Relocation, Relocation

We made it!! And our bags made it to Lagos too!! Sadly my first few hours in Lagos were spent passing through immigration at the speed of a snail as I had refused to copy my fellow passengers and run off the plane towards the passport control queue. Of course at the time, I had no idea why all the passengers, who had been so polite in London, suddenly turned into Yussein Bolt when the plane doors opened in Lagos.  It was only when I got to the horrendous foreign passports line that I realised the need. Note to self: must practice glamorous speed walking.

I am actually lucky to have made it to customs at all. I mention this, because on the way to the customs hall, me and my fellow passengers encountered the escalator of death. At first glance, this was a seemingly normal escalator, leading from the arrivals area down to the immigration hall. It was only when I got on to the escalator and saw the immigration queue at the bottom – ending right at the escalator finish, that I realised the impending disaster that was about to unfold. I was one of the lucky ones – I managed to leap off the escalator into a fat gentleman at the bottom – who cushioned my fall. The passenger with the Louis Vuitton luggage behind me was not so lucky. Thank God one of the 30 or so airport security staff looking busy doing nothing, had the sense to push the emergency stop button. Happy to say that I made it through the meticulous immigration process – it took 3 people to check my visa before I even got to the immigration desk – where it was checked all over again.

And so began my introduction to Lagos. You can imagine at this point, how dishevelled I looked. (Did I mention it was 30 degrees?). So when the man at the hotel greeted me with “You are very beautiful”, I could hardly suppress the giggles. This is the second time Ive received this greeting. The first time, I must admit, I was flattered by the - genuine –or so I thought- complement… Anyhow, having now unwittingly performed a sort of scientific experiment, I understand that “You are very beautiful” is the equivalent of “hello, pleased to meet you” or even worse is a sarcastic Nigerian slur. My dreams have been shattered.

Despite all of this, I braved the 80% humidity and inferno like heat yesterday to go house hunting. Suffice to say I did not look very beautiful as my hair took on afro like qualities despite my thorough GHD efforts in the morning. We had our very own Nigerian Kirsty, Phil, Phil, Phil and Phil show us around the best that Lagos has to offer (how can it take 5 people to show 2 people around a house??). The Nigerians have built palaces. I was in awe of the beautiful architecture, marble flooring, and digital bath tubs.  

Glad to say that hubbie and I traded that all in for a sea view, and fingers crossed should be moving into our new flat in January.

Until then, I am stuck in the hotel….with him out at work all day and me not able to physically leave the premises, what is a girl to do?