Consultant Down

It's official: G has malaria. Despite every precaution and a full course of Malarone, we've got a consultant down. He'll be taking it easy for a few days, but he's insistent that he's not going home or even staying at the hotel entirely. One of the hardest working men I've ever met.

Sorry for the dearth of posts, but in addition to a hectic time, I've been in Lagos for the past two days. Our schedule was:

Tuesday

8 am: Rush to the airport after a last-minute call. I ask that my laundry be rerouted to G's room.
9 am: Arrive at the airport. Drag luggage onto tarmack and stand in hot, hot sun in heels.
10 am: Continue standing.
11 am: Assist with tossing of luggage into hold of very small plane piloted by crew of surly South Africans.
11:30 am: Embark on the plane, carefully discerning seating hierarchy. Sit with eyes lowered. Remember that my laundry is primarily undergarments. Blush violently.
11:34 am: Disembark from plane due to refusal of some official to properly lower eyes to another official.
11:35 am: Political jockeying begins in earnest. Four party planes are pawns in larger power struggle. Kicking random staff off trip is sign of might.
12:00 pm: Pair of blisters formed on left heel finally erupt. Call G to give strict instructions not to open laundry bag.
12:30 pm: We attempt to break and move inside to the air conditioned lounge but are "shushed" out of the VIP lounge to the humbler but still cool regular lounge.
12:40 pm: We discover we will be charged N1000 for sitting in the lounge. We don't care.
3:00 pm: We are adopted by a high-level official, who places us with him on a small but lovely plane. Everything is great.
3:30 pm: We take off. Fifteen minutes of violent turbulence ensue. My life flashes before my eyes.
3:45 pm: Plane stabilizes. Snacks are served. Life is good until Maid in Manhattan, starring Jennifer Lopez, begins.
4:30 pm: Arrive in Lagos. Hop into SUV for ride into Lagos proper.
5:30 pm: Arrive at not-so-proper hotel in Lagos proper. Pass out in "suite" consisting of three pieces of mismatched furniture, cranky AC, iron-barred windows, and a much-abused bar of soap. Check in with G. No laundry.
8:00 pm: Three calls and two minutes of door banging finally disturb me from my nap. Quickly dress and depart for event.
10:00 pm: Realize event will not take place.
11:00 pm: Arrive back at hotel.
11:03 pm: Big news breaks. Memo-writing commences.

Wednesday

2:30 am: Bed-time. Room is now freezing, possibly the coldest room in Africa.
7:30 am: Wake up for series of meetings.
7:50 am: "Breakfast" consisting of lumpy eggs of indeterminate origin and color -- texture unmentionable -- and excellent toast with terrific pineapple jam.
10:00 am: Meeting #1. One hour lost in Lagos and 42 sets of directions later, we arrive. Thankfully, instant coffee is available.
12:00 pm: Meeting #2. Incredible air conditioning. Intimidating iron gates and the heaviest security door you've ever seen. G informs us he has malaria.
1:00 pm: Meeting #3. Very productive. Glass of water I'm praying was bottled. Great AC.
3:00 pm: Lunch. I debate the cowleg stew but ultimately go with salad and chicken curry. G informs me that he has yet to find my laundry.
4:00 pm: Leave for airport. Call from G. "No skivvies," he informs me.
7:25 pm: E decides to stay in Lagos. We launch a valiant effort to free his baggage and emerge victorious.
7:30 pm: I board.
10:00 pm: Home sweet Abuja. I realize I repacked my laundry.

What killed me in Lagos were the billboards. One of the advertisements, one for paint, showed an interracial couple looking dubiously at the camera and had the slogan: "We know what colors go together." Another was for some household appliance and said, "The smart wife's 1st affair!" very cheerfully. A series of ads for Virgin Nigeria were borderline scandalous, especially for a religiously conservative country. An entire line of political ads for a gubernatorial candidate read "do you want more of the more" instead of "more of the same" while the largest advertisement for a presidential candidate bore a laundry list of adjectives I can only presume were intended to compel voters beginning with "clean."

There were also the fleets of boats and buses. Beninese live in houses perched on stilts above the water below bridges and along the coast, and if you're there early enough, you'll see the fleets of boats from the houses with people fishing and doing other water-related tasks right from the bridge. The buses are ancient yellow schoolbuses -- not much bigger then the VW from Little Miss Sunshine -- filled, filled, filled with people commuting or doing errands. They often whing by with the doors wide open and several people hanging from them to catch the air -- the interiors are so crowded, you can't blame them. I wish I remembered the Nigerian name for these buses. They're widely enough known that they've got their own slang and terms associated.

The city as a whole is very crowded and pungent. People sell everything imaginable by the side of the road: blenders, car mats, Brookstone grooming kits, magazines, and newspapers, etc. The most memorable part, however, is the smell. The smells are non-stop. The interesting thing about the smell, however, is that it's exclusively industrial. In so many developing cities, you encounter a lot of human smells -- I'll stop there -- but in Lagos it's gas and smoke and the strong cleaner used in cars, but not so much waste or rot. (That isn't to say there's not some of that -- people throw trash everywhere, and no one picks it up -- but it's primarily pollution and industry you encounter.)