Return to Laughter

Filling in the gaps

2008-04-06T22:49:00.003+01:00

Nearly 8 months since my last post: time to fill in the gaps methinks.

So, here goes.

August 07 - returned to the UK for what was meant to be a short trip to sort a few things out.

October 07 - decided to take a month off the PhD to make some big decisions.

November 07 - decision made. No more PhD.

January 08 - offered a short term post with SDN, came back to Nigeria.

February/March 08 - work, work, work. Kept very busy with the job - coordinating a project working with 2 local goverment councils to create best practice guidelines for development. Oh, and I climbed the Mountain of Death.

April 08 - SDN job finishes. New job in the pipeline...

More soon!

Just one of those days

2007-08-16T15:51:00.000+01:00

You know. The ones that never really get going, when nothing really happens, when it feels like you and everyone around you is encased in some kind of lethargy-inducing jelly?

Yup, one of them.

Doesn’t help that it’s been grey and miserable all day – intermittent thunder and the occasional cloud burst. Pathetic fallacy indeed.

Oh, for a bottle of wine, some lovely chums and some crap telly to shout at. I guess I’ll have to make do with a warm beer and my laptop for company. [cue violins]

Roll on Friday, say I.

The return of the long-lost blogger

2007-08-13T10:55:00.000+01:00

Hello. Remember me? I’m Ellie (that’s Ellie as in elephant without the ‘phant’, not as in Ellen, Erin, Helen or Eileen by the way)*, the long-lost PhD student researching community development in the Niger Delta. You know, the one who kept promising to post lots of insightful and witty musings about life in Nigeria but who, ummm, never quite got round to it. Ring any bells?

Does this help any?

No, didn’t think it would. But it’s a cracking photo, no? Move over Attenborough...

Anyway. I’m pleased to report that I have not – despite appearances to the contrary – been kidnapped by militants nor have I been forced to marry an aged chief or struck down with a hideous tropical disease involving cold sweats and maggot-filled boils [shudder]. Far from it. I’ve just been, well, a bit crap at getting round to writing. Which is a shame as now I’m actually tapping at way, I’m really rather enjoying it. Ho hum.

But I digress.

I did contemplate writing one huge long post about everything I’ve done since I last wrote but decided that the chances were the nepa** would go (hasn’t yet, touch wood, but it’s been on for more than a couple of hours so isn’t likely to last much longer) or I’d bore my readership of 1 (hi mum!) to tears or the lure of Prison Break season 2 (gotta love the Chinese DVD pirates, a-haaar me hearties etc) would prove too strong. So, instead, I’ve resolved to write an amusing anecdote (okay, an anecdote) a day (okay, a couple of week) until the end of the month. I’ve also resolved to (stop) (using) (parentheses) (with) (such) (wanton) (abandon).

Here’s a taster of what’s to come…

“The perils of research in tropical climes” complete with gory photos
“These animals are liable to be dangerous” – zoos, Nigerian-style
“All but essential travel” – an ode to the FCO
“Africa’s answer to Milton Keynes?” – welcome to Abuja
“The anthropologist’s dilemma” – when witchcraft strikes

See? I can tell you’re hooked.

* This, I have discovered, is the best way to introduce myself, much to the amusement of most Nigerians.

**nepa: Electricity. It’s actually an acronym, NEPA - Nigeria Electric Power Authority (aka Never Expect Power Always). Now formally known as the PHCN - Power Holding Company of Nigeria (aka Problem Has Changed Name).

Hazy days

2007-01-17T16:59:00.000Z

So THIS is what the Harmattan is like! Having only ever known PH during its seemingly never-ending rainy season, it was quite something to arrive back in a bone-dry and distinctly dusty city yesterday afternoon. The sun was shining through the haze and there was a cool breeze blowing - an altogether pleasant change from the damp dreichness of Edinburgh.

That said, I woke up distinctly chilly this morning and then had to endure a cold shower. Urgh. Goosebumps aplenty!

Still, it's good to be back.

A very Naija Christmas

2007-01-01T17:25:00.000Z

Happy New Year! I hope your head doesn't hurt as much as mine after last night's festivities. Alcohol is no friend of mine...

As my brain is not up to anything more than quietly sipping tea I thought I'd just pass on this link to an interesting wee article about Christmas in my second home.

Happy reading!

This really IS the last post for now.

2006-12-22T10:51:00.000Z

Hope you have a Happy Happy Christmas (or, non-specific holiday celebration)!

e xxx

Oh, and another thing

2006-12-22T10:46:00.000Z

I'm back for 3 and a bit weeks so will hopefully be seeing lots of you lovely people soon-soon. I might even find the time to catch up with this blogging malarkey and [shockhorrorwouldyouadam'n'eveit] some work.

You never know. Stranger things have happened.

Oh, the weather outside is frightful!

2006-12-22T10:01:00.000Z

I am very much confused.

Where are the pawpaw trees?

And the yam sellers?

And the okadas?

And the dust and the heat?

Why has no one said hello to me today?

What is this strange breakfast of grilled bread and fried pig meat?

And why are all the trees frozen?

And why is it so bloody cold?

Help!

* This post comes to you courtesy of the zippy wireless interweb connection in first class on the GNER train from London to Edinburgh. Yes, yes, I know, I know. PhD student in first class, what is the world coming to and all that.

One word for you: fog.

May the farce be with you*

2006-11-14T10:12:00.000Z

Sorry. Etc. Again.

One of these days I'll manage to start a post with something other than a grovelling apology... No, really, I will.

Right. Time is short (as am I) so here's a top ten run down of things that have happened of late. I'll leave you to add the Smashy & Nicey sound effects:

Coming straight in at number 10 is my new-found talent for wangling invites to top-level meetings with government, oil companies and NGOs. It seems that all the networking is beginning to pay off. 500 business cards distributed already – time to order some more methinks!

At 9, we've got my fun and games with immigration... Through no fault of my own I was, for a short while, considered an illegal immigrant and stripped of my passport [cue massively high blood pressure and sudden need for medicinal quantities of beer and chocolate]. Luckily, the powers that be decided that I wasn't a threat to national security after all and gave me my passport back yesterday. Cue a huge sigh of relief and some celebratory bangers and mash.

Up next at number 8, and closely linked to number 9, is my forthcoming holiday with the wonderful Melon. We're off to the Gambia for a week on the beach... It's sod's law that just as things step up a gear (or 3) with work, an excellent holiday opportunity comes along but, hey, such is life. So I'm off to Banjul via Dakar tomorrow evening for a week of beaches, beers, books (of the non-academic/-worthy/-challenging variety) and my very bestest friend.

At number 7, there’s that great feeling that I somehow belong here. I really feel settled into my life and work/research here and, more importantly, that the people around me are beginning to see me as part of the gang.

Sneaking at number 6 my trip to see El Presidente in Yenagoa last month. The big man was - in theory at least - there to inaugurate the Assembly of the new Bayelsa Partnership Initiative. As it turned out, the Governor of Bayelsa - the Honorable etc Goodluck Jonathon - had tired old Olu out so the soiree was a bit of a non-event. He did, however, manage to make it along the ExCo chambers of Government House for a speedy ceremony so all was not lost. Didn't get to shake his hand though as I was too busy fending off the advances of a randy Texan businessman [yee-hah, etc].

And now for the top five...

Straight in at number 5 was the launch of the "Prevent Child Abandonment Today" (PACT) campaign in Eket a few weeks ago. The campaign was organised by a small Nigerian organisation which is working to rehabilitate abandoned and abused children in Akwa Ibom State, with support from Stepping Stones - the British NGO established by the fantastic Gary and Naomi (more about them soon) - and the Akwa Ibom State government. There were a couple of really inspiring speeches from missionaries (yes, you read that right), a deeply moving performance by the choir from the camp for streetkids that CRARN runs and a full-on scrum for the free campaign t-shirts and caps.

Up one place at number 4 are the links I've forged with a fantastic local NGO (CSCR) who monitor the social and environmental impacts of Shell's operations and community engagement. Needless to say, they are proving to be an invaluable source of advice, experience, knowledge and support for this fledgling researcher.

At number 3 was the workshop I ran for SDN and some of their partners on effective facilitation a month ago. Me, 12 participants, a small mountain of flipchart paper, post-its and felt-tips: an altogether ace combination. The photo I posted last month was taken just after we wrapped up the last session on day two (and was not, as some cheeky sod alleged, evidence of me moonlighting as a gameshow host!).

Coming in at number 2 is the massive leap forward my research has taken in the last few weeks - I've now decided which community to focus on and have got some great gatekeepers sorted out. I'm not usually one for fatalism but it's hard not to feel like something/one somewhere is giving me a helping hand. After a couple of months of confusion, everything has suddenly fallen into place. There's hope for this thesis yet!

And, finally, straight in at the number 1 spot, we've got my weekend in Kabba with a couple of Irish priests, a gaggle of VSOs, some other assorted oyibos and a disgusting quantity of beer, a box of silly hats and a pair wind-up grannies. I think my liver is now on strike but, my god, it was worth it. Hats off to the Kabba boys for another quality bash!

[*thanks to a certain Agent Nana for the quality title]

Normal service will be resumed shortly

2006-10-24T16:32:00.000+01:00

Sorry. I'm a poor imitation of a blogger, I know. I had a few half-baked excuses to share (too busy meeting the President etc) but I can't quite bring myself to post them.

Bear with me - the posts are coming. Soon...

See? Look how busy I've been.

area boys: a short film

2006-09-19T12:56:00.000+01:00

For more on this fascinating film project, please visit the area boys site.

(Thanks to Jeremy at naijablog for the link!)

Don't you just hate it when that happens?

2006-09-18T12:11:00.000+01:00

This brings a whole new meaning to the idea of getting someone's goat!

Ah-ah, Nigeria. Na-wa-oh!

‘I’m not hearing you-oh’: A Beginner’s Guide to Naija GSM etiquette

2006-09-14T13:59:00.000+01:00

Me: ‘Hello?’
Caller: ‘Hello?’
Me: ‘Hello, hello’
Caller: ‘Hello!’
Me: ‘Good morning’
Caller: ‘Good morning. How are you?’
Me: ‘I’m fine and you?’
Caller: ‘Are you hearing me?’
Me: ‘I’m hearing you’
Caller: ‘Are you hearing me? I’m not hearing you well-oh!’
Me: ‘I’m hearing you, I’m hearing you’
Caller: ‘Okaaaay, hello.’
Me: ‘Hello’
Caller: ‘Who is on the line?’ [note: they called me]
Me: ‘Ellie. Who am I talking to?’
Caller: ‘Na me-oh. Ahhh, who be dis?
Me: ‘Na be Ellie’
Caller: ‘Who?’
Me: ‘Ellie-Ellie-Ellie’
Caller: ‘Ahhh, okay’
Me: ‘Who am I speaking to?’
[repeat to fade…]

Of course, these conversations can only take place when MTN (the main GSM network in Nigeria) is playing ball. Which, at the moment, is not very often. It’s all ‘network busy’ this, ‘error in connection’ that. Or perhaps the vaguely robotic lady with a posh Nigerian accent will advise that ‘the number you have dialled is not av-ail-able’ (she’s lying!) or you’ll be redirected to an non-existent voicemail box. Or, perhaps most frustratingly, the connection will disappear mid-call – leaving you hanging, mid-sentence.

Text messages aren’t much better. In fact it seems that there is a specific sub-section of the Law of Sod which dictates that important texts (which, invariably, you’ve sent in desperation because you can’t get through to someone) will arrive hours (or even days) later, if they arrive at all. Meanwhile the not-very-important-I’m-sitting-waiting-to-see-someone-and-thought-I’d-drop-you-a-line texts get straight through every time. Go figure.

Naija Survival Kit

2006-09-11T15:42:00.000+01:00

Three things I couldn't live without:

For those long, sweaty nights without power (errr, that'll be every night, then).

For my daily tea and toast fest.

For my (many, many) mossie bites

Rose-tinted?

2006-09-06T12:13:00.000+01:00

From romansfeet.org via Voice in the Desert

How [not] to write about Africa

2006-09-06T10:54:00.000+01:00

Binyavanga Wainana's guide to literary stereotyping (from the current edition of 'Developments' magazine).

"Always use the word "Africa" or "Darkness" or "Safari" in your title. Subtitles may include the words "Zanzibar", "Masai", "Zulu", "Zambezi", "Congo", "Nile", "Big", "Sky", "Shadow", "Drum", "Sun" or "Bygone". Also useful are words such as "Guerrillas", "Timeless", "Primordial" and "Tribal"..."

Interested? Read on here!

Pseudonym

2006-09-05T15:57:00.000+01:00

Essential Naija Reading

2006-09-04T15:45:00.000+01:00

Rain, rain, go away.

Bloody rainy season!

Some rainy day reading for you all:

Jeremy's blog

Gruaniad piece

An excellent idea...

In my country (part 2)…

2006-09-04T14:42:00.000+01:00

…playing terrible Christian rock at 5.45am is just not the done thing

…‘meeting starts at 10am’ means just that

…rubbish goes in bins, which are collected by refuse trucks and taken to landfill sites

…pissing in public is only acceptable for the under-fives

Whereas in Nigeria…

…if you’ve got it [light], you flaunt it [by ‘sharing’ your godrock collection at top volume] whatever time of day or night it happens to be

…the meeting starts when everyone’s arrived (usually sometime after 12)

…rubbish goes wherever you decide to chuck it – out of the car window, on vacant plots of land in housing estates, in storm drains

…the world is your toilet. No, really. And I’m not just talking number ones [shudder]

In my country…

2006-08-31T13:30:00.000+01:00

…we don’t greet our friends with a cry of ‘you’re looking so fat!’

…it’s just not cool to wear pyjamas when you’re out and about

…traffic lights are more than just a decorative roadside accessory

…‘flashing’ someone usually results in a trip to the police station

Whereas in Nigeria...

…being fat is a sign of health and wealth so being called fat is a (sort-of) compliment

…winceyette M&S jim-jams can be just as rocking as the latest Von Dutch creation

…every car journey is an adventure, a shopping trip and a massive headache all rolled into one

…you flash your friends when your mobile credit is low in the hope that they’ll call you back

And people ask why I love this place!

The daily symphony

2006-08-22T11:40:00.000+01:00

Sometime around 5.30am the cock crows and the pastor over the wall starts crooning ‘Good morning Jesus, good morning Lord…’ Within half an hour, the neighbours are up and about, doing the washing, clanking pots and pans and exchanging hearty greetings. By 7am, the traffic’s getting going with horns aplenty. Not long after that and the hawkers start their rounds. ‘Buuuuuuuuuuy ke-ro-seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeene’ they cry; ‘buuuuuuuuuuuuuy plantain’. Then it’s the moin-moin girl, whose call reminds me vaguely of a hungry seagull: ‘moin-moin’, she squawks. A merry chain of ‘hello-oyibo!-goodmorning-howfar?’ tails me from the house to the road where I join the masses on their way to work and school. Then it’s on to a bike and off into the clouds of dusty exhaust fumes and the cacophony of car horns as drivers vent their anger, greet friends, tout for passengers and just parp for the sheer bloody hell of it. And so to the office. If there’s light [electricity], it’s pretty peaceful; if not (as is often the case), we exchange our daily greetings over the roar of the generator. Through the window I hear the clanking of the shoe-mender’s basket or the tailor’s scissors and the rat poison-seller’s whistle as they ply their wares. Occasionally an argument breaks out on the street below and people rush from all sides to join the action. Last week it was a would-be thief, the week before a careless motorbike rider. Whatever the cause of the ruckus, crowds gather quickly and word of the disturbance spreads like wildfire. The drama usually subsides as quickly as it flared up and we all get back to work. As the day draws to a close, the church across the street gears up for yet another evening session. Rhythmic clapping and exuberant drumkit bashing join dubious keyboard playing and somewhat garbled hymn-singing in a crescendo of Jesus-adoration. This is the pastor’s cue to crank up the PA and share his wisdom. It is also my cue to pack up and head home. The traffic on the way home always seems louder, more hectic, more choked so it’s a relief to step back into the estate and be met with the chorus of greetings, clucking chickens and tinny radio jingles. A little later, as dusk falls, the generators get going for the night – unless, of course, NEPA is feeling generous – as the neighbours switch on their TVs and ceiling fans. These diesel-chomping beasts roar until the last neighbour heads for bed, at which point the neighbourhood falls quiet. And so to bed.

The journey home...

2006-07-26T10:33:00.000+01:00

...starts outside the office, where I hail a passing okada [motorbike] by hissing through my teeth. ‘Everyday supamakett? For Olu Obasanjo?’ I ask. If the driver agrees to go ‘that side’ then we agree a price (40 naira on a good day) and I climb aboard. We turn left at the crossroads where a large lady sells groundnuts from under a tatty awning and then right by the ‘FBI security consultants’ office. Another left takes us past a row of small shops and a couple of chop houses [cheap eating places]. Then it’s right again onto Olu Obasanjo – a long stretch of well-paved road with a central reservation and solar-powered streetlights. We weave in between the traffic, trying to avoid ploughing down the hawkers selling air freshener, hankies and car stickers and then join the jam at the junction by the supermarket. I’m greeted with a chant of ‘auntie-apple-auntie-apple?’ from the kids selling bruised golden delicious from trays on their heads as I get down from the bike, pay the driver and try to cross the road without being squashed.

The junction by the supermarket marks the edge of the GRA area of town, where the houses are set back from wider, quieter roads and, almost invariably, shielded from the outside world with 8 foot walls and razor wire. It’s usually some time after 6 by now and with the okada curfew drawing near, it’s increasingly difficult to find a bike that will even consider going to NTA Road, never mind for a decent price. I think the logic behind the 7pm curfew is that it will prevent crime by limiting the movement of Port Harcourt’s population. In reality, it just makes everyone’s journey home something of a daily trial. Anyway, let’s assume – as happened today – that I find a bike that will go ‘that side’ for 120 or so naira, and off we go. A few minutes later we reach the junction by Skippers take-away, which is invariably jammed. We weave round the cars, trying to avoid an unholy dunking in the open storm drains and the huge potholes and, as we pass the vegetable stalls on the corner I wave to the woman who I always bought veggies from when I lived at Ledum’s place. By now we’re into Orazi, where the streets are narrow and crowded. Single storey lock-up shops line the way, offering everything from high heels (with matching handbags) to generators and fly-specked goat meet. We turn right by the big tree (one of the few still standing in this overcrowded city) and head along the road towards Ebony junction. We pass a couple of girls, each with a load atop her head – one is selling kerosene, the other platains – as one shouts ‘oyibo!’ at me. It’s one part greeting, one part exclamation. I wave and she gives me a thumbs-up. Onwards to the junction and left onto Rumuola Road – one of the city’s busiest roads – where we invariably get stuck behind an antiquated truck belching horrible, black fumes. We pass the woman selling ears of corn she’s roasted on a make-shift barbeque in an old enamel basin, the suitcase shop and the mattress depot and make our way towards Rumokuta junction.

The junction – a roundabout, usually manned by weary looking traffic controllers – is one part market, one part bus station and 3 parts chaos. Stalls selling peeled oranges, bootlegged CDs and boxer shorts (amongst other weird and wonderful things) crowd the edge of the road, while hawkers selling bread or bags of instant noodles dodge the irate drivers and their horns. Once free of the junction we head along Ikwerre Road a short way before turning off at NTA junction. There is a small traffic island at this T-junction where dozens of fruit sellers sit shoulder-to-shoulder with women – always women – roasting corn and men – always men – selling newspapers and magazines. On either side of the road, between the drains and the many shops, sit the phone ladies at their yellow plastic tables, under the uniform yellow umbrellas provided by one of the main mobile phone networks, MTN. Each table is a call centre – where passers-by can stop to make calls on the phone lady’s mobile or to pick up a scratch card to top up their credit – and they are everywhere. The road widens out after the junction and lock-up shops are replaced with church buildings, depots and, occasionally, patches of grass. If the weather is fine, a group of boys will be kicking a ball around on the grass by the unfinished Ministries of Christ (NTA Chapter) church, while vultures pick at the rubbish floating in the swamp beyond it. On hot days, these impromptu dumps emit an evil smell but the vultures, goats and scavengers don’t seem to mind. A little further on the shops start again and it’s here that I tap the bike driver on the shoulder to signal I want to get down. The gates to the estate where I’m staying are flanked by shops and so there are many familiar faces to greet before I head down the sandy track to the house. Along the way, I bid my neighbours good evening – ‘you’re welcome’ is the ever-present reply – and then run the gauntlet of small, grubby children and their chants of ‘oyibooooooo-gurd-evinning!’ before turning the corner down the last stretch of lane before the house. If no-one else is in, I reach through a hole in the mosquito netting to unlock the padlock on the security gate, step out of my dusty Birkenstocks and step into the cool darkness of the living room. And I’m home.

Ah-ah, sorry-oh…

2006-07-13T12:53:00.000+01:00

…for the big gap between posts. Time really is flying by and – amazingly(!) – I’m getting by with checking emails and the like only every couple of days. There is an internet connection in the office I’m using as a base during the day but it’s painfully slow so I usually head out to a nearby internet café (of which there are heaps to chose from). The one I usually use has a number of posters up warning scammers not to ‘do 419’ and that all emails can be traced – if only it were true! Internet fraud must be up there with oil as one of Nigeria’s key earners these days.

419s aside, everything is going well here in Port Harcourt. I’m staying with Chris and Faith in the Mguoba area of town, which is about a 25 minute bike ride from the office, and I’m settling in nicely. Work-wise, I’ve been focusing on catching up with old contacts and colleagues and getting up to speed with goings on in the Niger Delta. From next week, I’ll be concentrating more on making arrangements for the rest of my fieldwork – identifying a suitable community, negotiating access, sorting out accommodation and so on.

Hmmm, what other news? I had a great weekend with my friends/sort-of colleagues, Damka and Jo. On Saturday, the 3 of us went swimming at a hotel in town and had a really good meal (mmmm, pizza!) and then went to watch the football at the Port Harcourt Polo Club (a grand name for a not very grand – yet strictly members only – place), courtesy of the friend of an American PhD student Damka knows. After the football, we were invited to her friend’s brother’s place to continue the evening where we ended up doing karaoke until the early hours. Another weird night in Africa! Sunday got off to a very slow start as a result (no surprises there), which was fine with me. At lunchtime Jo and I headed to the local market to get some food and caused much amusement… One ‘oyibo’ [white person] causes enough of a stir but two, well, that’s just entertainment. Jo’s been here a number of times and the neighbourhood kids know his name so we were followed by a chorus of ‘oyibo-Jo-oyibo-Jo’! The market’s really ramshackle – lots of rough wooden shacks roughly piled in together and stacked high with tomatoes, chillies, dried fish, bitter leaf (like spinach), plantains, stock cubes, palm oil and the occasional pile of fly-specked meat or stacks of green oranges. Jo went off to investigate the meat situation while I bantered with one of the tomato ladies. She assumed he was my husband and I put her straight saying that he wasn’t nearly strong enough to marry me (much mirth ensued). Oh, she said, so he’s your brother? I couldn’t be arsed to explain that he was a sort-of-colleague so I just agreed (been doing a lot of that of late!). After lunch and some more lying around we headed off to meet Damka at a bar to watch the football final. We were joined by a couple of other oyibos that Jo knows – who are working for the Small Arms Survey (SAS – how’s that for an unfortunate acronym?) and were just in town for a couple of days. After the football, Jo wanted to take the SAS guys to one of the bars where oil workers go – to show them the seedier side of Port Harcourt. These places are horrendous – loads of really stunning Nigerian girls being pawed by fat, middle-aged expats – but all too common in oil country. Our arrival caused quite a stir (one oyibo girl and three blokes in the their 20s – not quite the usual clientele). As long as I was around the guys were okay but as soon as I went off to the toilet or bar they were deluged. The girls were particularly taken with Jo (despite his protestations that he worked for an NGO, not an oil company) and made me promise to bring him back some time soon… This weekend I hope to go to Bori, the ‘capital’ of Ogoni, to catch up with my old colleagues at FOWA (Federation of Ogoni Women’s Associations) and attend the christening of a friend’s baby – will keep you posted!

Dis girl wey dey for Potacot

2006-07-03T15:07:00.000+01:00

I’m here, I’m fine [touch wood] and everything’s gone to plan so far. Well, apart from Virgin Nigeria cancelling my flight to Port Harcourt at the last minute thus necessitating a mad rush to the domestic terminal to try and buy a ticket on another flight… No harm done though and I made it safe and sound. The next challenge will be getting my money back from Branson’s Nigerian counterparts – watch this space!

I’m currently staying at the grandly named Londa Hotels in the Orazi area of town – where I spent a couple of months back in 2002 – and so currently have the luxury of fairly constant power and Murdoch’s finest satellite telly. The food, on the other hand, leaves a little to be desired so it’s been take-away, Nigerian-style, all the way. Chicken and rice anyone? As of Wednesday, however, I’ll be staying with my friends Chris and Faith on the other side of town and will be able to cook for myself. Happy days…

Hmmm, what else? I have a Nigerian mobile number up and running (which will be one of 2 by Wednesday) and I can receive texts on my British mobile number so I should be fairly easy to get hold of! Aside from that, there’s not much to report so I will away and find myself some lunch..

She's got a ticket to ri-ide!

2006-06-24T15:15:00.000+01:00

At last! The visa's safely stuck in my passport (a mere snip at 120 quid and about 8 hours of my life) and the tickets have arrived. I leave the burgh of Edin on Thursday evening and will arrive in Port Harcourt at lunchtime on Friday, having stopped at Heathrow and Abuja International along the way...

All that's left to do now is... sorting, packing, panic, bit more sorting, arrange insurance, get hold of some cash to see me through the first few weeks, panic a little more, say lots of farewells, continue to pack, curse (because I've exceeded the HUGE baggage allowance that you get on flights to Nigeria), unpack, repack, curse again and then give up and go and consume my own weight in cheese and wine in preparation for going cold turkey. Phew. Seems so much more straightforward when I write it all down like that.

I'll be based in Port Harcourt for the first few weeks and then - all being well - will move to my chosen fieldsite in the neighbouring State of Akwa Ibom (see handy map below).

Right. Where's that suitcase.....?