I also miss having men come from yards around to help with my bags (I rarely allowed it, but it was nice to feel watched-out for instead of being Strong and Independent all the time). In some way, I felt like a better person while I was there. I didn't get angry or feel petty or anything that's normal for me. Nick and I got along very well all week, until the minute we deplaned in Amsterdam. (I really wanted him to get over being grouchy so he could come see the people in cages --the glass smoking booths I've found while exploring on my own--and the man spraddled across 3 bench seats to sleep, with his head on his wife's lap, an armrest firmly entrenched in his private zone, and his legs lying on top of the next armrest.)
Have I mentioned the strange quaintness of Nigeria? It's like the ancient Greeks meet the single-cycle engine (the motorbikes could cause more lung cancer than cigarettes, though the bikes have the advantage of getting you there faster) and the cell-phone. My very favorite image, which captures these anachonisms, is probably the arts & crafts market in Abuja; several hut owners were having their roofs re-thatched with dried grasses being rolled on the ground while the salesfolks and customers wandered among the lizards in traditional dress (the people, not the lizards). Upon closer inspection, I noticed that one of the thatchers on the roof, while unrolling the thatch roll being tossed up by another worker, was simultaneouly talking on his cell phone. And a lizard was crawling up the hut wall against the city backdrop of cell-phone towers and construction cranes. Very, very striking.
So, I want to go back. But in business class, please. And plenty of cash and spare undies. :)
