Getting over a bad case of the Lagos Crud right now, the contraction of which is apparently an expat right-of-passage around here. Who knows what caused it; the environment around these parts is not exactly sanitary, so mode of transmission could have been simply ‘being alive,’ the continued state of which felt in question a few days ago. Africa, folks.
Feeling under the weather recently. Turns out singing in the rain may not, in fact, improve one’s mood.
An expat’s packing is never done.
Big Lebanese presence here in Lagos, which is why my fridge is packed with hummus, tahini and pita bread. If you are what you eat, by the time I’m done here I’ll be a fat guy from Beirut.
Working in Lagos, you see it all. The saints, the sinners, the hard cases, the crying shames, the rich kids, the fraudsters and criminals and poor deluded schmucks who think America has streets paved with gold. They all walk through your door.
Some folks here will greet me on the street with “Hello oyibo,” oyibo meaning white guy. There’s obviously no malice intended, though it appears to be slightly playful or impish. I have to say that I was warned that Lagosians were the least friendly of West Africans, being the big city slickers that they are, but I find them rather polite and congenial. If these folks are what passes for brusque in West Africa, people elsewhere in the neighborhood must be downright effusive.