"Getting good at starting over"

A few days after my last post, we got the call - the shipment finally cleared and was en route to our flat! Anyone that has experienced a corporate move, where you are on location ahead of your container understands how amazing that feeling is. The relief that the waiting is over just barely outweighs the comfort that comes with being reunited with your belongings. On the flip side, anyone that has ever moved the entire contents of their home, especially when downsizing, also understands how quickly that feeling of euphoria deteriorates.

The shipping company brought a huge crew - 15 men at least (for a 40 foot container) so when the boxes started coming and they came fast - the system Venus and I had come up with got backlogged but quick. While I recorded the inventory number of the box and told her which room it was to be sent to, she made sure it got there and wasn't dumped haphazardly; Room 1 (master), Room 2 (K's new big girl room), Room 3 (C's new big boy room), Room 4 (Playroom), Dining Room, Kitchen, Living Room, balconies and/or bathrooms. It wasn't that we couldn't keep up but rather the layout of our house in Texas didn't jive with the new flat - nor did the box labels. Box after box was ushered into the flat at lightning speed; I would record the inventory number then read the label - MBR Hers, MBR His, MBR Shoes (there were a lot of those), Upstairs Linens, Upstairs Laundry, Kids Room, Kids Room Closet, Guest Room, Office, Game Room, Library, Mr. Gaither Scholarly Items (??), Vanity - Hers (again, many boxes), Christmas, MBR Books, Kids Books (never ending), DR, LR, Entry Closet, Butlers' Pantry, Kitchen, Kitchen, Kitchen, Kitchen, and the room for which my memory completely failed me - the garage. It was mayhem.

What made it worse was that my poor memory and I were completely on display for the entire crew to observe as I tried desperately to picture the contents of the boxes after 3 months. At one point a strangely shaped box labeled "Hat Rack" appeared. I scrunched my face and thought really hard until someone from the crew explained it was 'like a tree but for hanging hats'. Oiy. I made some snarky comment about how I knew what it was but was 100% confident I didn't own one (actually we do - a little pink one). The situation was the same for what felt like every 5th box. "Microwave? Now I know I didn't pack that", "That should have a top - I hope", "I thought we already found the art table? No the other one."

At one point, we got caught up. I took a quick look around to make sure the crew was leaving enough space for what was sure to be another 50 boxes and some furniture. I really wished I hadn't. Every room looked like a box warehouse - in an earthquake. I asked the foreman how far along we were. Surely, we had already accounted for 100 boxes at least. Indeed we had. I looked at the inventory list only to be reminded there were 305 items. (see pics here)

The crew finished unloading the container in under 5 hours. I assumed they would come back the next day to unwrap and assemble the furniture. They told me they didn't work Saturdays. Now I'm no fool. Even in the US a crew of delivery men will work Saturday if they are guaranteed overtime so I made the call. After being put through the ringer the past month on our container, I made it clear that the shipping company owed me some overtime. By Saturday afternoon, most of the furniture was re-assembled, rugs laid down, paper hauled away and about 75% of the boxes were at least opened and put into their respective rooms.

In addition to the moving crew, Venus hired a friend of hers who is the stewardess across the hall. We also employed my current driver and the man that will be our permanent driver once we have our car. E watched the kids at the other flat to keep them out of the way. By Saturday night, we were in surprisingly good shape and I owe it all to my amazing staff. We managed to make some pasta around 8 and called it quits at 9 (it took serious prodding on my part to get the crew to eat with me at the dining room table as it is not their custom to eat with "Madam"). Venus came back on Sunday which is usually her day off and we worked tirelessly all day and again on Monday (we still had to pack up the old flat - groan). But little by little the flat is actually taking shape.

Tuesday was a Nigerian public holiday - Democracy Day and Venus insisted on coming in to clean and iron but I insisted she take the day off. I am really going to have to lean on her in the next week - we are still unpacking, the kids have several end of the year parties, I'm finally doing some volunteer work and in another few days, we are actually packing again for a 10 day trip to Denmark and Norway. 

Now if I can just find the winter clothes.

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"I don't want to fake it, I just want to make it"

We're coming up on Week #10 of our life in Lagos. And I'm feeling it. I think I've made a concerted effort to find the positive in what has been a long period of transition. (Even longer when I consider we got the news and I left my job in November - 6 months ago). But this week I have felt less than positive. Any time I take on a new experience, I assume the "fake it 'till you make it" defence. Basically, I throw myself in with the masses, 'do as the Romans do', and assume I'll pick up some knowledge along the way. But 10 weeks is a long time to be faking it.

The biggest issue is that we still aren't in our permanent flat. It's vacant, painted, clean, and I've had the keys for over a week. Venus and I have even been stopping by every other day to offload groceries, cleaning supplies, toilet paper and towels; slowly filling the cupboards so that when we the move does happen, we can at least eat, clean and shower while unpacking boxes. I took the kids to see the compound and the flat for the first time and they were over the moon at the pool and play area. They already know some of the kids that live there and we saw some of their friends playing a massive game of tag across the grassy grounds.

It's unclear what the hold up is which just adds to my frustration. Last week we were told that our container - the 40 foot shipping container that holds the contents of our entire house had actually cleared customs which is usually the most torturous wait in the whole process. We finally got our passports back from the Embassy and since we need the passports to secure the container, those were by far the biggest pieces of the puzzle. On Monday we were told they were waiting to secure a truck. (It takes a very large truck to haul a container that size). On Tuesday we were told there was no truck available and on Wednesday we were told there was some piece of missing paperwork. The missing paperwork is not one we can provide either, it has something to do with getting the container out of the port itself.

I am trying very hard not to assume what everyone here tells us; that someone is just looking for a bribe and if we pay it, then suddenly the red tape disappears as quickly as it appeared. The Company that sponsors us will of course not give in to bribery so we have to play the waiting game. I am not very good at waiting. I am especially poor at waiting when I know there is no good reason to do so.

Like anyone else, I want my stuff. But my angst over our container issue is driven by so many factors it is making my head spin. The kids only have 2 more weeks of school and then, like most of the expats here, we are leaving on holiday - for Denmark and Norway and to the US thereafter - no hardship there. But I was really hoping to give the kids a few weeks of normalcy before then. And by normalcy, I mean, sleeping in their own beds even if the room is still filled with boxes. (Not to mention all of our cold weather adventure gear is in the shipment). It would be nice if they could have a few friends over - or I could, if that isn't too much to ask. I really want my clothes. And my kitchen items and my brand new living room couch. Our drab little temporary flat has become even more depressing now that I have moved half the contents to the new flat.  I find myself mentally decorating our new place and dreaming about my tempurpedic mattress.  Just knowing the container has been sitting in a hot shipping yard for over 6 weeks fills me with a feeling of dread. The kids constantly ask when we are moving and K has told me that our flat doesn't feel much like home. And everytime Venus suggests we buy a pie plate, a lasagna pan, or extra sheets, I just sigh and tell her, "I actually have a lemon zester - in the shipment."

She is just as tired of hearing me say it as I am.

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'Hey Me, Hey Mama'

The other day my stewardess "Venus" took me to one of the open air markets where you can get heaps of fruits, veggies and fish at a much better price than in the grocery stores (see pics here). It was terrific because I have knowingly been getting robbed for the past several weeks at some of the higher-end shops where everything is imported- $20 for a head of iceberg lettuce, $12 for a very small canteloupe, $3 for a single kiwi. It's anarchy.

Part of the reason the shops get away with it is because there is an entire sub-culture of wealthy expats who don't dare go to the markets and don't mind paying the high prices. They probably send their stewards to the markets for fish and certain vegetables but the shops offer lots of comforts from home like imported cheeses, nice wines, and smoked salmon, so shopping at these places is often part of the sub-culture too. Most are owned by French, Lebanese or South African families so the selection is lovely even if the prices are insane.

Also, if the vegetables are imported, you typically don't have to clean them with a special cleaning agent everyone here uses called Milton. It is a popular product in Great Britain and is usually used for sanitizing baby bottles, but it is perfect for washing vegetables. You dilute the tablets in a huge bowl of water, then submerge your veggies for a minute or two to wash away any bacteria. Unfortunately if something is grown in Nigeria, the soil does have a lot of bacteria so Milton is critical.

Venus and I hit the market early with our baskets and a cooler. It's not far from our flat but because it's under a bridge, you only go there for the sole purpose of food shopping. There is no strolling or browsing. I thought going early would be an advantage because we could take our time without any crowds but instead, we were sitting ducks. Or at least I was. We were immediately hit by a swarm of persistent shop owners showing me their best sellers - tangerines, spinach, grapes and mangoes. They offered me mostly small items they could hold up close to my face and get me to touch, feel, smell - and basically commit. As usual I smiled politely and just said "Good Morning" or "No, thank you". Everywhere I turned I heard "Madam, Madam" and was shown a piece of fruit. Despite the face that Venus was leading the charge, it was painfully obvious that I was the "Madam" and she was my stewardess.

Venus was unphased. She found the one or two shop owners she typically deals with and asked about various veggies I had mentioned - green beans, corn, rocket, etc. Any mention of an item would bring an even more intense sales pitch from other shop owners. But at this point they were pushing their sales pitch on Venus and calling her "Mama". "Hey Mama, you need lettuce? Hey Mama, you need tomato?" (Venus is actually a mom, but I seriously doubt that had anything to do with it). If someone got really pushy, Venus would just say "we're coming" which means, we'll get to you when we get to you. It seemed to work, for a little while anyway. When we finally found a stall that had most of what we needed, here's how it went, more or less:

Venus: How much?

Owner: 600 (naira)

Venus: No, that's too "cost". 400. 

Owner: Please Mama, no. Just fresh. Just come from market. 600

Venus: Are they sweet?

Owner: Yes, very sweet.

Venus (to me in whisper): If you ask it is sweet, they will always say yes

Owner: 900 in shops. 600 here. You take it.

Venus: I am here with my Madam. She is new. If she like it she will come back. 400

Owner: 900 per kilo in shops. Your Madam knows good price. 600 for your Madam.

Venus (to me quietly): do you like? 

Me (in whisper): Er, what do you think? do they look good to you?

Venus: 400 and my Madam will come back to you. She will know you. I will come too.

Owner: But Mama...

Venus (to me in audible voice): Maybe we will just have rice tonight?

Owner: 400 for your Madam. You come back here. I give good prices you understand?

Venus: Good. You have coriander? Only fresh. For my Madam.

Phew. I handed the money over. At the next stall, a older man was there.  Venus called confidently called over, "Ok Papa, you have pineapple?". Here we go..

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'If you can't stop, at least smile as you go by'

Yesterday marked the two month mark since we arrived in Lagos. I was in a bit of a funk because we are still not able to move into our permanent flat. We have our passports, our container is here and our flat has been painted and prepped for our move. The powers-that-be however, i.e., Nigerian customs, have not "cleared" our freight. This is one of those processes that takes time and patience and mine has been running short of late.

Last night however, we had the unique opportunity to attend a book launch for my friend Diane. She is a experienced writer already and has written the latest in a series of travel guides called "Culture Smart!" This one is of course on Nigeria - an amazing accomplishment in that Nigeria is Africa's most populous country and Diane herself has been here just under 3 years. The event was held at this gorgeous oasis called The Life House - a multi-functional venue that hosts everything from book clubs to art exhibits, live jazz and film showings. There is a lovely outdoor space with couches and landscaping -  an inviting green space that is hard to find in Lagos (pics here).

Diane and I met when I was on my preview trip in February - she took me around town and showed me all her favorite artsy haunts and book shops. The calm and effortless manner by which she traversed the streets of Lagos and all the poverty that goes with it astounded me and put me right at ease. At an intersection we were approached by some sweet street children asking for food. As expats we are discouraged from opening windows in the streets to donate money. She smiled and waved, explaining we had nothing to give. She was genuine and thoughtful and everywhere we went, it seemed everyone knew Diane. She is fabulous. Period. It was no surprise then that everyone at the book launch was fabulous too.

In my short, two-month experience, I have found it difficult to befriend locals as the people I interact with tend to work for the company, the housing compound or are in the service industry in general, creating a client/patron relationship. I have met some fascinating Nigerian women through the American Womens' Club (Nigerian women married or partnered with Americans are members) but most work full-time so it is harder for me to socialize with them in my everyday life. At the book launch, however, we talked to fashion designers, artists, photographers, architects, writers, and political advocates. I even met a Nigerian woman who had studied in Boston and still summered at the Vineyard, a welcome flow of common conversation for me.

After two different speakers welcomed Diane, sang her praises, and gushed about my fabulous friend, Diane spoke briefly about her experience in writing the book. The first line of her talk and that of the book, "Nigeria is not, yet, a tourist destination" drew nods of affirmation from the crowd. She went on to explain that after investigating the countless tribes, cultures, and languages that make up Nigeria, many people had shared the same sentiment with her - that "Lagos is not Nigeria". This affected the crowd as well and gave me pause. I realized how the city of Lagos has been my only Nigerian experience thus far - and not exactly an accurate one either. Diane told us how the people she had befriended, interviewed and spent time with shared stories of their childhoods with smiles and warmth; that the dysfunctional and dirty image that often suffocates Lagos is not how they view their country or their culture. Thousands of Lagosians actually grew up in the outer rural regions and are heart-broken over the lack of resources and poverty in the city. Nigerians are proud people and very aware of how outsiders perceive them and she was grateful that as an outsider herself, she had been allowed to share their stories.

When asked if writing the book had changed her perception of Nigeria since first arriving, she just said simply that it was much harder to look away; when the street children or beggers came up to the car window or roamed her neighborhood. She felt, in short, that there was potential for change, but only if we can change our perception of Nigeria.

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'Love Removal Machine'

Last week my beloved MacBook Pro laptop broke (refer to tragic pic under cagedbunny). The main computer works but the interior LCD screen looks like some kind of Andy Warhol piece. Since I am forced to blog via my iphone and risk serious carpal tunnel syndrome, the actions below should illustrate what I'm up against.

1) Driver brought me to 3 different electronics stores, all of whom sell the laptop model I own - for over 340,000 Naira. Thats about $2175 USD or 3xs what I paid for it in the US. THREE times.

2) Driver took me to several other stores to look for wireless keyboard so that I can use E's ipad as a backup. All of them carry it, none are in stock. It's roughly 13,500 Naira or $85, about twice the price as the US version.

3) Driver took me to an "Authorized" Apple resaler at The Palms - one of the few malls in town, to look for a monitor that could replace my broken screen. The only monitor they had in stock was bigger than my TV and 193,000 Naira or $1200 bucks. At that rate, I could just buy the new one. The monitor I wanted was slightly smaller but of course not available - yet.

4) After a bit of complaining to the salesperson and stream of consciousness outloud thinking about how I couldn't bear to wait until July when I return to the States, I was subjected to an equally long diatribe about how since Apple is a US company, all the Americans get a discount but in Nigeria, people pay what the item is worth. Or in other terms, it's not a triple mark up, it's just actually worth that much and I should be happy to pay it. Touche.

5) Just prior to leaving the store, the saleswoman gave me the number for a new repair shop called "Mac Center" (see pic here). I phoned the owner, explained the situation and asked for the address. Thankfully it was near the one store I know well - Chocolate Royale, the kids' fav ice cream parlor. You know those landmarks really come in handy.

6) Found said repair shop (tiny apple stickers in windows should be reassuring yes?) and spoke to engineer. A new screen is 35,000 Naira or $218 USD plus labor at 10,000 Naira or $70.

Now we're getting somewhere.  

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