Part L…,or part 50. 50 pieces in a few years. It turned out to be a nice time picture of our adventure in Nigeria. I still read the pieces back from time to time. Especially also because I don’t want to repeat myself. Not only for you as readers, but also because I sometimes catch myself waffling like an old sourpuss. I disliked (and still dislike) certain people within expat communities. You know them, heavily sweating, mostly talking a lot about themselves, a little too fat, too big a bacon neck, politically rather right-wing oriented, probably used to be picked last with gym and suddenly the big lady/male. Now any gathering of groups has this kind of figure so that was somewhat to be expected.
What already struck me during my pre-visit to Nigeria was the unprecedented ability of expats to complain, coupled with a sometimes somewhat derogatory attitude toward Nigerian colleagues and/or staff. Especially while washing down the 4th Gin&Tonic. That that 4th G&T means a bill equivalent to almost a weekly wage of an average Nigerian is apparently irrelevant….
I resolved then that I would never do that. I still admonished myself in the mirror and established a few simple precepts. Rules of life that also form the basis of how I raise my kids. Should you ever run into my youngest son…he knows them by heart:
- first think, then do
- if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all
- if it’s not yours, you stay away from it
Rule 2 is a particularly interesting one in this regard. I have been taught from home to always be kind and especially other people’s opinions, beliefs…etc. respect. In addition, you should always consider the fact that another person probably has a different perspective because he or she simply did not receive the same upbringing or opportunities. So we still ended up with rule 1 and I suppose I don’t need to explain rule 3 any further…although Nigerians sometimes think otherwise.
Then when I accidentally end up at some silly get-together again and unfortunately find myself leaning against another one of those bacon necks, I always think back to that moment in front of the mirror. Let me just take you through the setting so you have a small idea of that. Often such a get-together is organized because a little activity of our royal family is taking place in a distant country. A few tables are then set up, the local beer pimp is once again enticed to hand out free pints, and the new expat accretion arrives neatly dressed in suits at the communicated time. I myself have since learned that if it says 8 p.m. on the invitation, you’re perfectly fine not arriving until 9 p.m., and I haven’t worn a suit (let alone a tie) in years. Is also not doable at 32 degrees, but that may be personal.
Nice example was Kings Day a few years ago at the Dutch consulate in Lagos. Fair is fair, the consulate had done its best to take good care of everything. There was even herring flown in with orange bitterness. I already don’t like that in Holland, but the gesture is definitely appreciated. I arrived fashionably late because I was quite willing to miss the Lagos governor’s speech, but unfortunately he too had decided that the start time did not apply to him. So before I knew it, I was standing at a Formica standing table with a smelly plate of lukewarm fish, larded with a luminous orange bitters in my hands. I was apparently a bit lost, because suddenly a lady with a Northern European touch was standing next to me. Type of pleated skirt, blue eye shadow, high on legs, too long expat wife and a very big mouth with ditto potato in the throat. I barely had time to introduce myself nicely because she clearly had something to say.
The lady in question almost burst with happiness because she was finally back in civilization. She and her husband had spent several years in, what she herself called,“God’s shithole“; namely, the oil&gas-rich area around Port Harcourt. Now I also sometimes travel in those areas and there are indeed nicer places, but I have never experienced it as bad as she made it seem. I wasn’t particularly interested in her story, but a little prodding can’t hurt, so I informed her that it couldn’t be as bad as she pretended after all.
The fence was completely off the hook thereupon, and in addition to all the stories surrounding the enormous hardship , I was also finely told that apparently all the Nigerian ladies had been after her husband. She had even demanded that the oil company her husband worked for hire another secretary, since the first one had also been ogling her Adonis. Needless to say, husband-love had changed his mind and the first secretary was kindly asked to find another job. Full of pride, she looked at me as if I could do nothing but confirm that this is how the world apparently works.
My question of whether she knew where that first secretary had ended up then, and whether there was actual evidence of her husband’s alleged adultery, I would have been better off keeping to myself. The conversation suddenly ended and she went in search of another willing victim. I understand recently that the best man in question has once again settled down in Port Harcourt and is very happy with his new Nigerian wife, but that aside.
I can hardly blame this lady either. Especially the Oil&Gas companies operating in Nigeria impose considerable restrictions on all their expats. This is already true in Lagos, but in Port Harcourt it is indeed no fun. Working is out of the question for these (often highly educated) women, and much more than the weekly trip to the supermarket and on Fridays to the expat golf, sailing and/or cricket club is out of the question. Those Friday evenings also tend to look the same: the men together who then take advantage of this evening to increase networking and the ladies bickering about where the broccoli was on sale this week. In such a situation, then, people start looking for topics to talk about, and unfortunately, complaining then lurks. After all, nothing makes your own life appear more beautiful than being able to contrast it with something “terrible. Expat life, then, requires above all a good relationship based around the concept of“we. Working together for the common BV in which each partner has her or his role.
In any case, I am very happy that I was able to share much of this special period of 50 pieces with my wife and kids. For the last 2 years I have been in this wonderful country by myself, and that doesn’t always make it more fun. Thankfully, I don’t have to deal with ogling Nigerian ladies who manage to pique my interest, but that is completely the result of a partner who flawlessly senses what support I need and is behind my choices 100%.
So this piece is mostly for my own expat wife, my rock and my G&T buddy!
See you next month!
