Recovery and ride to Lagos
Hi BoBers,
I passed broken down vans, verdant golf courses and people bathing in rivers on the immaculate new coastal road from Ouidah to Cotonou. That night, we went to a wine-and-cheese night hosted by a French expat in an apartment looking over this pristine waterfront. A far cry from sweating on the floor in Ouidah. Is it right to move so seamlessly between two worlds?
Then I got sick. Probably COVID. Luckily, I’d found a relatively cheap hotel with western food so I rested in comfort, extending my stay a few times. Once I realised that I also had malaria, I took the medication and recovered quickly. BoB and I were back on the road to Nigeria after this week of enforced rest, a little weak but good spirits.
I stopped by the capital Porto Novo and ended up drinking with some fisherman into the evening. As I followed two guys from the side of the road to a cheap hotel, a little drunk, it hit me how far I’d come from the trip’s first nervous steps. I realise that this might seem silly or reckless to some, but all I can say is that many months on the road fills you with an overwhelming certainty that things will be okay, a tolerance for discomfort and an excellent radar for bullshit in which I have full confidence.
The next day, the roads to the border were lined with stalls selling cheap fuel smuggled across the border. At one of the stalls, I met a fellow cyclist from Ghana with an absolutely tricked-out bike including inbuilt subwoofer. A true engineer. Thankfully, I crossed the border without any problems. On the road I met Tunde, who paid for a hotel for me. The first of many acts of generosity here.
On the way into the city the next day, I met a ton of people. Many asking for money or selfies, but others with no agenda. Susan has four kids, just got divorced and is very proud of the store that she’s running to support her family. Princess, selling routers, hit on me ruthlessly. White guys are definitely seen as a way to escape Nigeria. Promise tried to scam me while I was buying data. You’ve got to be on your toes here.
Lagos itself is pure chaos. The most populous city in the most populous country of Africa, there it just too much of everything at all times. Too many cars and motorbikes. Too much rubbish. Too many people. Too much noise. Entering the city, I passed a guy striding down the centre of the road, probably high, with an empty gaze, holding up traffic. I guided him off the road, breaking him from his single-minded focus and he collapsed, immediately unconscious. As I was rolling him onto his side, people yelled at me from all directions to leave him. That it was his fault. That he deserved it. This small act of kindness enough to make them uncomfortable. The other side of Nigeria.
I found a too-expensive hotel - nobody had answered my couchsurfing request in this city of 20 million, a first in Africa. Definitely a place of contrasts.
Dividedly,
J&BoB
