
1. Food – it is one hundred times easier for me to get a lot of fruit and vegetables here. In Calabar unless I went to one of the markets I was limited to just being able to buy tomatoes, onions, avocados, oranges, pineapple and mango. This sounds like a lot of choice, but for a vegetarian, my diet got a little monotonous. Here I am able to easily buy potatoes, carrots, peas, yam, aubergine, peppers, tomatoes, onions, mango, pineapple, oranges, papaya, bananas… the list goes on. So I’m a happy bunny.
2. Electricity. I won’t go on about this as I am terrified in case I jinx it, but suffice to say electricity is almost constant here. I don’t yet trust it enough to stop obsessively charging everything though (almost as soon as I typed this, the electricity went out. It turns out we have an electricity meter. But no one told us we have an electricity meter. So we didn’t know it needs topping up. Not a mistake we’ll make again).
3. With electricity comes a fridge. Yes, a real working fridge.
4. Living somewhere that has more than one room. This is beyond exciting for me. There’s a lounge and a kitchen and places for me to sit other than my bed. And the kitchen not only has a fridge in it, but an oven too. And the oven works. Does it get any better?!
5. Having somewhere outside where I can dry my washing. Granted, it’s over a very dusty car park, but I still think that dusty clothes are better than clothes that smell of wet dog.
And the things I miss about Calabar:
1. The people who I’ve shared the ups and downs of the past 6 months with. It still hasn’t sunk in that I won’t actually be living there anymore and seeing them all the time.
2. The public transport. From paying 50 N for any taxi journey, I am now paying a minimum of 250 N. There are no shared taxis in Abuja, and so it’s a case of paying for a private taxi to get anywhere. On an allowance of 1,000 N a day, this is a challenge.
3. Feeling like I’m actually living in Africa. Abuja is a big city like any other. I could be anywhere in the world.
4. The street side stalls. The furthest you could walk in Calabar without seeing somewhere you could buy bread, phone credit, tomatoes, onions, water (and the list goes on) was about 5 metres. Not so here. There are no roadside stalls (apart from the few who seem to risk it and set up shop down some of the smaller side roads). So you have to walk to the nearest supermarket.
5. Feeling settled. Calabar had really started to feel like home. Yes, it had its challenges (especially in my last week there), but I was used to it. I wasn’t expecting to have to start all over again after 6 months.
But I’m not going to end on a negative. On the plus side, I get to experience living in two different places, get to meet new people and make new friends. So I’m telling myself that instead of just having the one VSO experience, I get two. Like I said before, onwards and upwards.
And a nice thought to end on… I was speaking to my housemate the other day, and for some reason the topic of de worming came up. Turns out that after 6 months I really should have done this by now. So that’s going to be a highlight of the next few days. Oh the glamorous lifestyle of a VSO volunteer.
Monday, July 25, 2011
A vegetarian's worst nightmare?
I’ve had some pretty grim experiences with food since getting here. Having to eat the bean cake which turned out to be full of fish. Sharing my noodles with Ratty. Biting into roasted corn and a maggot falling out of it (I had already eaten 90% of the corn by that time so I told myself that was definitely the ONLY maggot that would have been in there. There was absolutely NO chance there were others and I’d just ingested them). They were nothing compared to Saturday night’s adventures. We went to a friend’s restaurant/bar, which is very well known locally for its signature dish. In fact it boasts that it serves the best version of this dish in town. And what is this delicious meal? Goat Head. Yes, that’s right, the Head of a Goat. The ENTIRE head of a goat. One of the people we were out with expressed an interest (or perhaps more a morbid curiosity) in what this dish was like. I learnt very early on not to show any interest in food here unless you are very very sure that you want to eat it. And not just eat it, but have your facial expression scrutinised by everyone you are with whilst you eat whatever delicacy you have been given, just to make sure you really are enjoying it and you’re not just pretending. And sure enough, no more than ten minutes after he uttered the words “I wonder what it tastes like” two big pots of steaming Goat Head had been placed on the table in front of us. Now, I knew being a vegetarian here would cause some challenges. The concept is just not understood. I can’t count how many times I’ve said I can’t eat something and the response has been, “I know you’re vegetarian, but it’s okay, this is just chicken.” I don’t usually ever have a problem with other people eating meat. I am also realistic and have to accept that quite often (here and at home) I am probably eating things that have been cooked next to, or come into contact with meat and fish. And I’d never be fussy enough to refuse to eat anything on that basis (I’d probably starve here if I started being that obsessive about it!) But the two pots of Goat Head really did push my vegetarianism to the extreme. It was like being in a horror movie. When my friend started chewing the meat off a lump of something and I realised when he put down the remains that it was the goats teeth, dirt, decay and all, I really did have to take a few deep breaths. The highlight was at the end of the evening when they were closing the restaurant and pushed a wheelbarrow of rejected Goat Head Bones past our table. I kept being told by one of our local friends that I was ‘missing out’. I’m not certain I agree with him. As appealing as chewing on a goats jawbone and eyeballs might seem, I might just push on through and stick to being a vegetarian.
Some other new ‘experiences’ this week.
1. Goosebumps. Yes, that’s right. I was cold. In Nigeria. I had to sleep with my jumper on.
2. Losing my temper. This doesn’t happen often. I’m frequently grumpy and I moan all the time, but actually losing my temper? Very rare. I had no water for most of last week. And when I say ‘no water’ I literally mean nothing. For the first part of the week it was fine because I just used the stored water I keep in my room (and tried to ignore the smell of stagnant pond). But by the time that ran out on Thursday I was feeling pretty fed up. The closest tap to collect water from is a 20 minute walk up my hill. I’m reasonably strong, but even I can’t carry my filled jerry can that far. On Friday morning I’d had enough and I asked my neighbour whether he could help me fetch water in his car, or if he knew when they’d be using the generator to pump us water (which is what usually happens when the water is off for a long-time). He just looked really confused and said he’d had water all week. I asked a couple more of my neighbours and they all said the same thing. Then my neighbour took me to the outside area behind my room and showed me the tap which controls my water supply. Which had been turned off. The security guard saw me and shouted to ask if there was a problem. He’d been bugging me all week for money for another fictitious electricity bill. The last time he did that and I refused to pay he turned the electricity supply off to my room. I have little doubt that he was responsible for turning the water off to my room. The tap is directly outside my bathroom window. It is impossible that it was turned off by mistake. Its only function is to control the water supply to my room. He then had the nerve to ask me for money again. He still owes me 2,000 Naira for the kitchen sink he never fixed. Something tells me that the two of us will never see eye to eye. At least I now know how to turn my water on myself.
3. The taxi I was in on the way to work being wheel clamped. In the middle of the road. There’s an area where taxi drivers aren’t allowed to stop and pick up passengers unless they dash (pay/bribe) the random men who stand on the side of the road. I’m not really sure what purpose these men serve. All they seem to do is to direct you to which cab to get into, which the taxi drivers are more than able to do themselves. Anyway, the driver of the taxi I was in didn’t want to dash anyone so seemed to think that if he just crawled along the road very slowly and made passengers jump into a moving car then he wouldn’t have to pay because technically he never stopped. Not so. The random men on the side of the road reached into the car, turned off the ignition, and pulled out the car keys. The taxi driver then started fighting with them (not very intelligent given there was one of him and about 10 of them). And then the traffic police (or just some more random men, I’m not really sure) came and clamped the car. Right in the middle of the road. In rush hour traffic. The door handle on the inside of the passenger door where I was sitting was broken and so I couldn’t actually get out. It took them a few minutes to realise I was still stuck inside, and to open the door so I could get another cab to work. This time I made sure I got in one that had paid the taxi attendants and so was actually allowed to stop to pick me up.
So all in all, another quiet few days in Calabar!
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Green sludge and a bruised ego
As I’ve already mentioned, walking around here isn’t the most relaxing pastime. If you’re not being greeted or shouted at by everyone that you walk past, you’re being offered lifts by passing cars, or constantly being asked why you’re trekking again. If I’m having a tired day it’s almost a relief when it’s raining and I can use my umbrella to cover my face and have a relatively peaceful walk up my road. Not so the other day. I was walking back down the hill after work, and it had been raining pretty much all day. The sides of the roads were flooded, and so I was sticking to the pavements. Only the pavements were covered in green sludge. Green sludge that was every bit as slippery and as slimy as it looked. And I fell. Hard. Flat on my a*s and my back. My immediate thought was that I’d probably broken my laptop, which was in my rucksack, but thankfully I hadn’t. I was on the busiest part of my road, and within seconds I was surrounded by people saying sorry that I had fallen and trying to help me up and wipe all of the green sludge off me. They were shouting down the road to other people,’ “The Bakara has fallen, the Bakara has fallen.” It took about 5 minutes for me to convince them I was fine. Then I had to walk the rest of the way home covered in green sludge all down my back, with blood coming out of my elbow, leg and foot, and with a very bruised ego. It’s a measure of my lowered standards that when I was telling Jenny what had happened I said, “Oh well, at least it was only green sludge that I got covered in.” We had to laugh about the fact that I found that comforting. But I really did, considering all of the other things I frequently walk past/through on the roads that it could have been. So no more walking down the green sludgy pavements on rainy days in flipflops.
Some cultural learnings this week:
1. What do you do when you have a baby with a very blocked nose and you can’t get them to blow their nose? (WARNING: DO NOT KEEP READING THIS IF YOU ARE EATING) You suck the gunk out and then spit it out. I almost feel bad for putting this on my blog because it is so disgusting, but I couldn’t resist sharing this horrific piece of information. Witnessing this was not a highlight of my week.
2. When someone strokes your arm and says “Your skin is so soft, do you put sperm in your moisturiser?” the correct response is not to laugh. This is a very serious question. I then listened to a 10-minute explanation on the benefits of adding sperm to your moisturiser.
3. Rainy season here is not a good time to be unmarried. You get bombarded with constant questions regarding how you can possibly sleep at night in this cold weather without a “natural blanket”. A “natural blanket” being a man.
4. Working for an organisation that is supposed to promote women’s empowerment and hearing a stream of comments about the inferiority of women and then being told, “Gender equality? This is Africa. The man is still the man, and the woman is still the woman. You won't find gender equality here" by one of the managers in the organisation doesn’t do wonders for your enthusiasm as a volunteer.
5. Sitting and watching an attachment upload to an email for four hours is not the most calming of hobbies. Especially when it’s 9pm on a Thursday evening and you’ve been working on the same thing since 7am that morning. I very nearly threw my modem under a passing car.
6. When someone asks if you are married say yes, irrespective of who they are. Otherwise you get dragged down the road to be introduced to a crazy lady’s brother, who must have been about 70 years old. She ran up to him dragging me behind her shouting “Brother, I’ve found you a wife, I’ve found you a wife”. I made a hasty exit. The poor man looked very confused. This was the same lady who had spent the entire tricycle ride up my hill telling me I was lucky she was letting me sit next to her because in my country (being the UK) that would never happen as (and I quote): ‘your people would never be sat next to my people’.
7. Doing something as simple as standing on the side of the road minding your own business can cause a full-blown row between two men. I was just stood hailing down a taxi when a man stood on the pavement behind me told me that he didn’t want me to get a public taxi because ‘he loved me’ and wanted to ‘buy me a drop’ (a drop is a private taxi where you are the only passenger, and so it is about 8 times the cost of a public taxi which you share with however many other people). He then started shouting at every taxi that passed that he wanted a drop. A taxi full of people stopped, and the driver chucked all the passengers out so that he could take me in a drop. I explained to the taxi driver that I didn’t know the man, I didn’t want him paying for my taxi, and I just wanted a 50 Naira shared public taxi journey. The annoying man on the side of the road wouldn’t stop arguing with me about this, and by that time the poor taxi driver’s passengers had all gone and got in other taxis, so he’d lost all his fares from that journey. He was therefore pretty fed up with the annoying man on the side of the road, and quite rightly so. I wasn’t getting anywhere, as every time I tried to flag down a new taxi the annoying man on the side of the road interrupted me to tell the driver I wanted a drop, so I gave up and walked further up the road away from him so I could get a taxi in peace. Him and the taxi driver were still having a full-blown row by the time I last looked back.
And some good things this week:
1. Finding a place that sells REALLY good ice cream. It’s expensive, but definitely worth it.
2. A lovely lady who has a shop on my road refusing to let me pay my taxi fare and paying for me herself.
3. A new volunteer arriving in Calabar – someone else to drink beer with.
4. Packet macaroni cheese that I brought back from home. It was worth paying excess luggage for.
5. Finding a relatively decent bottle of red wine. Although I had to have a very long discussion with the lady in the shop about why I didn’t want a chilled bottle. Yes, that’s right, they all put red wine in the fridges here. The colder the better is the general motto.
6. Cooking fajitas for Jenny’s birthday. Despite me being the one who cooked them, they were actually edible. Especially when combined with fried yam. I’m starting to come to the conclusion that there’s nothing fried yam doesn’t go with.
7. Finding my way around a whole new part of Calabar all by myself. This doesn’t sound like much of an achievement, but for anyone who knows me well enough to know how bad my sense of direction is, and how much I hate doing things on my own, this was a pretty big breakthrough for me. I might just be becoming an adult.
So there goes another week. We’re praying for sunshine on Saturday so we can go and collapse by the swimming pool for the day. But if the past few days weather have been anything to go by, I shouldn’t get my hopes up!
Some cultural learnings this week:
1. What do you do when you have a baby with a very blocked nose and you can’t get them to blow their nose? (WARNING: DO NOT KEEP READING THIS IF YOU ARE EATING) You suck the gunk out and then spit it out. I almost feel bad for putting this on my blog because it is so disgusting, but I couldn’t resist sharing this horrific piece of information. Witnessing this was not a highlight of my week.
2. When someone strokes your arm and says “Your skin is so soft, do you put sperm in your moisturiser?” the correct response is not to laugh. This is a very serious question. I then listened to a 10-minute explanation on the benefits of adding sperm to your moisturiser.
3. Rainy season here is not a good time to be unmarried. You get bombarded with constant questions regarding how you can possibly sleep at night in this cold weather without a “natural blanket”. A “natural blanket” being a man.
4. Working for an organisation that is supposed to promote women’s empowerment and hearing a stream of comments about the inferiority of women and then being told, “Gender equality? This is Africa. The man is still the man, and the woman is still the woman. You won't find gender equality here" by one of the managers in the organisation doesn’t do wonders for your enthusiasm as a volunteer.
5. Sitting and watching an attachment upload to an email for four hours is not the most calming of hobbies. Especially when it’s 9pm on a Thursday evening and you’ve been working on the same thing since 7am that morning. I very nearly threw my modem under a passing car.
6. When someone asks if you are married say yes, irrespective of who they are. Otherwise you get dragged down the road to be introduced to a crazy lady’s brother, who must have been about 70 years old. She ran up to him dragging me behind her shouting “Brother, I’ve found you a wife, I’ve found you a wife”. I made a hasty exit. The poor man looked very confused. This was the same lady who had spent the entire tricycle ride up my hill telling me I was lucky she was letting me sit next to her because in my country (being the UK) that would never happen as (and I quote): ‘your people would never be sat next to my people’.
7. Doing something as simple as standing on the side of the road minding your own business can cause a full-blown row between two men. I was just stood hailing down a taxi when a man stood on the pavement behind me told me that he didn’t want me to get a public taxi because ‘he loved me’ and wanted to ‘buy me a drop’ (a drop is a private taxi where you are the only passenger, and so it is about 8 times the cost of a public taxi which you share with however many other people). He then started shouting at every taxi that passed that he wanted a drop. A taxi full of people stopped, and the driver chucked all the passengers out so that he could take me in a drop. I explained to the taxi driver that I didn’t know the man, I didn’t want him paying for my taxi, and I just wanted a 50 Naira shared public taxi journey. The annoying man on the side of the road wouldn’t stop arguing with me about this, and by that time the poor taxi driver’s passengers had all gone and got in other taxis, so he’d lost all his fares from that journey. He was therefore pretty fed up with the annoying man on the side of the road, and quite rightly so. I wasn’t getting anywhere, as every time I tried to flag down a new taxi the annoying man on the side of the road interrupted me to tell the driver I wanted a drop, so I gave up and walked further up the road away from him so I could get a taxi in peace. Him and the taxi driver were still having a full-blown row by the time I last looked back.
And some good things this week:
1. Finding a place that sells REALLY good ice cream. It’s expensive, but definitely worth it.
2. A lovely lady who has a shop on my road refusing to let me pay my taxi fare and paying for me herself.
3. A new volunteer arriving in Calabar – someone else to drink beer with.
4. Packet macaroni cheese that I brought back from home. It was worth paying excess luggage for.
5. Finding a relatively decent bottle of red wine. Although I had to have a very long discussion with the lady in the shop about why I didn’t want a chilled bottle. Yes, that’s right, they all put red wine in the fridges here. The colder the better is the general motto.
6. Cooking fajitas for Jenny’s birthday. Despite me being the one who cooked them, they were actually edible. Especially when combined with fried yam. I’m starting to come to the conclusion that there’s nothing fried yam doesn’t go with.
7. Finding my way around a whole new part of Calabar all by myself. This doesn’t sound like much of an achievement, but for anyone who knows me well enough to know how bad my sense of direction is, and how much I hate doing things on my own, this was a pretty big breakthrough for me. I might just be becoming an adult.
So there goes another week. We’re praying for sunshine on Saturday so we can go and collapse by the swimming pool for the day. But if the past few days weather have been anything to go by, I shouldn’t get my hopes up!
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
I really need to learn to Man Up
I have just returned to Calabar after a lovely two weeks at home. I have the worlds best parents, who bought me a ticket to go home for my birthday so that I could indulge in hot showers and electricity and wine. And it was the best birthday present in the world. Nothing beats Jersey in the summer, and it was great to be able to catch up with so many people, although as predicted the time flew by and I didn’t get to see nearly as many people as I had hoped. And the down side? Me learning that no matter how settled I might think I feel in Calabar, I will never be happy about going back or saying goodbye to everyone at home. Given how much of a total mess I was back in February when I first left, I had really hoped that I might manage to be a bit more controlled this time round at the airport. But no such luck. There was nothing dignified or reserved about my departure. So much for the British not showing emotions. I once again shuffled through security snuffling and snorting, with tears pouring down my face. On the plus side, my lack of dignity and inability to control my emotions works wonders in terms of the way I am treated by airport staff – the man that needed to go through my bag couldn’t have been more apologetic as he asked me to unpack the 20 packets of ‘pasta in a mug’ and packet macaroni cheese, 6 copies of trashy magazines, and 5 packets of Boots cucumber face wipes. However I think I was slightly less hysterical than I was in February, as the people at security didn’t offer me a glass of water and a seat before asking me to go through the scanner this time, so maybe there was a small improvement. Either way, someone really needs to teach me to Man the Hell Up.
I took full advantage of my luggage allowance, and came back with my bags full of every type of dried food on offer in Waitrose. Including couscous, dried mushrooms, a bottle of Pimms, Pringles, chocolate and magazines. As well as the entire contents of Boots, and Warehouse’s summer collection. It might be a bit late to be mentioning this now, but if anyone bought shares in Warehouse or Accessorise during the last two weeks, they will be smiling.
Whilst I was at home I also attempted to have something done with The Hair. My hairdresser took one look at it and had to walk away for a few minutes. But after cutting it all off, it seems to be falling out a little bit less. In a bid to avoid me going in with a comb over the next time I see her, she also gave me what seemed like an entire year’s supply of free samples. So I’m sorted for intensive conditioning treatments for the rest of my placement.
On the not so good side, after feeling pretty healthy for the past four months, I got home and got some nasty bug. So spent the last few days at home feeling very sorry for myself because I couldn’t do any of the things I wanted to do. My mood didn’t improve during my journey back to Calabar, which went something like this: Jersey – Gatwick – Heathrow – Abuja - Lagos (yes, that’s right, Lagos) – Abuja – Uyo – Calabar – MY SQUAT. I left home at 12pm on Saturday and arrived at My Squat at 8pm on Sunday. I was already feeling quite tired by 4.20am on Sunday when we went to land at Abuja (I’ve never been good at sleeping at planes), and so I was slightly confused when after starting to descend, the plane began to go back up again. And up. And up. And then the Captain announced that unfortunately we couldn’t land at Abuja. Well, not yet anyway. The landing lights on the runway weren’t working. But not to worry, he assured us; the plane had enough fuel for another three hours. Excellent. So for the next hour we circled Abuja. Over and over and over again. Until finally it was accepted that the men working on the lights would not be able to fix them, and we didn’t have enough fuel left to keep circling until daylight. And so off we went to Lagos instead. We sat at Lagos for an hour or so, refuelled the plane, and finally landed in Abuja at 9am. This didn’t actually bother me too much as it helped to take some time away from the 11 hour wait I knew I had at Abuja airport before my flight to Uyo. It also didn’t seem to bother anyone else on the plane. We were sat there for over 4 and a half hours longer than we were expecting, and yet no one seemed to complain. People just sat there quietly and waited until we heard the next update. I’ve been on planes that have attempted to land in Jersey, failed for some reason (usually fog) and everyone has complained endlessly. Not so here.
I did discover one slight downside with long waits at Nigerian airports. They are not designed for people travelling on their own with a lot of luggage. Just trying to get a trolley was a mission in itself, and then I discovered that the trolleys don’t fit through the door to the bathrooms. The airport was really busy, I couldn’t risk leaving all my luggage out in the corridor. And I couldn’t check my luggage in until 2 hours before my flight. But after having just sat on the flight from Heathrow for 11 hours I was desperate for a change of clothes, a wash, and to brush my teeth. So I had to improvise. I found a deserted corridor and crouched down behind my trolley to change my top, and then brushed my teeth over a plant pot. I hope they don’t have security cameras. I was also very very thirsty, but the only place I could buy water was upstairs in the airport. And guess what, there wasn’t a lift. Well actually, there was a lift. But it had a sign on it saying it only went to the 3rd floor offices, it didn’t go to the 1st floor where there was the cafeteria and the bar. Of course not, because people waiting at an international airport aren’t likely to have a lot of luggage. It would make no sense at all to have a lift going to the cafe. So by the time I could check my luggage in at 1.40pm I was just about ready to abandon my luggage and go and buy a drink anyway. Although I’d gone from wanting water to wanting a neat vodka. My journey back to Calabar continued to not go quite as planned, as in the taxi on the drive from Uyo (it’s at least a 2 hour journey to Calabar) our taxi ran out of petrol. In the torrential rain. By that stage I was starting to feel like someone was really trying to see how long I could stay awake without passing out.
When the plane couldn’t land in Abuja, the lady sat next to me turned to me and asked if it was my first time in Nigeria. I explained that it wasn’t, and she said thank goodness, because she didn’t want me to get a bad impression from the very start. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that nothing about what had just happened had surprised me in the slightest. When she asked how I was liking Nigeria, and I said I was really happy, and liked living in Calabar, all she could say was, “Why?” She couldn’t have looked more surprised. She said that whenever she hears anyone say anything positive about her country she wonders whether they’re living in the same place as she is. Like many people I have spoken to here, she is fed up. Fed up with the fact that Nigeria has resources. And Nigeria has money. A lot of it. And yet these resources and this money are not getting to the people who need it. She was fed up with the leadership. And she was fed up with the fact that in some ways the country has gone backwards in recent years rather than forwards. So when she asked why I liked living here, I didn’t know what to say. Because I know that part of the reason I’m happy here is because I know that it’s just for now. If this was where I knew I would be living for the next 20 years, my response might have been very different. Unlike most people here, I have the luxury of knowing I can go home for two weeks to escape the craziness, to soak up the easiness of life there, to enjoy the hot showers, the running water, and the constant electricity. So why do I like living here? Probably because it’s a novelty. ‘An experience’. But for most people here it’s neither of those things. It’s every day life, and it’s frustrating.
Unfortunately this has turned into another negative blog post. But no matter what the reason is, it is nice to be back. My Squat was exactly as I had left it, and hadn’t been taken over by Ratty as I had feared. In fact the only signs of life were a half dead cockroach and a big fat slimy millipede. I also had my reunion with Harp and fried yam last night. And Jenny got me the best birthday present anyone living here could ask for, a “Stop Nigeria I want to get out of here” voucher, entitling me to a day’s swimming at the lovely hotel up the road, including dinner there. They serve pizza. And cold beer. And have a huge flat screen TV in the outside bar area. So as soon as we find a Saturday when it isn’t raining, I plan on taking up residence on the sun lounger at 8am and not moving until someone actually has to ask me to leave.
I took full advantage of my luggage allowance, and came back with my bags full of every type of dried food on offer in Waitrose. Including couscous, dried mushrooms, a bottle of Pimms, Pringles, chocolate and magazines. As well as the entire contents of Boots, and Warehouse’s summer collection. It might be a bit late to be mentioning this now, but if anyone bought shares in Warehouse or Accessorise during the last two weeks, they will be smiling.
Whilst I was at home I also attempted to have something done with The Hair. My hairdresser took one look at it and had to walk away for a few minutes. But after cutting it all off, it seems to be falling out a little bit less. In a bid to avoid me going in with a comb over the next time I see her, she also gave me what seemed like an entire year’s supply of free samples. So I’m sorted for intensive conditioning treatments for the rest of my placement.
On the not so good side, after feeling pretty healthy for the past four months, I got home and got some nasty bug. So spent the last few days at home feeling very sorry for myself because I couldn’t do any of the things I wanted to do. My mood didn’t improve during my journey back to Calabar, which went something like this: Jersey – Gatwick – Heathrow – Abuja - Lagos (yes, that’s right, Lagos) – Abuja – Uyo – Calabar – MY SQUAT. I left home at 12pm on Saturday and arrived at My Squat at 8pm on Sunday. I was already feeling quite tired by 4.20am on Sunday when we went to land at Abuja (I’ve never been good at sleeping at planes), and so I was slightly confused when after starting to descend, the plane began to go back up again. And up. And up. And then the Captain announced that unfortunately we couldn’t land at Abuja. Well, not yet anyway. The landing lights on the runway weren’t working. But not to worry, he assured us; the plane had enough fuel for another three hours. Excellent. So for the next hour we circled Abuja. Over and over and over again. Until finally it was accepted that the men working on the lights would not be able to fix them, and we didn’t have enough fuel left to keep circling until daylight. And so off we went to Lagos instead. We sat at Lagos for an hour or so, refuelled the plane, and finally landed in Abuja at 9am. This didn’t actually bother me too much as it helped to take some time away from the 11 hour wait I knew I had at Abuja airport before my flight to Uyo. It also didn’t seem to bother anyone else on the plane. We were sat there for over 4 and a half hours longer than we were expecting, and yet no one seemed to complain. People just sat there quietly and waited until we heard the next update. I’ve been on planes that have attempted to land in Jersey, failed for some reason (usually fog) and everyone has complained endlessly. Not so here.
I did discover one slight downside with long waits at Nigerian airports. They are not designed for people travelling on their own with a lot of luggage. Just trying to get a trolley was a mission in itself, and then I discovered that the trolleys don’t fit through the door to the bathrooms. The airport was really busy, I couldn’t risk leaving all my luggage out in the corridor. And I couldn’t check my luggage in until 2 hours before my flight. But after having just sat on the flight from Heathrow for 11 hours I was desperate for a change of clothes, a wash, and to brush my teeth. So I had to improvise. I found a deserted corridor and crouched down behind my trolley to change my top, and then brushed my teeth over a plant pot. I hope they don’t have security cameras. I was also very very thirsty, but the only place I could buy water was upstairs in the airport. And guess what, there wasn’t a lift. Well actually, there was a lift. But it had a sign on it saying it only went to the 3rd floor offices, it didn’t go to the 1st floor where there was the cafeteria and the bar. Of course not, because people waiting at an international airport aren’t likely to have a lot of luggage. It would make no sense at all to have a lift going to the cafe. So by the time I could check my luggage in at 1.40pm I was just about ready to abandon my luggage and go and buy a drink anyway. Although I’d gone from wanting water to wanting a neat vodka. My journey back to Calabar continued to not go quite as planned, as in the taxi on the drive from Uyo (it’s at least a 2 hour journey to Calabar) our taxi ran out of petrol. In the torrential rain. By that stage I was starting to feel like someone was really trying to see how long I could stay awake without passing out.
When the plane couldn’t land in Abuja, the lady sat next to me turned to me and asked if it was my first time in Nigeria. I explained that it wasn’t, and she said thank goodness, because she didn’t want me to get a bad impression from the very start. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that nothing about what had just happened had surprised me in the slightest. When she asked how I was liking Nigeria, and I said I was really happy, and liked living in Calabar, all she could say was, “Why?” She couldn’t have looked more surprised. She said that whenever she hears anyone say anything positive about her country she wonders whether they’re living in the same place as she is. Like many people I have spoken to here, she is fed up. Fed up with the fact that Nigeria has resources. And Nigeria has money. A lot of it. And yet these resources and this money are not getting to the people who need it. She was fed up with the leadership. And she was fed up with the fact that in some ways the country has gone backwards in recent years rather than forwards. So when she asked why I liked living here, I didn’t know what to say. Because I know that part of the reason I’m happy here is because I know that it’s just for now. If this was where I knew I would be living for the next 20 years, my response might have been very different. Unlike most people here, I have the luxury of knowing I can go home for two weeks to escape the craziness, to soak up the easiness of life there, to enjoy the hot showers, the running water, and the constant electricity. So why do I like living here? Probably because it’s a novelty. ‘An experience’. But for most people here it’s neither of those things. It’s every day life, and it’s frustrating.
Unfortunately this has turned into another negative blog post. But no matter what the reason is, it is nice to be back. My Squat was exactly as I had left it, and hadn’t been taken over by Ratty as I had feared. In fact the only signs of life were a half dead cockroach and a big fat slimy millipede. I also had my reunion with Harp and fried yam last night. And Jenny got me the best birthday present anyone living here could ask for, a “Stop Nigeria I want to get out of here” voucher, entitling me to a day’s swimming at the lovely hotel up the road, including dinner there. They serve pizza. And cold beer. And have a huge flat screen TV in the outside bar area. So as soon as we find a Saturday when it isn’t raining, I plan on taking up residence on the sun lounger at 8am and not moving until someone actually has to ask me to leave.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)