I believe it is Friday today. Or Saturday. We left Ribben's compound today with Ibrahim, Mike's taxi-driver-&-cop friend, who drove the crappiest Chevette (or something like it) that I've ever seen. The front doors share an internal window crank (literally: "would you like to roll up your window Ibrahim? Here, you can use the handle now."). His seat belt didn't work at all, and the passenger belt latch didn't have a cover, so the buckle only held until the next big bump. I finally decided that believing the belt was keeping me safe was superstitious and I took it off. No a/c option, so even though the natives were sweating through their clothes, the windows had to be down through the dusty 20-mile construction zone. Said dust is revisted on the international flight when the nice KLM attendants deliver moist towels for refreshing one's face, neck and hands. One is embarrassed to hand the filty towel back and very grateful that they use gloves and tongs. (It might also be noted here that the Lagos airport bathrooms do not provide toilet paper or towels or other means to dry one's hands. Just a random fact for you potential travelers).
