On the eve of the one-year anniversary of my repatriation (Gasp!! One year? How did that happen???), I’ve decided to that a bit of a change in tone from my regular posts is in order. I am guilty of doing more than my fair share of pissing and moaning about just how awful things in Lagos actually are. And they are awful, don’t get me wrong. But for a change though, I thought I’d bring you a little snapshot of three of the things I absolutely adore about this cesspool I have come to call home. Enjoy and feel free to add to the list in the comments.
“Big Brother”
When I was a kid, I always wanted to live in a small town. I told my mama I’d live in a small town somewhere in South Carolina; somewhere that had one post office, one general store, one school, one church, a local sheriff. The sort of town where everyone knows your name and your friends’ parents all grew up together. The kind of place where everyone knows everyone else’s history and if you acted up, some kind neighborly aunt would smack you back into line. My mother mostly worried that I would be lynched in such a town, but I was intoxicated by the sense of community, the feeling of belonging that living in such a town might engender. I never realized that I didn’t have to wander very far to find it. Lagos; a small town of just about 20 million people. The sort of town where, if the postman falls ill, you don’t get your package for a month. The sort of town where the security guard watching over 1,000 cars knows exactly where yours is parked, even if you don’t. The sort of town where your parents know all your friends’ parents and which of them has embezzled exactly how much from which company. The sort of town where you can’t go clubbing and randomly make out with the cute boy in the back because, chances are, your Sunday School classmate (and, let’s face it, probably your Sunday School teacher too) is lurking somewhere in the club as well. Not that you would ever…do…that. Ahem.
The sense of anonymity that living in a city like DC or NY affords you can sometimes be alienating and often lets you get away with things you otherwise might not think about if your momma was watching. In Lagos, your momma is always watching. Don’t be freaked out by the Orwellian freakiness of it all. I promise you, on most days, it is oddly comforting.
“Fat-titude”
I constantly wonder how everyone in this town is not morbidly obese. I understand that a lot of people here are “healthy” or “big-boned” or “plumpy” (yes, “plumpy”) but you seldom ever get those types you see in the US: the knees-can-barely-support-their-girth, buy-two-seats-on-an-airplane, oh-God-please-tell-me-he’s-not-sitting-next-to-me mammoth types. The only reason that the absence of these characters confounds me is because all anyone eats in this place is carbohydrates. Doughnut and sausage roll for breakfast, fried rice and chicken with a side of moin-moin and spaghetti for lunch and pounded yam and egusi soup to round things off nicely at dinner. And what makes it even worse (read: awesome!) is the fact that the food is dirt-cheap. At my local buhka, you can procure for yourself a feast fit for an average-sized village at lunch time for as little as N500 (and this is factoring in the buhka’s Victoria Island rent). That’s a whopping $3 + change on the more expensive part of town. If I wanted to get me a sad, sorry sandwich or a leafy little salad from Corner Bakery in DC at lunchtime, I was looking at dropping at least $10 and to add insult to grave injury, I was hungry again by home-time. I was also a dress-size smaller, but that’s neither here nor there. It’s the perfect sanctuary for my kind; members of the Fatty/Cheapskate Persuasion.
“Bedside Assistance”
I love the fact that, in Lagos, if you play your cards right, aside from the occasional forays from your room to wash and feed, you really never have to leave your bed. A resourceful cat in this town can have everything done for them and brought to them at, at worst, a very minimal fee. Now, I’m not talking about your househelps or cooks or washmen (who are awesome, by the way). I’m talking about the phenomenon of “I got a guy”. You need foreign exchange but don’t have time to leave the office? I got a guy. You need to buy fabric but it’s your driver’s day off? I got a guy. You need to get your eyebrows done but are too tired to get dressed? I got a guy. You need to get your hair braided in your pajamas at 2am? I got a guy. People say we don’t have a customer-oriented society here but I beg to differ; it really all just depends on the service you need provided. Everything on your time, at your convenience and best of all, in your house.
It’s a random list for sure, but I guess it shows you what’s most important to me in life; my momma, my food and my bed.
