For all of you wondering, Diana and the kids made it here in one piece! They arrived Monday evening, safe and sound. Now, we just need to get them to sleep through the night! Last night, two out of four made it most of the night without waking up. Upon arriving at a new post, families are required to take part in a health briefing at the medical office in the embassy. I signed the family up for a briefing at 2p on Tuesday, the day after the family arrived. Yes, I know they were going to be a bit jet-lagged, but I figured we'd be able to make an appointment at 2p! No matter how tired someone is, it's 2p. Yeah, you see where this is going. I dragged Alexis out of bed at noon, the boys out of bed at 12:30, and barely got Diana out of bed at 1p. Even though they were out of bed, they were not moving. We trudged into the medical office at 2:20p - only 20 minutes late. Then Sawyer realized where we were - in a doctors office - and the screaming began. There were no shots, no blood being drawn, no rectal thermometers; but the trauma had already taken place and Sawyer knew all those things were possibilities, and he wanted everyone in the embassy to know he wasn't happy about it.
The next day was about as much fun. After two luxurious hours of sleep, I once again dragged everyone out of bed to go to the kids new school, where they took examinations which determined whether or not they were admitted to the school. So no pressure. But not big deal; Alexis' test only two about 2.5 hours. How does hopping on one foot three times qualify you for kindergarten, you ask? I don't know. But you now owe money to the "Question Jar." What is the "Question Jar," you ask? Put in another 160 Naira and I'll tell you. In one of the offices at the embassy, whenever something ludicrous, ridiculous, or just plain stupid happens here, if someone from that office asks "Why?" that person owes money to the "Question Jar." The money goes towards office parties, and I heard they have had a some good parties!
Feeling proud that my children are coordinated enough for school in Nigeria, I decided to support my wife and drop her off that evening at the local running group - about 15 people there. I introduced her to the one person I knew from the embassy, determined the run would take about 40 minutes, and then took the kids to the store for some cleaning supplies. Figuring Diana would need a couple of minutes to stretch out afterwards, we returned after about 50 minutes, only to find a group of about 5 guys. They said they were the first to return. My acquaintance was there, so I asked him if he had seen my wife. He said he had, but that it had been some time. Knowing she had an upset stomach before leaving, I decided to get the kids out of the car to give them a quick snack. After about 10 minutes, it was beginning to get dark and I was starting to get worried. At about the time I was starting to get the kids cleaned up and in the car to go search for Diana, she came jogging up, looking as though she was having a hard time breathing. At first, I thought it was her asthma. After a second, I realized she was hyperventilating because she was upset.
Diana then described to me how, unbeknownst to me, the group did not stay together during the run. Initially, she had kept up with the fast group, but then decided to take a quick break. She walked for a minute with a couple of the others in the group, got some quick directions, and was off again. A short time later, she realized she was lost. No money, no phone, no map, no idea where she was. She tried to back-track, but ended up wandering around for quite some time. She was fortunate/blessed to come across a Nigerian who yelled at her that her white friends were in a specific direction. And she was blessed a second time to accidentally turn down the correct road and end up back at the parking lot where we were waiting. Understandibly upset. Pretty scary for her . . . and for me. Moreso for her. After a few hours she conceded she would be willing to try it again. We'll have her better prepared next time.
Yeah, I bet you thought one of us was actually hopping on one foot while lost, huh?!
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Sunday Drive Around the Lake
A couple weeks back, I met a very nice Austrian couple at the French
National Day celebration. They have lived in Nigeria for 35 years. I can only
imagine the crazy things they've seen. The husband invited me to a weekly
running club around a local lake and I accepted. At the last minute the run was
postponed because my new acquaintance had gotten sick. He called me later in
the week to invite me for a Sunday afternoon drive around the lake followed by
a picnic. We'd be accompanied by a couple diplomats, their spouses, and a
couple doctors. I asked if I could bring anything and he told me that lunch
would be provided, but that I could bring something if I wanted. He added that
he would not be drinking, as he would be driving, but he was sure the others
would appreciate it if I brought something to drink.
Going off what I had been told - a nice drive with senior diplomats and a couple doctors followed by a picnic - I decided a bottle of wine would be nice. Knowing less than nothing about how to select a nice wine, I asked a friend who made a recommendation. I also decided to make some cookies. I was a little uneasy about this choice - I knew the others were older Europeans and that they were bringing fruit, cheeses, and meats. I didn't know if homemade cookies would be deemed as "sophisticated" enough. In the end, I went with my gut - literally. I love the cookies and wanted an excuse to make some, secretly hoping they wouldn't like them so I'd have to eat all the leftovers! (Yeah, my superpower is that I can ingest an amazingly disgusting amount of sugar) Oh, I also decided to dress appropriately - a bit on the preppy side.
I arrived at my friends’ home and immediately knew something was off. The gate to his compound opened and there he was in grungy jeans, boots, a dingy long-sleeved shirt, and a baseball cap. Nothing matched. And he was standing in front of a bright banana-yellow truck-like vehicle with an open bed and seats inside.
As we hopped in the two-seater cab of the banana car, my friend told me the other diplomats would not be able to come, but that we were going to pick up the doctors and then head out. He said there would be six of us, and then explained that the truck was actually a 25 yr. old Austrian military personnel vehicle. We drove for about 10 minutes to the Julius Berger life camp. Berger, as they are more commonly known, is a German construction company – one of the largest construction companies here in Nigeria. They bring over a lot of ex-pats to work here and created a compound outside of Abuja to house them. Berger sets up their people very nicely! Anyway, we met up with the rest of the group – 12 Germans - with three Mercedes off-road safari vehicles. Everyone divided up between the four vehicles – I was now in the open bed with a doctor and three interns in their mid-twenties – and we took off.
As we drove past the lake, the doctor in the back of the banana vehicle told me how surprised he was that I was going with them. He had thought Americans were a little too . . . cautious (he wanted to say scared) and that we weren’t allowed to do anything like the outing we were on. I laughed and told him I had been invited on a “drive around the lake followed by a picnic.” The doctor laughed. I thought to myself, “Yeah, Sunday drive with diplomats around a lake followed by a picnic . . . very different than off-roading in an Austrian military personnel vehicle through the forest outside Abuja.”
For the next six hours we circled the lake. During the expedition, we experienced 2 popped tires, 4 incidents of vehicles getting stuck in mud, one vehicle getting stuck in a river and having to be towed (fortunately, we were towards the end of the journey), and getting lost multiple times. The original road we took began as a paved road, turned to a dirt road, then devolved to a dirt path, a walking trail, and finally a general direction. It was at that point that the banana vehicle became the lead vehicle, turned in the general direction of where we were supposed to go, and began to forge a path. Literally, this tank plowed a path through the forest, mowing over small trees, shrubs; anything in its path! Unfortunately, as a result, I became intimately familiar with the flora and fauna of the region. Each time we’d create a path, the vehicle would disturb the trees and the insects, spiders, bugs, ants – whatever else lay in wait in the trees – would rain down on those of us in the bed of the vehicle. At one point, we smashed through branches on which hung a beehive. The vehicle behind us later explained how funny it was to watch five grown men jump out of their seats, swatting at the air and yelling at seemingly nothing. Oddly enough, didn’t seem so funny at the time to those of us in the vehicle.
At the end of the day, we stopped at a gated area on the edge of the lake, sat around eating barbeque and recounting the adventure of the day. They didn’t touch the wine, but they loved the cookies. Thanks, Babe. It was your recipe. Wish you had been there, also. I ended the day without having seen any animals, but with a horrible sunburn on my face, neck, and arms, and swollen arms and legs from about 25 bee stings and bug and spider bites all over. But it was a fun day. And don't worry, I talked to the doctor the next day and none of the bites were poisonous and nothing had laid larva eggs under my skin.
Going off what I had been told - a nice drive with senior diplomats and a couple doctors followed by a picnic - I decided a bottle of wine would be nice. Knowing less than nothing about how to select a nice wine, I asked a friend who made a recommendation. I also decided to make some cookies. I was a little uneasy about this choice - I knew the others were older Europeans and that they were bringing fruit, cheeses, and meats. I didn't know if homemade cookies would be deemed as "sophisticated" enough. In the end, I went with my gut - literally. I love the cookies and wanted an excuse to make some, secretly hoping they wouldn't like them so I'd have to eat all the leftovers! (Yeah, my superpower is that I can ingest an amazingly disgusting amount of sugar) Oh, I also decided to dress appropriately - a bit on the preppy side.
I arrived at my friends’ home and immediately knew something was off. The gate to his compound opened and there he was in grungy jeans, boots, a dingy long-sleeved shirt, and a baseball cap. Nothing matched. And he was standing in front of a bright banana-yellow truck-like vehicle with an open bed and seats inside.
As we hopped in the two-seater cab of the banana car, my friend told me the other diplomats would not be able to come, but that we were going to pick up the doctors and then head out. He said there would be six of us, and then explained that the truck was actually a 25 yr. old Austrian military personnel vehicle. We drove for about 10 minutes to the Julius Berger life camp. Berger, as they are more commonly known, is a German construction company – one of the largest construction companies here in Nigeria. They bring over a lot of ex-pats to work here and created a compound outside of Abuja to house them. Berger sets up their people very nicely! Anyway, we met up with the rest of the group – 12 Germans - with three Mercedes off-road safari vehicles. Everyone divided up between the four vehicles – I was now in the open bed with a doctor and three interns in their mid-twenties – and we took off.
As we drove past the lake, the doctor in the back of the banana vehicle told me how surprised he was that I was going with them. He had thought Americans were a little too . . . cautious (he wanted to say scared) and that we weren’t allowed to do anything like the outing we were on. I laughed and told him I had been invited on a “drive around the lake followed by a picnic.” The doctor laughed. I thought to myself, “Yeah, Sunday drive with diplomats around a lake followed by a picnic . . . very different than off-roading in an Austrian military personnel vehicle through the forest outside Abuja.”
For the next six hours we circled the lake. During the expedition, we experienced 2 popped tires, 4 incidents of vehicles getting stuck in mud, one vehicle getting stuck in a river and having to be towed (fortunately, we were towards the end of the journey), and getting lost multiple times. The original road we took began as a paved road, turned to a dirt road, then devolved to a dirt path, a walking trail, and finally a general direction. It was at that point that the banana vehicle became the lead vehicle, turned in the general direction of where we were supposed to go, and began to forge a path. Literally, this tank plowed a path through the forest, mowing over small trees, shrubs; anything in its path! Unfortunately, as a result, I became intimately familiar with the flora and fauna of the region. Each time we’d create a path, the vehicle would disturb the trees and the insects, spiders, bugs, ants – whatever else lay in wait in the trees – would rain down on those of us in the bed of the vehicle. At one point, we smashed through branches on which hung a beehive. The vehicle behind us later explained how funny it was to watch five grown men jump out of their seats, swatting at the air and yelling at seemingly nothing. Oddly enough, didn’t seem so funny at the time to those of us in the vehicle.
At the end of the day, we stopped at a gated area on the edge of the lake, sat around eating barbeque and recounting the adventure of the day. They didn’t touch the wine, but they loved the cookies. Thanks, Babe. It was your recipe. Wish you had been there, also. I ended the day without having seen any animals, but with a horrible sunburn on my face, neck, and arms, and swollen arms and legs from about 25 bee stings and bug and spider bites all over. But it was a fun day. And don't worry, I talked to the doctor the next day and none of the bites were poisonous and nothing had laid larva eggs under my skin.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
The Cockroach Bed
Moving internationally is a lot like moving domestically. My wife Diana
should tell the following story, but, since she’s currently traveling and I’m
unpacking the entire house, I get to share what I remember. When we lived in Sterilng, VA, Diana would go
to Juming Jacks once or twice a week with Sawyer and Logan. For those of you who aren’t familiar with
Jumping Jacks, it’s a warehouse with inflatable slides, toys, etc. and each
week they have “open jump” times when anyone can come in and play for a couple
of hours. Since Diana would go weekly,
she got to know several other “regulars.”
Several weeks before we left, she was kicking back at Jumping Jacks,
gossiping with some of these women, when one of the women started complaining
about her husband. I forgot the reason,
but her husband was insisting they move and this woman was appauled that her
inconsiderate husband would uproot his family, make them leave behind all their
friends, their schools, everything they knew and transplant them about ten
miles away. Yep, you read that correctly
– T – E – N. “1” & “0.”
That would be a singular “0.”
Only one. I can run ten
miles. And I’m not a runner. Given, it would probably involve a significant
amount of pain . . . unless I trained and stretched properly first, of course. But I could do it. And this woman was in a tizzie about it. My wonderful wife feigned empathy by
responding that she could not believe it.
In the ensuing conversation, it came out through one of the other women
that my wife was preparing to move to Nigeria.
I can only imagine how ridiculous the first woman must have felt.
But really, moving overseas is pretty similar to moving domestically …except when your mattress gets pulled from the shipment because they can’t ship king size mattresses to Abuja, and you can’t run to the store and get a new one. (and no, no one could explain to me WHY they couldn’t ship our friggin’ mattress, only that it was a rule. I understand certain types of export laws – I helped enforce them when I was in the Bureau. We can’t ship certain types of technology to certain countries. Makes sense. But, what, a king-sized mattress is somehow going to disrupt the technological balance of the African continent, tipping it in favor of Nigeria – now Nigerians know how to sleep more comfortably than other Africans! Oh, the horror!!) But I digress. Besides certain ridiculous rules, it’s about the same as moving domestically. Regardless of where you are, when you’re unpacking you come across the box labeled "toys," only to find that it has tools and car cleaning supplies. Or the box with only a large ball of packing paper inside, obviously protecting something fragile. What’s inside? 6 marbles wrapped in a dryer sheet. Why? Who knows. But the marbles smell great.
So, last night I was putting together our king size bed frame (the one without an accompanying mattress). Most of you don’t know this, but about two years ago my brother, Kyle, and I decided we were going to be “handy.” Our sister had told us about this website, Knock Off Wood. The woman is a self-taught carpenter. She goes to stores like Pottery Barn, looks at the furniture she likes, and then redesigns the instructions so anyone can build it. It’s a great site. Well, my brother and I got the idea that we could build some pretty cool storage bench beds for relatively cheap. The only thing I’ll say is that that is story for another day. But the bed . . . . the cockroach of all beds! Weird analogy, I know. But you know how they say that if there were a nuclear war, cockroaches would be the only thing to survive? Well, stick these beds on that short list! Three long, wide, solid benches, connected by a ladder of 2x4’s in the middle. Doesn’t creak; doesn’t shift; kids jump on it . . . nothin’. Will withstand anything. Like a cockroach. Just better looking.
But I’m trying to attach the 2x4 structure to the inside, upper portion of each bench. But the ladder is large and I need both hands to use the screwdriver and hold a screw. So, I tried to jimmy rig something to hold the ladder in place long enough for me to get one screw in each bench. I worked on it for 30 minutes without luck. By that point, I’d wedged myself in between two of the “rungs” of the ladder structure. My knees were starting to hurt from kneeling on the tile floor, so I stood up. But I forgot to unwedge myself first. Something you might not know (Warning – what follows is more information than any of you want to know, but I’m saying it anyway because this is my blog) – the Woodruff boys are . . . well-endowed in the derrier region. So, as I stood up, the ladder structure came up with me, resting around my waist. There I stood, with a ladder structure (3 ft. x 4 ft) resting around my waist, propped up by my butt. Then the thought hit me! I knelt right back down – the ladder was at just the right height – and I screwed the ladder in place. Wish I had a camera, cause I’m sure I looked ridiculous! But got the bed put together. Just wish I had a mattress to put on it.
But really, moving overseas is pretty similar to moving domestically …except when your mattress gets pulled from the shipment because they can’t ship king size mattresses to Abuja, and you can’t run to the store and get a new one. (and no, no one could explain to me WHY they couldn’t ship our friggin’ mattress, only that it was a rule. I understand certain types of export laws – I helped enforce them when I was in the Bureau. We can’t ship certain types of technology to certain countries. Makes sense. But, what, a king-sized mattress is somehow going to disrupt the technological balance of the African continent, tipping it in favor of Nigeria – now Nigerians know how to sleep more comfortably than other Africans! Oh, the horror!!) But I digress. Besides certain ridiculous rules, it’s about the same as moving domestically. Regardless of where you are, when you’re unpacking you come across the box labeled "toys," only to find that it has tools and car cleaning supplies. Or the box with only a large ball of packing paper inside, obviously protecting something fragile. What’s inside? 6 marbles wrapped in a dryer sheet. Why? Who knows. But the marbles smell great.
So, last night I was putting together our king size bed frame (the one without an accompanying mattress). Most of you don’t know this, but about two years ago my brother, Kyle, and I decided we were going to be “handy.” Our sister had told us about this website, Knock Off Wood. The woman is a self-taught carpenter. She goes to stores like Pottery Barn, looks at the furniture she likes, and then redesigns the instructions so anyone can build it. It’s a great site. Well, my brother and I got the idea that we could build some pretty cool storage bench beds for relatively cheap. The only thing I’ll say is that that is story for another day. But the bed . . . . the cockroach of all beds! Weird analogy, I know. But you know how they say that if there were a nuclear war, cockroaches would be the only thing to survive? Well, stick these beds on that short list! Three long, wide, solid benches, connected by a ladder of 2x4’s in the middle. Doesn’t creak; doesn’t shift; kids jump on it . . . nothin’. Will withstand anything. Like a cockroach. Just better looking.
But I’m trying to attach the 2x4 structure to the inside, upper portion of each bench. But the ladder is large and I need both hands to use the screwdriver and hold a screw. So, I tried to jimmy rig something to hold the ladder in place long enough for me to get one screw in each bench. I worked on it for 30 minutes without luck. By that point, I’d wedged myself in between two of the “rungs” of the ladder structure. My knees were starting to hurt from kneeling on the tile floor, so I stood up. But I forgot to unwedge myself first. Something you might not know (Warning – what follows is more information than any of you want to know, but I’m saying it anyway because this is my blog) – the Woodruff boys are . . . well-endowed in the derrier region. So, as I stood up, the ladder structure came up with me, resting around my waist. There I stood, with a ladder structure (3 ft. x 4 ft) resting around my waist, propped up by my butt. Then the thought hit me! I knelt right back down – the ladder was at just the right height – and I screwed the ladder in place. Wish I had a camera, cause I’m sure I looked ridiculous! But got the bed put together. Just wish I had a mattress to put on it.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
No Thanks to my Parents
Yeah, you read the correctly. My parents failed to adequately prepare me to navigate one of the most important, and intricately delicate situations in one's life: becoming an employer of domestic help. Laugh all you want, but I'm not sure I'll ever be able to forgive them for not exposing me to this side of life. Have you ever had a moving company move your household goods? Remember that feeling before the workers come - you've got your plan all set out in your mind. You know what you want them to do and how you are going to instruct them on how to do things. Then the workers arrive. Even if everything goes according to your plan, sooner or later they arrive at your . . . unmentionables drawer (I've always wanted to use that hilarious word!). Most people feel a bit awkward - "Someone's touching my underwear!" "Did I wash them well enough?" Better yet, "Did my spouse (probably husband) wash them well enough?!" "I should have just bought new ones! These are 10 . . . years old (guys!)!" THAT feeling, right there! That slightly uncomfortable feeling of doing something different, kind of embarrassing, but definitely necessary - that's how I felt yesterday. Yes, that's right. I am now on a higher social rung than you - the one where domestic help is now "necessary." Deal with it.
Yesterday, I left work early to meet my shipment of household goods. On the way home, I picked up our new domestic help, Emmaculata. She came highly recommended from a friend for whom she worked for one year. That being said, Nigerians are very deferential . . . when they work for you. So, we got home, discussed the contract, showed her around the house and then we waited for the shipment. Actually, while we were waiting we decided to go run and grab her a bed and some other essentials - in a favela outside of town. When we returned, the moving company had arrived. Over the next several hours, four to ten men unloaded 10 crates containing 180 boxes, a treadmill, and an enourmous bean bag. Lots of paper, lots of empty boxes, lots of tape. After they left, I began to unwrap many of the largest items which had been cocooned in heavy duty brown paper and yards of tape. This morning, I woke up early and continued to unwrap and unpack. As I was leaving for work - yep, here comes the uncomfortable situation - I opened the door for our new domestic help and asked her to clean it all up. Slightly awkward for me, but necessary. But when I got home tonight and everything was cleaned up and under our new trash tree, most of that awkward feeling suddenly evaporated - and that weight on my shoulders began to lighten.
Thought for the day - "If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story." - Orson Wells
Yesterday, I left work early to meet my shipment of household goods. On the way home, I picked up our new domestic help, Emmaculata. She came highly recommended from a friend for whom she worked for one year. That being said, Nigerians are very deferential . . . when they work for you. So, we got home, discussed the contract, showed her around the house and then we waited for the shipment. Actually, while we were waiting we decided to go run and grab her a bed and some other essentials - in a favela outside of town. When we returned, the moving company had arrived. Over the next several hours, four to ten men unloaded 10 crates containing 180 boxes, a treadmill, and an enourmous bean bag. Lots of paper, lots of empty boxes, lots of tape. After they left, I began to unwrap many of the largest items which had been cocooned in heavy duty brown paper and yards of tape. This morning, I woke up early and continued to unwrap and unpack. As I was leaving for work - yep, here comes the uncomfortable situation - I opened the door for our new domestic help and asked her to clean it all up. Slightly awkward for me, but necessary. But when I got home tonight and everything was cleaned up and under our new trash tree, most of that awkward feeling suddenly evaporated - and that weight on my shoulders began to lighten.
Thought for the day - "If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story." - Orson Wells
Our Nigerian Hut
I forgot that most of you don't know where we live! You might be picturing something along the lines of a brazilian favela, or grass huts in the middle of the Savanna. Nah, nothing like that! We are well taken care of. Each embassy has a housing board. The housing board takes a look at the incoming employees and their families and matches them with the most appropriate available housing. Well, it so happens that fortune smiled down upon us - we have one of the larger families here, and one of the largest and nicest homes became available! Homes here are placed in compounds - gated communities surrounded by high walls, topped with concertina wire and guarded by solid iron gates and security guards (some with automatic rifles). The windows and doors on the homes are all covered by iron gates. If your home has two floors, the second floor has a second heavy iron gate which locks from the inside. Each residence also has a safe room (usually the master bedroom) with an emergency alarm inside. So, we're fairly safe in our home! Safer than we were in our D.C. home! (Those of you who came to visit know what I'm talking about!) So, while there are areas of Abuja that look like favelas (I was in one yesterday), the housing compounds are well taken care of - pools, manicured lawns, flowers, topiaries (yeah, go look that word up cause I know 90% of the guys have no idea what that is!). Our home is about 4,000 sq ft - 5 bedroom, 4 1/2 bathroom. We would love to have visitors! As I told a good friend last night, I feel pretty comfortable extending that invitation to pretty much anyone and everyone, because I'm relatively sure no one will take us up on it! But please know, we would love to have anyone come and visit! These are pics of the home the day I moved in. I'll post some more after we've unloaded all the boxes. Enjoy!
Suffering at Disney
Obviously this post is not about Nigeria. While I'm here unpacking boxes and working, my family is enjoying Disneyland! Thought some of you might want to see some of the cute pics I've been sent. Enjoy!
Enjoying the carousel! I love Sawyer's smile and Logan's smirk!
The Woodruff clan with the Smiths! Love the princess costumes!
Another great smile! Had to put the chubby kid in the tub cause he's such a mess!
A quick lunch break back at the hotel.
Sawyer hates any kind of tattoo or writing on his body! It's pretty funny.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Lesson 1: Learn to Swerve
Anyone seen Zombieland? If not, you should. Pretty funny. People with a sensitive movie palate, pick up the edited version. Definitely the edited version. Well, the main character in the movie has lessons for surviving a world full of zombies. Well, guess what? To survive Nigeria, there are a few lessons you should follow.
Over the weekend, I was speaking with some Germans in their mid-20's who are here working as engineers. Really nice guys, but German and engineers, so VERY rule-oriented! The company they work for supplies them with drivers to take them where ever they need to go. We were talking about driving in Nigeria and I asked them if they ever drove. They replied that they didn't even have a driver's license here. They asked me if I had my license, and I just kind of smirked. They answered their own question, "Oh, you have the red driver's license!" They were referring to the diplomatic plates on our cars. They then started to accuse diplomats, in particular U.S. diplomats, of being horrible drivers. (I admit, we can be pretty bad. We can't get pulled over or searched by police!! It's AWSOME!) Anyway, I laughed and asked them compared to whom, the locals?! Everyone laughed and we all started telling stories of foreign drivers who have been in accidents because they arrive in Nigeria and try to drive like they're in their own country. Doesn't work here. Do I drive crazy? Yep. Do I drive like a jerk? By U.S. standards . . . sometimes. Do I drive like a Nigerian? You bet I do! Okay, truth be told, I don't drive quite like a Nigerian, but I definitely drive differently than I used to. So, Lesson One: Learn to Swerve!
One of my first nights here I drove to a small gym on one of the many housing compounds the U.S. Embassy has here. I turned right off a major (primary) street onto a secondary street. Like I would do in the U.S., I turned from the outside lane to the outside lane of the secondary street. I immediately had to swerve towards the middle lane in order to avoid a car driving against traffic in reverse at about 40 m.p.h. I watched him back up until he was able to turn right into a drive-way. He had missed his turn, but instead of turning around and circling back, he just threw in in reverse. Makes sense - less work!
My first Sunday here I was driving to a friends house. Oddly enough, on the same primary road as my first story. This road is three lanes across in either direction - pretty wide. So, parking in Nigeria is a story for another time, but needless to say people park where ever the crap they want! On Sundays when everyone goes to Church, in some areas, cars line the shoulders of the roads, the sidewalks, and even the outside lanes of the roads. So, this road which normally has 3 lanes, now had 2 usable lanes. But because people park in the outside lane, when they exit their cars or back up, they cross into the middle lane. So, most people drive on the inside lane to make sure they avoid people. That's where I was - the inside lane. Driving at the speed of normal traffic. There were only a couple cars actually using the road, but I just wanted to make sure I avoided all contact with these crazy drivers who parked all over tarnation. (Yes, I said tarnation. You'd find yourself saying all sorts of things if you drove here, too!) So, I'm rounding a gentle curve to the right when I notice a car coming right at me headed in the other direction. (No, they weren't backing up - I know that's the first question on your mind!). They were actually driving in the wrong direction. I again swerved towards the middle lane and missed the oncoming driver. Of course I was yelling at him. The yelling continued until I reached the next intersection and saw they had blocked off the entire road in the other direction. There was even a policeman standing at that intersection directing people to use the inside lane of my side of the road to travel in the opposite direction (I have no idea who "they" is, but someone has the job of blocking off various streets throughout Abuja with cars, metal posts, cement blocks, fallen trees, or random pieces of debris. Not kidding). Of course, no signs, no markers, you are just supposed to know or adapt . . . very quickly.
Over the weekend, I was speaking with some Germans in their mid-20's who are here working as engineers. Really nice guys, but German and engineers, so VERY rule-oriented! The company they work for supplies them with drivers to take them where ever they need to go. We were talking about driving in Nigeria and I asked them if they ever drove. They replied that they didn't even have a driver's license here. They asked me if I had my license, and I just kind of smirked. They answered their own question, "Oh, you have the red driver's license!" They were referring to the diplomatic plates on our cars. They then started to accuse diplomats, in particular U.S. diplomats, of being horrible drivers. (I admit, we can be pretty bad. We can't get pulled over or searched by police!! It's AWSOME!) Anyway, I laughed and asked them compared to whom, the locals?! Everyone laughed and we all started telling stories of foreign drivers who have been in accidents because they arrive in Nigeria and try to drive like they're in their own country. Doesn't work here. Do I drive crazy? Yep. Do I drive like a jerk? By U.S. standards . . . sometimes. Do I drive like a Nigerian? You bet I do! Okay, truth be told, I don't drive quite like a Nigerian, but I definitely drive differently than I used to. So, Lesson One: Learn to Swerve!
One of my first nights here I drove to a small gym on one of the many housing compounds the U.S. Embassy has here. I turned right off a major (primary) street onto a secondary street. Like I would do in the U.S., I turned from the outside lane to the outside lane of the secondary street. I immediately had to swerve towards the middle lane in order to avoid a car driving against traffic in reverse at about 40 m.p.h. I watched him back up until he was able to turn right into a drive-way. He had missed his turn, but instead of turning around and circling back, he just threw in in reverse. Makes sense - less work!
My first Sunday here I was driving to a friends house. Oddly enough, on the same primary road as my first story. This road is three lanes across in either direction - pretty wide. So, parking in Nigeria is a story for another time, but needless to say people park where ever the crap they want! On Sundays when everyone goes to Church, in some areas, cars line the shoulders of the roads, the sidewalks, and even the outside lanes of the roads. So, this road which normally has 3 lanes, now had 2 usable lanes. But because people park in the outside lane, when they exit their cars or back up, they cross into the middle lane. So, most people drive on the inside lane to make sure they avoid people. That's where I was - the inside lane. Driving at the speed of normal traffic. There were only a couple cars actually using the road, but I just wanted to make sure I avoided all contact with these crazy drivers who parked all over tarnation. (Yes, I said tarnation. You'd find yourself saying all sorts of things if you drove here, too!) So, I'm rounding a gentle curve to the right when I notice a car coming right at me headed in the other direction. (No, they weren't backing up - I know that's the first question on your mind!). They were actually driving in the wrong direction. I again swerved towards the middle lane and missed the oncoming driver. Of course I was yelling at him. The yelling continued until I reached the next intersection and saw they had blocked off the entire road in the other direction. There was even a policeman standing at that intersection directing people to use the inside lane of my side of the road to travel in the opposite direction (I have no idea who "they" is, but someone has the job of blocking off various streets throughout Abuja with cars, metal posts, cement blocks, fallen trees, or random pieces of debris. Not kidding). Of course, no signs, no markers, you are just supposed to know or adapt . . . very quickly.
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