Lagos 2.0

Lagos is a bustling, modern, contemporary city- or at least the small slice of it I inhabit, which is likely not representative of what the majority of Nigerians, or Lagoasians. I am in a bubble. A very strange, very uncomfortable, very Hunger-Games like bubble with a nearly impenetrable force field surrounding me.

In this VI bubble, using Bolt (Taxify) or Uber to command a ride is the way things are done. For me, this creates several issues. Ethically, after reading Winners Take All by Anand Giridharadas, I am conflicted about the services. While many turn to these companies in order to feel safer about their transportation options, few seem to consider the hazards involved for the drivers. They grapple with everything from unwanted romantic advances to theft and even physical harm or, in extreme cases, murder.

Not only does driving pose risks, there is the uncertainty and inequality of the pay. As a frequent Taxify- now Bolt- user, I have often been awarded discounts and rewards for trips, reducing a 700N trip to 300N, an equivalent of about $2 being reduced to about $1. For a taxi ride. That is completely unheard of anywhere in the world. And because these companies require the cars to be up to certain standards, we are talking about a trip in a clean working car with air conditioning. Very comfortable. Very smooth. For less than a $1. The driver cannot be making any profit on this. I generally tip all my trips, and the surprise of the drivers suggests this is not a common occurrence.

Aside from the ethical issues, there remains the practical issue of needing to have a charged, internet connected phone on you at all times. For me, this is more of a challenge than perhaps it should be. I have never kept roaming internet on my phone, preferring only to use any wi-fi I might have at home and leaving all that connectivity at the doorway. Not so now.

Apparently being connected uses a lot of battery power. And with my somewhat "ancient" phone, the battery depletes quickly. I travel with charger in case it is ever possible to stop and plug in somewhere but this strategy is not fool proof. Yesterday, I had to make a pit stop at home to charge up for about an hour before continuing my errands. I am working on getting a portable battery pack, but being tethered to all of this technology goes against everything I want to be- unconnected, present in my moments and free.

Of course there are local, off line options. The one trip I took during a phone outage resulted in driving around the city and never actually reaching my destination only to be told my fare was five times the normal rate. I had to talk hard to reduce that ridiculous number and even then I only managed to get it down to slightly half, still double the normal amount.

The driver was an older man who insisted that he knew the school I was trying to go to. Of course, there were warning signs. When I said French school, and he said which one, there are so many? I should have recognized that he clearly didn't know where we were going. I told him there was only one, but he drove us out to the British school and attempted to drive further out to another school with an international sounding name before I got him to turn around. I knew it wasn't that far. But without my phone, I couldn't call, couldn't check a map and had no idea where I was going.

Before all this internet stuff, I would have done my homework well, written down directions in advance, and been prepared. I guess it was just as much my fault as his.

The other transportation option is the small three-wheeled Keke, which seems innocent enough, but in the case of an accident, maiming or death is likely. I am still trying to decide how big the risks are, much like the motos of Bamako, I imagine. I toy with the idea that for small distances, it might be ok. On back roads or just around the corner type of rides, perhaps. In the meantime, I don't mind supporting the Taxify drivers, sometimes even paying even double what the app suggests.

Taxi on command might be the only thing you can still pay cash for in Lagos. Since 2012, the country has pushing to move towards cash-less banking. Everything done here involving money seems complicated, and the cash-less system is no exception. Perhaps I am still in the learning curve. I was able to process my first transfer for a service yesterday, after several failed attempts. Electronic transfers require steady internet service. Maybe that was the cause. No one could really explain why it wasn't working, but luckily everyone had patience to wait for me to figure out a solution (the company in question was actually willing to accept cash, a rarity for certain.)

Everyone from fitness trainers to dance instructors to housekeepers have their account numbers ready for you to transfer money into. Food delivery, shopping and restaurants all prefer card over cash. After our first foray into the world, back during our teacher orientation week when we were ridiculously counting out 50-80 thousand bill nairas, it is easy to see why. Cash is just not practical for big purchases.

Another dilemma involves the whole USD to naira conversion. I have just opened a USD account, since they are not mixable. Naira only into the naira account and USD only into the USD account. So I wire myself some USD from my US account, withdraw it from the bank (now for a fee) and have a reputable money changer meet me at the bank (for a better rate.)

Always the "black market" money changers offer a better rate. I remember my first experience with this in Guinea, we changed our money right outside the bank and I had a sense of trying to be clandestine. Fast forward 11 years and hop a few countries to the east and the school accountant is advising me to meet the money changer inside the bank (for safety) to directly transfer the naira to my naira account (hopefully no fee here, since it would be an electronic transfer.) The other option is to somehow bring all of the USD I will need for the year, in cash, when I come back after summer. Apparently some people can actually do this.

All of the complexities surrounding money and transfers and accounts (I have four or five already and I have only been here for less than a month. I have my savings, which I use for naira, the USD account, a "shadow account" which is only used to transfer my USD salary to my US account. Apparently only the bank can access this account, but it has my name attached to it. And there is one  more mystery account which shows in my mobile banking but never has any money in it- it might be the shadow account, although I am told the money passes through there- first naira, which must then be used to buy USD at a good price. I understand that the school foots the bill for the cost of buying USD. )

Money on top of money. One message that's been reinforced and exemplified in my short time here in Lagos, in this small suffocating bubble of VI and surrounding islands, is that nothing good comes from money. Most of the "good books" caution against usury and other ills associated with money. Aside from being downright complicated, all of the rules and regulations meant to safeguard one against fraud seem to simply make it harder to access your own money and potentially easier for others to do so. It is always the thieves who benefit from all the entanglements.

I am dreaming of the days when I can escape the on-line, interconnected nature of life and business in the simulated city. I tell myself all situations are temporary and eventually I will be untethered. And quickly so, as climate change is bearing down and this collection of islands surely hasn't a very secure future.

Africa in English & other differences

There was never going to be anything easy about moving to a new country and starting a new job while trying to maintain my PhD studies with a kindergartner in tow. I knew that. Throw in the fact that we are staying in temporary housing and our comfort things from Bamako still haven't arrived and the story gets trickier.

There were some major differences in our welcome here, which added to the strangeness. Moving is simply a challenge- some like to call it an adventure but adventures are challenges too. The girl is holding up fabulously, making friends with anyone in sight and embracing the newness (except the food. If it was possible to become pickier or eat even less, she's managed to do it. All her favorites are no longer her favorites, and they haven't been replaced.)

I keep hoping for some magic window of time to appear so I can step inside and get things done. There is reading and writing for class, daily lesson planning, long term curriculum sorting out to be done, thought sharing, and the purely creative stuff. There's no time for it all. I can barely keep my eyes open half the time.

Africa in English always takes a minute for me. My first tendency is to resort to French when I am off campus. And I do miss it. But English has morphed with culture and so the sounds on the street can be just as foreign at times. And the African languages are present in force, always music to my ears.

Lagos is big city, big city. Everywhere I look there are buildings. And apps. I am not crazy about the 2.0 version of getting around. Taxify, Uber- no more just hailing a cab. I need to be connected and charged and have the phone on hand. I feel tethered.

I've also landed in a bubble. It's quite large and I haven't yet found the edges. Ex-pat everything. I knew I would be feeling lost on this island of luxury, wondering how to find my people, the artists. There is a hustle here, there is a strong British influence and some surprising results. I am not ready to write about it yet, still trying to wrap my mind around it, but soon perhaps.

I've taken no pictures, and very little has endeared me.  I don't quite feel as though I have arrived anywhere. Still in transit. Some place that is neither good nor bad, helpful nor harmful, familiar nor strange.


Quick and easy things I could be writing about if I weren't in such a fugue state:

• Money transactions- as expected all things related to money systems are complicated. The potential for fraud and scams have led to development of complex rituals around money. I sent Western Union yesterday, which took an hour and involved putting money in one account, only for it to be taken out and put into another. There were fingerprints and photographs. I moved from counter service to a small booth and back to counter service again. It was comedic fodder for sure.  But everyone was pleasant and welcoming and nice so I laughed my way through the absurdities. 

• Money bundles- one thousand naira is the highest denomination of bill. My on-the-run conversion method is to multiply by three. Three dollars for every 1,000 naira. It adds up quickly until you are walking around with massive piles of bills. I've taken to keeping them wrapped up in a hat. There is no wallet big enough. A trip to the grocery store could be about 30,000 naira, all counted out in 1,000 notes. The bundles are not amusing or convenient.  Every cashier has one of those money counting machines, calculating the total with a crisp whir and efficient spin. Before finally working out a method for keeping track of the cash, I spent time counting money. Lots of time. Counting and recounting, trying to keep the 5 and 6 digit numbers in my head. Only Guinea can be worse, with their millions. It feels so miserly to be adding up such sums. 

• Keke's- these cute little bugs are three wheeled transportation devices- and yellow. They zoom in and out of traffic and don't seem to recognize pedestrians at all. They are everywhere, ready to offer a quick ride to your destination or crush you flat in your spot. The constant beeping to attract customers and alert cars of their presence prompted Mbalia to wish for her own portable horn so she could join in the melee.  Possibly worth a photo, if I get my head on right.

• The seedy side- honestly, I wasn't aware of this for some reason. Kinshasa and Lagos have a lot in common, from snazzy dressers, to popular music, to an infatuation with the big life. I have come to see them as cousins in this way. They also have a seedy side. From the art market to street sellers, I've seen a genre of painting that I haven't yet witnessed in African art. More investigation into the background might be illuminating, or deeply depressing. I have a sense of where the roots stem. Sensual images in bold colors on black backgrounds- velvet? glitter? neon? My search for a massage/spa turned up options for couples massage, erotic massage and sensual massage, among the more traditional office stress reliever and Swedish and deep tissue options. And my search for dance schools has led to everything from the very formal and clearly British influenced to Latin salsa and kizomba to pole dancing. There are quite a number of pole dancing schools in Lagos. I had no idea.

• Excess- being in this bubble has me surrounded by excess and waste to such a degree my head is spinning. I had to take a day or two to try and recenter myself. I'm still working on that. This kind of copious spending is hard to witness. It is cutting and painful. It is not something I can or want to come to terms with, but somehow must manage to live in. I don't want it to touch me and yet, by virtue of being here, I am implicated. While I had anticipated a clash of ethics to assault me, I hadn't been fully prepared for how often or how deeply wounding it would be. My studies are only compounding the matter. Perhaps I am ironically well placed to contemplate ethical and moral leadership from here in the nethers. 

• School population- my surprise was complete and total on the second or third day when I realized what was missing- the African students. I hadn't thought to ask too many questions about the student body make-up, because my own preparations getting here were so traumatic (I never seem to do anything simply, hey? More story material. So much material.) But also because I'd made assumptions based on the other international schools I'd worked at or been to in Africa- a majority of African students. Although I have been told Nigerians are the second highest demographic, I don't see it. Granted, I am only teaching art and so a fraction of students pass through my class, but my attendance list is filled with Middle Eastern names- Saeed, Aditya, Nour, Hadar. There are American names- David, Mathew, Max and Northern European names- Regardt, Aida, Celine. My classes are filled with hues of cream and khaki.  The number of students who tell me they don't speak a second language is shocking. 

We are still settling in, still processing. Since we won't be moving to our regular apartment for another few months, it's bound to a long transition process. Hopefully I will find a sweet spot and get back to doing the things that brought me here in the first place.