Shock and Awe and Eye-stabbing Boredom

I realize that when one writes about travels, these posts should be full of excitement and derring-do and adventure and mysterious foods that one may or may not have gagged on while eating. These posts (or letters in the days of yore) help to give the reader a vicarious sense of adventure while simultaneously reconfirming the ‘otherness’ of places outside of home.

 

Unfortunately, Abuja is not set up for mass excitement.

 

This past weekend I arranged for a car to take me to Wuse Market (outdoor market selling many different types of goods), then to Abuja Arts and Crafts Center and finally to Dunes (grocery store).

 

The driver arrives promptly at 10am and it is Mohammed, one of my favorite drivers because he likes to chat and tell me about Nigeria, Abuja, and all sorts of other things. We start heading to Wuse market and he asks me if I would like him to walk with me through the market, or if I feel okay going through the market alone. I assure him that I will be fine going through the market and leave him to snooze in the car for an hour while I see what’s what. Not being a stranger to the finer points of marketing, and having a large sum of cash on me for my big grocery shopping later that morning, I’d hidden about 30,000 Naira ($200U.S.) in various and sundry locations on my person. I had money in each sock, in my bra, and smoothed into each pocket of my pants. I tucked my phone into the little pocket on the right side of my jeans. I figured that if I got rolled or pickpocketed in the market, the likelihood of all of these places being searched was pretty small.

 

Wuse market is a dusty collection of brown stalls in a loose grid pattern. Many stalls appear to sell the same things: fabric, jewelry, household goods, and toward the back of the market are the food stalls that sell vegetables, fruits, juice, pop, etc. Walking alone along the stalls I was serenaded with the constant singsong chant of “Free look” and “Come see what I have hear” and “Fwwwp Fwwwwp Fwwwp” (my approximation of the sound of teeth sucking in my general direction. This was accompanied with casual-seeming tugs on my sleeves and wrists to go to this stall or that stall. I had a few gentlemen salesmen who walked with me quite a distance trying to ascertain what I wanted to buy. African beads? African fabric? African jewels? (I find it interesting that even here, in Nigeria, among Nigerians I am asked about my interest in African arts and crafts in general, whereas in my travels in Asia I have never ever been asked if I would like Asian beads or Asian fabric, but always those goods from the particular country or region or town that I am in.) I duck and weave through the parade of men and as I’m doing so, I notice that two of them seem to be following me, but are magically following me by walking in front of me. I think that this can’t be correct because who follows ahead? So I switch direction a few times and indeed notice that they seem to be following me by staying a few steps ahead of me. Kind of magical.

 

I duck into a shop staffed solely with women and chat with them a few minutes about fabric and headwraps. They try to convince me that I would look very elegant with a headwrap, especially after the woman who tied the headwrap for the president’s daughter ties my headwrap. I think about it for a minute then realize I am not ready to be SUCH a cliche yet and politely decline. I take a trip down a few more lanes of the market then decide I’m exhausted and can’t be bothered to hear teeth sucking or ma’am or be tugged anymore. I arrive back at the car fifteen minutes after I left,  much to the amusement of Mohammed.

 

The Abuja Arts and Crafts Center is a collection of huts across the street from the Sheraton hotel. The huts are set up in such a way that as you amble around, you’ll follow a path that takes you by every single shop unless you are determined to escape the whirlpool clutch of commerce. The first shop I go into has a collection of wood carvings. The most intriguing is a crudely carved reproduction of a firing squad. At 12 dollars, I am tempted but decide to keep looking.

 

Wandering through the clutch of huts, peering in the darkened doorways, I stop at one and blink, not believing what I’m seeing. There is what appears to be a long, slender sculpture of gently gleaming white. It looks smooth and cool to the touch. I head in and it is in fact a display of carvings made from elephant ivory.

 

Stunned, I head outside and as I’m shaking my head at the blatant selling of elephant ivory in a tourist market, I look up and tacked to a tree is a dusty, rather ragged looking leopard skin. Beneath the skin is a collection of small, full-bodied, dessicated crocodiles.

 

I try to go into a few other places to see what’s what, but keep thinking about the ivory and the skin. As I get into the car, I ask Mohammed about it and learn that this isn’t illegal here at all. You can sell these products from these endangered animals no problem. But I wonder at the cost and who can afford to buy that and get it into their home country without any question. As we drive to the grocery store, Mohammed tells me about different types of traditional medicine that are used as well, things such as lion hearts, lion oil, etc. He laughs at my shock.

 

Sunday I am bored. Bored. Bored. TV is showing the same things over and over, I didn’t bring a computer, I have read all of my books. I decide to go to the movies. It is an hour walk each way. So I leave the house early, 930am, so that if I get lost (always a possibility, even if I have a map) I have plenty of daylight to find my way home. I trudge along the hot streets, winding past the Hilton and the Central Mosque (which is absolutely beautiful and covered in gold leaf and you are NOT allowed to take photos of it) and walking over fecund greenery below wide, smooth highways and make it to the movie theater. On a Sunday morning in Abuja, I’m the only one who wants to see X-Men Origins. The theater is cool and my face becomes a paler shade of red as I sip my Fanta and watch a scarily ripped Hugh Jackman roar around the Canadian countryside.

That’s it. That’s my weekend. This coming weekend, I’m going to walk to a cafe. Seriously, that’s a plan.

Abuja

My first full week in Nigeria has been interesting. No visiting of restaurants within military barracks, but interesting just the same.

I’ve gotten acquainted with everyone on the team over the course of a retreat. During the retreat, I was taught about Nigerians. Kalada informed me that everyone in Nigeria has an agenda. We came onto this topic of conversation when eating snack and getting ready for a group discussion in the afternoon. He was staring off into space and I asked him what he was thinking about. His agenda for the discussion. We had a long, involved conversation about how you have to figure out your agenda in advance of everything and figure out ways to get people to buy into your agenda without buying into their agenda. And even if you think you don’t have an agenda, that in itself is an agenda. Apparently, Americans ALWAYS have an agenda as well and their playing at innocence of having an agenda is a key component of the agenda.

Then he told me I should have a Fulani style outfit made because I have the figure for it. I suspect Fulani figures are ample in the behind. But I don’t know for sure.

The drivers who pick me up for work and take me home have been fascinating conversationalists as well. Nigeria has a poor image overseas and you would think that people from Nigeria would not like this image and would try to dispel it. I have had more lectures on how I should not trust Nigerians, how they are always trying to do things their way but not the right way, they are crazy, etc etc etc. Then they stop themselves and say, not all just most. Most Nigerians. I shouldn’t fear Nigerians, but I should not trust them either.

One driver took it upon himself to inform me that good Christians do not have tattoos. They are perfect the way God made them. In fact, good Christians do not wear lipstick or decoration of any kind. It is a desecration to the body. He then asked me when I was going to come to Nigeria full time and that the next time I went to the Philippines he would come with me, because he loves islands and the music of the Philippines. He also said that the Philippines must be very holy because it is mentioned in the Bible. You know, the letters to the Philipians.

I went on the hash (running/walking group) this weekend. We wandered all over the countryside right out of Abuja, accidentally walked through some crops, saw villages full of people (Abuja is empty and I’d been wondering where the people are. They are outside of Abuja.), beautiful scenery, and had to ford two streams. Got lost on the way back and had to walk by myself through a dark carpark. I got a little freaked out because I had no idea where I was, had no load on my cell phone, couldn’t tell if I was going in the right direction, and had men sucking their teeth in my general direction. Luckily I caught up to a group of hashers. And vowed never to go on the hash again.

Next weekend I plan to go to Wuse market to look at.. stuff. People here get together a lot because there’s not a lot of activities to get involved with. Every Sunday people play volleyball, every other Saturday they hash, once a month-ish there is a happy hour at the Marine House (where the Marines live. They have foos ball and air hockey and a pool table. What’s up, frat house), and people go to each other’s compounds with their kids to swim and stuff. Kids are definitely the ultimate accessory. If you cant’ have a long conversation about their behavior or their school or their scandalous teachers, you just can’t have a real conversation. Second accessory is a husband and you must talk about how he can’t keep the house clean, he makes everything difficult when he’s around, or something along those lines. There are no problems or issues a single person can have, because invariably you will hear, well at least you don’t have to worry about kids! My arm could be falling off from gangrene and I’m pretty sure I’d hear, well you know my kids just are so hungry and irritable you’re so lucky you don’t have to deal with that! Indeed.

My god…

Going on in the Congo:

Difficult to listen to, hard to accept that it happens

http://www.npr.org/templates/player/mediaPlayer.html?action=1&t=1&islist=false&id=99838343&m=99838315

gentlemen, please

so i keep having random older gentlemen conversations and with one in particular who lives in my building. somehow i keep running into him when he’s working out or on his way to working out. the first time, he overheard me speaking with the building trainer and was all, you have such an unusual accent where are you from? i’m american, HE’S american, so i’m not sure where the unusual accent part comes in. I have a flat stereotypical average american accent. as does he. weird.

then the other day i got into the elevator on my floor (near the top of the building) and he was already in there in workout gear. i get in and face the door, not making eye contact because i wasn’t in the mood to have a little chat.

” are you, as they say, going out?”

“yes, i’m going to yell at someone” (which i was, because i had to dispute a bill that i’ve had to dispute multiple times this year)

“oh. i’m doing 30 chest presses. they just wear me out.”

“so you’re taking a break in the elevator?”

“well, i have to do them in sets of light, medium, and hard because they just kill me.”

(door opens, fleeing begins)

“all right, enjoy your workout”

“it’s the same one daniel craig does. see you later.”

he’s older, i don’t know maybe 50’s or 60’s. daniel craig’s workout? really?

also, is he just practicing on me for when he goes out? i live in a place where there are many lovely ladies just waiting for an older gentleman to sweep them off their feet. these ladies are stereotyped as being beautiful, loving family, cooking, doing things to keep their man happy, etc. i’m cranky and chubby and mainly like to have men think of ways to keep me happy. why is he talking to me? he should be talking to those ladies.

though it is amusing. unusual accent. daniel craig’s workout. what’s coming next???

My soul just freaking died due to gross searches

naked in ethiopia massages

naked children

adam sandler nude pictures

naked combat

how to ask a girl to ride on the back of

WHAT?!?! naked children. oy. yuck.

also, what does the searcher want to ask girls to ride on the back of?

and really? adam sandler? adam sandler? what is going on?!?!?

Watched Valkyrie this weekend. It was all right, but made me desperately sad to watch a further interpretation of war and remember yet again that people always say “never again”. Talk about Hiroshima. ‘Never again’. Talk about the concentration camps. ‘Never again’

Destruction of humanity is happening all over the place. Never again my ass.

Disturbing search term of the week

Horse penis

Yes, I talk about eating horse penis, so it is not odd that that search term pulls up my blog.

But why are you SEARCHING for horse penis?

old freaking lady

we went out last night for dinner and bar-ing. the plan was to go to penguin cafe, a place in malate that everyone that i knew who had been there loved. so we decided to go out to eat and then to the penguin and then see where the night took us. we were young! it was a 3-day weekend! glory was to be ours!

we head to cafe havana, a place with live salsa bands, theoretically authentic cuban food, and a laid-back atmosphere. i’ve been here before and have generally liked it.

before, i didn’t have mojito or cuban sandwiches.

the mojito tasted more of sub-par lemon-lime pop than the minty, rummy, sweet refreshing goodness of a mojito. perhaps in cuba they make mojitoes with generic lemon-lime pop? i’ve not been so i have no way of knowing for sure… but if so, cuba’s going to have to readjust their recipe, because that crap was not nice.

strike one against cuba.

the cuban pork sandwich. i’ve had these in mongolia at a restaurant owned by an ethiopian woman and a cuban chef. i thought their sandwiches of delectible roll, chucks of marinated pork, and sauce were authentic. but it appears that there is also a school of cuban sandwich that is made on a george foreman grill–with the plate that makes all sandwiches into sealed greasy triangles. it was okay for a ham and cheese sandwich your mom make you when it is cold outside and she doesn’t want to dirty up lots of pans, but for a cuban sandwich? no. the pumpkin soup was pretty good, though i’m always partial to pumpkin soup and extremely partial to almost anything that has crispy bacon in it. the sweet potato fries were unsalted which at first perturbed me, but then i realized i probably eat enough salt in general and this let the flavor of the actual potato come through.

strike two against cuba.

the music was loud and became painful when the band drifted on stage. we left shortly after because 1) my friend detests salsa as much as i detest reggae and 2) we did actually want to chat with each other as there was no dancing as yet happening.

we headed over to the penguin cafe, with the lads in the group being swarmed by sticky children thrusting bundles of roses in their faces for them to purchase for the pretty ladies. the children completely avoided all of the women, knowing that the men were the easier prey. or at least thinking so. one guy, who has only been here for about a week, had such a look of disgust on his face and said, i hate children. they are all dirty and smelly and disgusting. all over the world.

he didn’t buy any roses.

penguin cafe was legitimatly hyped up. if i lived in that neighborhood, i would be there every day and become best friends with the pretty waiters and sample every single thing on the menu and go to all of their live shows. there is a windowed porch and then the interior of the restaurant and an upstairs. we sat on the windowed porch, which was all traditional-style couches and chairs that are low to the ground so my friend mike who is very tall and lanky had to fold himself grasshopper style in order to sit down. they had tvs being used as objects of art and in general the feeling was comfortable and cool and friendly. we were there for a while and then various people started yawning. the electric reggae band hadn’t quite gotten started and we all tend to get up very early during the week for work, so none of us were fully prepared. i’d even taken a nap during the day (no judgement! i get up at 5am every day, even on my days off because i can’t sleep in !) but still couldn’t keep in the yawns. so we left in order to walk around a bit and wake up.

we wandered around the neighborhood for a while, squeezing ourself through the crowds of people who had decided to spend this most romantic of holidays trying to either score a bar girl for themselves, get their date drunk enough to finally agree to a threesome, or both. we ended up at mike’s apartment in a beautiful old building in the neighborhood and ate pretzels and crunch bars and talked about our wiis.

i’m such a teenage boy. it is ridiculous. maybe not teenage, since i don’t have scantily clad girls plastered to my walls, but i may be a twelve year old boy. alongside being a 33 year old woman. which means that i love syrah AND the movie DeathRace. i can speak intelligently about development while worrying that i can’t beat Slash on my guitar hero. i still regret never having learned to skateboard or breakdance. i’m already planning on being a fucking crazy-ass old lady who pinches young men’s bums and wears absurd hats with her jeans. but for now i’m rather conservative and concerned about being age-appropriate. am i old enough to go full-on balls to the wall crazy old lady? not cat-smelling crazy old lady. nor jane seymour’s cougar crazy old lady. (and i really am curious as to the age limits on being a cougar. at what age are you one? how much younger than you does the object of your desires have to be? and what do you call the crazy old men who date younger ladies? panthers? bull elephants? macaques? blue-footed boobies?) but crazy old lady who like scales walls and goes and talks to hobos in parks in japan and climbs the great wall for a month.

apparently, i also think all crazy old ladies are rich.

which means i can’t be a crazy old lady yet, as i’m clearly not rich.

time for me to go practice the ukulele now.

Really?

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/29170772/?GT1=43001

Woman with the world’s longest fingernails. I just want to know how she does basic everyday things–dress, clean herself, eat.

And why did she stop cutting them?

Random

latest search term to get to my sweet words: go naked

i’m assuming this has to do with the bottled smoothie.

i went to the doctor to talk about some health issues–my breakouts and my moles. it is annoying to have wrinkles and breakouts. seriously, it seems unfair. so the derma and i chatted about my skin and she took my history and order approximately five hundred million blood tests for me to rule out everything before she makes an official diagnosis. though she thinks i have something called ’sweat acne’ caused by all of my tremendous workouts.

hmmm.

yes, i work out, but i feel as though if my breakouts can be attributed to that, shouldn’t i be working out more? shouldn’t the workouts be worthy of such a side effect? shouldn’t i ACTUALLY be training for a triathalon rather than just telling people i am as i secretly plan to eat a soft serve ice cream cone (soft serve is my favorite. i love soft serve so much that when i was flipping channels the other day and saw a place in jersey that specializes in freshly made soft serve i considered going there. then realized it 1) is in jersey 2) is rather far to go for soft serve and 3) kind of means i have an eating disorder if i would plan a vacation based on soft serve.)? then she wrote down a list of different things i had to buy to make my skin combat the whole effects of my rigorous workout regime. when i got directions to where to go (i thought i’d be going to the pharmacy), it turned out i was going to her store! where she sells her line of cosmetics!

i was tricked! she’s a trickster!

so i rolled over like a chihuahua and bought the list of what she recommended. except for the tinted moisturizer because it only came in pink-based shades. when i wear those, i look bizarre because i have noticeably yellow tints to my skin. i’m super yellow, even though i have red in my hair and am fair. i’m a yellow yellow lady. even my eyes have yellow in them even though they are blue. so her stuff just won’t work.

fascinating.

but the part that i found very interesting was i mentioned to her that i have moles i’m concerned about. we’re a very fair family, what with the scandinavian blood and all so moles/skin cancer are always a concern. i’ve had full body checks a few times but they are always something i put off because i hate doctors. since i was at the derma, i figured i’d show her one or two then make an appointment for a full check, as that is how it always goes at home.

not here.

i pull up my sleeve to show her and she’s all, oh just take off your shirt. then she turns back to her computer and starts typing on my chart and i take off my shirt. she has me turn slowly around and then says, okay, take off your pants. so she sits there watching while i take off my pants and feel rather awkward and the need to make lame jokes like, oh usually there’s music on when i do this. i felt like the least talented private dancer ever. in the states, you never undress in front of doctors. you go into the little room, are directed to the paper robe and told whether or not to keep on your underwear and then the assistant leaves you to your privacy. then after five minutes and when you are engrossed in the family circle article on frosting sugar cookies for all holidays, there’s a soft knock on the door and your name said in a questioning tone of voice. you give the all clear signal and the doctor enters.

your modesty remains in tact. even when you’re flat on your back, feet in the air, there’s this understanding that you don’t actually have a naked body. it is magically always clothed. you don’t even have underwear. if you have to have a breast exam or other parts of you examined, only that part is revealed, while all else is carefully covered. your body is reduced to squares and triangles and patches.

so this, hey go ahead and take off your clothes, i’ll just sit here five inches away felt a little weird.

but she said i’m fine, just a few places to watch but no big deal, and i could buy 60 spf sunscreen from her for only $35.

Naked Singapore Couple Mystery Solved…but this doesn’t help with the waitress naked korea one

So I typed in the phrases to see what came up… An naked singapore couple! I found you! People weren’t looking for swingers! They were looking for an actual couple that was in Singapore, went to an area where folks were eating, doffed their clothes, and had a bit of a walk around to see what was doing.

So I don’t only get perverts to this blog. Yay!