Port Harcourt Epistles: The GM is in the boot
The polo is over after a week of matches followed by a nightly party. All that remains is a sea of plastic and other garbage which no doubt will ever be removed, that would not be the Nigerian way. To be surrounded by squalor and filth is perfectly acceptable. Occasionally they might collect some into a pile and set fire to it allowing the air to smell of burning plastic and other noxious fumes.
Not for a while will I have to look out the window to see the daily slaughtering of a sheep to make their suya. I was told however that the suya made here is the best in Port Harcourt. After witnessing their lack of food safety I vowed never to eat anything from the street here, no matter how hungry I am.
Everything is bone dry, the grass brown, as the dry season continues. The Harmattan is in full cycle, a fine layer of dust covers everything which keeps housekeeping busy as every surface is covered with it.
This week has seen an interesting mix of expat workers and businessmen in the hotel. Some Dutch turbine engineers, the MD of a marine company, Doug my American friend is back as well as the usual suspects. Evenings are spent swopping hilarious tales and experiences of Nigeria and other places. I certainly enjoy the company of these friends as we banter into the night. It is good to too welcome friends back as they return here on their monthly rotation. I envy them sometimes as they leave for home but soon it will be my turn.
I chuckled as the story of an expat kidnapping was related. The poor fellow, kidnapped and whisked deep into the swamp was held for a while, contact made with his captors, a ransom negotiated and his release secured. However he was not to be released until after his birthday and their demand – a toaster. They could not tell me if it was a four or two slice toaster!
Vulcanisers and house boys are the people of the neighbouring state, not a complimentary expression but are so named for their dimness. A vulcaniser being one who repairs punctures. I found this expression most amusing and on reading the local papers some of the English words used are quite quaint. Mind you, reading the local paper is a daily ritual with tales of horror, kidnappings, corruption, endless pages of waffle and full page colour pictures of some head of a family long deceased. Perhaps this might lead to him being born again.
Recently Doug and I went shopping but first he needed to change money so of to the Bureau d change we went. No, not in a bank but to a group of money changers located under a tree not far from here. Crisp dollars were offered and a huge wad of filthy notes received in exchange, too dirty to even count.
As we wandered around the shop, stopping to stare at the meat pies, examining the limited fresh produce I resolved to stock up my apartment and start cooking for myself on weekends. Maybe even a Sunday lunch or two for those friends who are here. The choice of joints is limited but a Roast Chicken with all the accompaniments should suffice.
Time for a Sunday lunch out the hotel, Chinese it will be. Driver and MOPOL in the front, Doug, Bob and Jonathan in the back. I attempt to squeeze in too but the door will not close. Options – the boot so out I climb and pile into the boot. Doors closed and off we go. Stopping at the gate there is a knock on the window which is wound down and there is my assistant, envelope in hand peering in looking for me.
Is the GM not with you he asked? Yes he is they chirped, he is in the boot! He looked back with some bemusement to see me there. My GM is in the boot he exclaimed. Yes I grinned back, we are not going far. Confused he handed over the envelope and left us shaking his head. Not good for the GM to be in the boot but our numbers would have required an extra car and escort.
Off we drove much to the amusement of us all. Yes, it was unusual with the boss sitting in the boot but a lunch together would be fun.
The restaurant was reasonably full and an interesting selection of dishes ordered – too much as usual served by a miserable unsmiling waitress. It is the only Chinese restaurant that I have ever had to ask for chopsticks. The food is OK, I have had better, much better in fact but we are in Port Harcourt with improvisations made due to non availability of ingredients. Fresh coriander would always be good start.
Time to return to the hotel which we did with the same seating arrangements. We pulled up at the hotel entrance, doors opened by security and Doug came around to let me out. As I unfolded my legs and climbed out the look on the guards face was priceless – what was the GM doing sitting in the boot. We fell about laughing at his reaction.
We retired to the pool patio and enjoyed a good laugh into the afternoon, further enhanced by Bob's attempt to relay a story about a charging Ram, by the hour it was revealed.
It great to have good company, frontiersmen we called ourselves, there are not many who would give up the trappings of a civilized lifestyle to be here. It is what you make of it and some good humour makes life tolerable.
And then another Sunday lunch, well actually dinner. Having tied up with JC again we agreed to go shopping and put a meal together in the potjie. Somehow he managed to inherit one here so off to the shops again, ingredients purchased and a chicken curry cooked. I must say it was rather enjoyable to cook out outdoors even though it was gas, a pleasant evening spent with a group of pilots from around the world.
Life becomes bearable, it what you make of it and with my new found friends there is good camaraderie and laughter all round, hence the lack of recent updates from myself.
The election looms, an air of uncertainty prevails, the President is attending a rally today at the local stadium much to the annoyance of the local ruling opposition. The military is on the streets, roadblocks prevail, groups of chanting youths, who knows what will prevail.