Part 2.The Journey in.

Life was great at the hotel. We were waited on hand and foot. I suppose we were sheltered away from the realities of Nigerian life. We had the run of the hotel and got up to total mischief, knocking on people's doors and running away to hide, ordering room service to empty rooms having swiped the keys when the cleaners were not looking. We quickly got into the weekly routine of a bountiful breakfast, followed by school and an afternoon swim in the pool, followed by plans to raid the local paper and sweet shop. I always used my younger brother as a decoy as I swiped all the Bazookas and Tom Toms I could get a hold of.

Saturdays became the least favourite day as they were invariably spent at my Aunty's house on Glover road in Ikoyi between the local hairdresser's sweaty thighs for hours as she plaited different concoctions and designs into my hair. This was naturally followed by a huge headache. I also had to continue to evade my aunt who was always threatening to pierce my ears when I was not looking. And as usual my light fingered cousins would have swiped my ill gotten gains of Bazookas and Tom Toms out of my canvass bag before my hair was completed whilst the neighbour's kids chorused - Oyinbo pepper, if eeate pepper, you go yellow mo mo every time I stepped out on to the porch.

My Sundays however were much more peaceful. The day was spent at Bar Beach, the waves lapping round my legs, eating hot oranges peeled into beautiful patterns.I was mesmerised by the way the orange sellers would literally skin the orange in a lovely motion with a sharp knife whilst simultaneously holding a conversation. My mother, meanwhile would be roasting herself into pink perfection whilst constantly being pestered by the passing bead and art sellers and every once in a while being chatted up by the local lotharios thinking they were in with a good chance with the lovely oyinbo lady. My father, needless to say, did not do beaches. His Sundays were spent visiting family as he had been away for so long and needed to catch up. He never did stop catching up though!

The rainy season came and we finally moved to a three bed flat in Suru-Lere. I finally had my own room, well not quite, as I had to share it with my brother. My mother quickly turned the flat into her "English cottage" but even she could not keep away some of the harsh realities of living in Lagos. She was not prepared for the onslaught of extended family and friends who never call or write but just show up and take up permanent residence. Our home heaved under the weight of bodies that passed through, coming to gawk at the onyochas (white people) that my father had brought home. Constant demands for food and drink were met and things were never quiet. How I longed for the soft, cool, peaceful room at Ikoyi Hotel.

It was not too long after moving in that we had our first experience of "NEPA taking light". My mother, unprepared for this anomaly, opened up unmeshed windows, bereft of netting which the landlord had knowingly failed to provide. In came the mosquitoes. She was totally unprepared having come out to Nigeria, a naive 26 year old girl, on a wing and a prayer and with love in her heart for my father. Needless to say we were bitten senseless in the hour she left them open. My father returning home soon after saved us from permanent damage bringing Shelltox, candles and mosquito nets for the beds. I always felt like a Princess crawling under them at night. They hung all beautiful and white around me casting the room in a soft misty light and with the sounds of crickets in my ears I would fall into a deep seamless sleep.

I woke one rainy day to the screams of my mother. There was excrement flowing out of the toilet through the hall and into the living room of her Suru- Lere English cottage.......

Going Home first time round. The Journey in.

We moved to Nigeria when I was 9 years old but even before then I was sold on all things Nigerian . From a very young age in England my father was forever whipping up these amazing stews and soups which brought my taste buds alive. I remember my first taste of egusi soup. It was like eating heaven. There is no other way to describe it after the English fare I had grown up on until then. Taste buds that I did not know came alive. I also remember being dressed as an African princess to go to my school's fancy dress compeition. I did not win but that did not matter as I loved the feel and vibrant colours of the ankara that was wrapped around my head and body. I somehow felt that I belonged to that fabric.

I always looked forward to my father's college friends dropping in, they did not display english politness and tact as they scooped me up their arms giving kisses , hugs and pinches and then bestowing me with little gifts of plantain chips , chin chin and "money for coke". These were my surrogate aunties and uncles until I was to reach "home " . Their loud discussions about Nigerian politics and even louder laughter had warmed up the whole house as did the sound of high life, reggea and a myriad of motown classics playing in the background.

A powerful wall of heat hit my body as we stepped off the plane at Murtala Mohamed airport in Lagos. I immediately had a nose bleed and was fussed over by my mother who herself had gone completely red. Having been brought up in the north of England where it gets extremely cold my body went into spasms.

Our first stop was to the Ikoyi Hotel to drop off our things. We lived there for a few months before my father's company found us housing. The second stop was to Glover Road in Ikoyi, my auntie Caro's house, where my real Nigerian experience began. My aunty could not understand why my ears were not yet pierced, and queried my mother strenously then proceeded to chase me around the house with a heated needle. needless to say she never caught me, while my cousins were making themselves very much at home rifling through my mother's bag taking whatever took their fancy. My mother was caught between a rock and a hard place. As this was her first time in Nigeria she did not want to appear rude to her new relatives, and not being sure of the protocol, left them to it her face getting redder by the minute.

My father had always spoken English at home and now all of a sudden there were conversations going on around me that I could not begin to understand. Their guttural sounds ringing in my ears I left to sit under the coconut tree wondering what language my teacher would speak to me when I started school in this strange unfamiliar place.

Answers on a postcard please.

My friend phoned yesterday and I made the grave mistake of asking her how her love life was (silly of me really). She then answered with a diatribe of reasons why she could not find a man. Apparently in London all the good men in the 30-40 year range are all taken (that would be the black men) the rest are all in her words "lying, cheating, pompous arses who were so overrun by women that they did not have to commit and as far as she was concerned anyone over 40 who was not yet married must have issues, were possibly not coming out of the closet or as Oprah put it "on the down low".

I then in my innocence questioned why all her choices had to be black...... a dead silence over the phone ensued for ooh maybe a minute (as if we were on gsm in Nigeria). She then proceeded to ask me what my father would say if I brought a white man home (eerr my mother is slightly pale)? but truth be told my father would actually not accept it as he is very insistent on all his children marrying Naijas. Not that it stopped my brother who is married to a Turkish lady (who is incidentally as Nigerian as they come and gets offended if I don;'t raid her fridge and eat her out of house and home) or my other brother who has been dating a Geordie lass for some years. All is not lost however as one of them is actually marrying a West African soon. Ohh the celebrations we are going to have.

Anyway back to my friend. She wanted to know why she should settle? How could she hold her head up high in Lagos riding around with a white man with everyone looking at her like handbag (ashewo).

I thought the stigma of marrying a different race had long since died for Nigerians. Am I wrong? Answers on a postcard please.

Why Virgin?

Is it my imagination or are Virgin Airways staff getting ruder? I am not privy to flying in first Class (you know who no go gree) and it is always overbooked anyway however I get away with flying Premium as the two smaller kids need their running, kicking and jumping space. The other two invariably end up in Economy (oh the books they will write when they grow up! Mum flew Premium but we flew Cargo and this is why we are now working at McDonalds.). Anyways I am always prepared to do a deal with them that they can have my seat as long as they are prepared to look after the two smaller ones ( I do not personally care where I sit as long as it is child free. Now that is First class).

So there I was squeezed into my Economy seat (too much pounded yam and efo) on our recent trip to Naija (note to self diet begins on return.) next to a very lovely Niaja lady. She rings the bell for the flight attendant and waited for about 45 minutes before anyone responded. She asked the lady for a glass of water and the woman proceeded to inform her that if she was thirsty she should get up and walk to the water fountain.

Apart from the fact that woman had been waiting for 45 minutes, extraction from those chairs was no joke and we were both very comfortably wedged in. I proceeded to ask that if she was not too busy could she possibly get it? She then muttered something about staff shortage and wandered off. This is funny considering how earlier on when I was sitting "up front" the veeeery nice flight attendant said the Naija flights were always fully booked in every class. If this was the case why the staff shortage? Why not treat us all like the good paying customers that we are.

I suggest a boycott let us take our ghana must go bags and fly cargo you all know we can sort out our own lunch not to talk of our own excuseee me!! pure water ok,ok, lets just make it eva water ey better safe than sorry.

Oh why? The hum.

I was lying in bed tonite thinking about what exactly is the attraction of moving back to Nigeria apart from the obvious - family life, great friends, even better gist, the best food in the world (as per the restaurants Mr Chelsea has spoiled me with) and the old school niteclubs.

I finally came to the conclusion that for me it is the hum. The high pitched sound of positive energy, hustle, vibrancy. But where is it coming from in a country with so much negative PR? I'll tell you. I feel that Nigerians are the most cheerful, happy, positive people I have ever known forever spitting out amazing vibes and energy.

There's a school of thought that says that like attracts like. The more positive energy out there the more it creates. Nigerians dare to dream big, damn the circumstances, lack of infrastructure etc etc. No light? No problem. No road? No wahala. No water? E go better. And it seems to be working and I can feel myself getting sucked right in.

I'm coming home.

Iyawo is on the scene.

Welcome to my blog. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy gisting you about what is going on around me. I will also be throwing in some history about my experiences back in the day. As you know Mr Chelsea Rules himself has been wafting on for some time now about his views on things. So it is my turn to say my own piece. Or pieces.

After being out of Naija for some time I am returning after taking care of some stuff, you know family, business etc. As we are now planning to head back to Naija I thought it would be a good time to share my views of this transition from calm to chaos.I knew I was ready to return when as I looked at the piles of rubbish on Isolo express way on our way out from the airport last month I got that warm fuzzy feeling in my heart. There's no place like home ay?

Although I was tested on this feeling later on in the evening when nepa took light and my parents gen packed up. She couldn't understand what the problem was. Wasn't I feeling the breeze thru the mosquito mesh? she asked, as I took off to have my fifth shower before I internally combusted

Anyway, welcome to the blog. Look forward to sharing lots with you (Oko mi why the sweating now? Mr Halle Berry this, Pamela Anderson that. Be afraid. Be very afraid :->)