Thank God I Have a Shitty Bike

When I moved to Rwanda in 2010, I didn't bring my bike with me.

Granted...I was coming off 4 years at Dartmouth when I spent more time perfecting my pong game than...anything else. But I would also casually bike to Lyme - or maybe today Fairlee - and back. And I dutifully would just jump on my pink bike to ride a century for the Prouty every year. And...well...biking (naked) was how most people at Dartmouth were first introduced to me. (#i305...still going strong! Hi Bustard!)
<3 and="" bustard="" kyle="" nd="" p="" read="" steph="" sure...maybe="" this="" too...="" too="" u="" would="">
Which is all to say...I didn't identify as "a biker" at that stage in my life...but my casual biking was still intense.

So when I arrived in Rwanda without a bike, I felt a bit lost. Oddly, I also lived down the street from the Africa Rising Cycling Center. I tried to mention to them a few times that I was a cyclist and suggested it might be nice to borrow a bike and ride with them and they were just like "lolz...girl...we're not giving you one of our nice bikes. Sit back down." So yeah - that never happened.

Africa Rising Cycling Center in Musanze, Rwanda - great organization! (Even if they never let me bike with them...) 

I was adamant that when I moved to Nigeria I would not suffer from the same loss (or...lbs gain...as it may be). In all my initial calls with people in the Lagos office, I asked about how much biking there was / did they see people on bikes / would it be possible to bike / should I bring my bike. In one of the most memorable conversations, the office manager was like "well...if you're looking to do outdoor sports...Lagos might not be the best office for you..." "Yes...I know that...but it's Lagos I'm coming to...so can you tell me what my options are?"

I finally got pointed to Cycology. There will be more about Cycology in a later blog post(s). What's relevant for now is that it meant I should *bring my bike* with me.

So one not frigid day in January when I was feeling not deathly ill (maybe more on that later), I rode my trustly pink bike to a local shop and paid them too much money to pack it up all nice for me. (I debated paying for this a bit given that I had all the time in the world in Janaury...but it ultimately came down to just the process of getting a bike box and packaging supplies (i.e., bubble wrap) when I looked online started to cost just as much as paying them to do it for me.)

And then I went back in an Uber XL to pick up the box and had my first encounter with male-chivalry/chauvinism-hurting-my-poor-bike...when the Uber driver insisted that HE (not ME) should get the bike box into the car. He proceeded to put it in upside down and I hopelessly tried to interfere and take over.

Tejas luckily let me manage the bike box between our apartment and the car when he took me to the airport. (Thanks babe!)

But that...my friends...was the last time I touched the thing. At the curb at JFK, the bike box was whisked away from me (from somebody who did not realize that it had handles...) to an oversize check-in as I continued to check my other bags. When I got my tags for my checked bags and carefully filed them away - I immediately realized my predicament because I never got a bag tag for my bike. Given my previous travel to Africa I knew this would surely create an issue...

1. If somebody tried to steal my bike box...I'd have no way of proving it's mine
2. If my bike box didn't arrive...I'd have no way of getting the airline to track it
3. I'd most definitely need to show my bag tags to be able to leave the terminal. Because Africa. Africa might selectively follows rules. But they rules they do follow...they follow to a T. (Yes - I'm generalizing for a whole continent. Sue me...and then scroll down to see that my fear was valid.)

I was worried for a little bit but not for long. Because Clear and TSA Pre Check were both shut (I've asked before and I will ask again: WHAT IS THE DAMNED POINT IF THEY'RE ALWAYS SHUT??) so suddenly I was in a legit security line. I barely had time at the gate to get confused about the boarding process before I got on the plane, took a sleeping pill...and...woke up in Nigeria. 

And then I remembered my predicament. Well I had two predicaments...if you remember from my Visa post (likely not)...I had opened up my immigration envelope which I was apparently NOT supposed to do...and I had no claim tags for my bike...

Given my #deltastatus, I was able to deplane fairly quickly and run through the airport to be...5th in the immigration line. This was not good enough. I still waited for a good 45 minutes as the immigration officers debated whether or not they were in the mood to work that day, as the American mother in front of me tried to insist that her son didn't need to list an "occupation" on his form ("He's my SON! His 'occupation' is 'son'!" "So...student?" "NO - SON!") and then also try to insist that he shouldn't have his picture taken / be finger printed (lolz...good luck lady), and then for a "VIP, VIP" to cut through ahead of me.

Luckily, before I got up to the front of the line, the [employer name redacted] "arrival ambassador" spotted me in line (I guess I'm easy to spot) and gave me a wave. He was behind a glass pane watching everything, but knowing that he was there and could see me with my opened immigration envelope, gave me a bit of reassurance.

Got through immigration with a stern "you should not have opened your envelope" and a meek "sorry....."

Then onto the bags. I told the arrival ambassador right away about the bike box. Both that it existed...and that I didn't have bag tags for it. He exhaled deeply. He understood my concern. And it was a legitimate concern.

We found the first two bags easily enough. Then the anxious waiting began. Obviously the bike box was going to take longer to come out...and come out to a different area...but...was it starting to take too long...what if it never even got on the plane in NYC...I had no way of describing it beyond saying it was a bike box...I had hastily sharpied my name and phone number on the side...but considering nobody even saw the handled ont he side...would they see that?...how would I communicate with anybody here what to expect...?...was it just sitting on the tarmac right now...?...and then...the doors opened and there it was! In all of its battered and beaten and taped up with "TSA INSPECTED" tape glory. Ah...so I guess this was of interest to TSA. Which worried me because of how carefully I had been sure to protect the wheel spokes so they wouldn't have stress on them...something tells me the TSA didn't pay as much mind as they were sifting through it.

My arrival amabassador not shockingly insisted on carrying the two checked bags and my bike himself. He let me wheel my pink carryon, which was nice of him. I cringed watching each step he took, imagining the wheel spokes jamming up against the frame, while he tried to angle his body up into the box to keep it from slipping...and like CAN YOU PLEASE JUST LET ME CARRY IT? No.

My poor battered, broken, inspected bike box.

First inspection agent. 

As expected, leaving the baggage claim area, you need to show your bag tags. My arrival ambassador casually went up to the agent and handed over the two bag tags I had for the suitcases. (Yes - I packed in two suitcases!) Then there was a motion towards the bike box. Then the ambassador motioned back to me, looking clueless. Then the ambassador started running off. Then the inspection agent looked at me. I looked at him. He motioned for bag tags. I motioned that my bags were running away, and went running after them.

First inspection agent cleared.

Second inspection agent.

After leaving the bag claim area, there's a customs declaration area. Weirdly (or not), there are no customs declaration forms, or the green/red declaration lanes you see elsewhere...instead...just a bunch of agents walking around and flagging down anybody who looks interesting enough to them. My bike box was interesting. We got flagged down. And then an awkward conversation ensued...
Agent: What's this?
Me: *checks with ambassador that I'm supposed ot answer* It's my bike
Agent: Is it new?
Me: No - it's about 15 years old...
[awkward pause]
Me: *proudly* ...but it's pink! So it looks pretty!
[awkward pause...I look at ambassador...am I supposed to be doing something?]
Agent: I want to see it
Me: Okay!
[awkward pause]
Agent: I want to see it
Me: Okay!
[awkward pause continues. I expect her to take it. Or to lead us to an inspection room. Or something. I said okay...I gave her permisison to see it...why is she not doing anything? I look at ambassador. After his performance with first inspection agent, I've now written off his usefulness.]
Agent: *rolls eyes* Here *hands over a box cutter*
[ohhhhh...so I was supposed to open it for her!!]
[ambassdor jumps back into chivalrous role and proceeds to use box cutter on some of the tape, but then rip the remaining tape, just so that I can cringe a litlte bit more as he struggles to rip the box open / starts ripping through the box and I'm thinking "okay okay...I need to use this same box to get my bike home! Can we please not ruin it?? Also...my poor bike!"]

Then, my friends, agent takes one cursory look at the bike, suddenly recoils, clearly repulsed by its condition, and waves me through. I hurridely run over to the box to make sure that the bike is at least still in tact. Indeed it is...she was just repulsed by what a 15 year old bike looks like.

Second inspection agent cleared.

Third inspection agent.

Of course on the way out, we had to put the bike through the xray scanner. The other bags didn't have to go through, just the bike. I wasn't worried at this point...but it was certainly just another opportunity for the bike/box to get banged up without me able to do a thing about it.

Airport cleared.

...and a week later...bike assembled!

My disassembled bike! There was also an adventure with re-assembling the bike...but that would bore you, so we're not going into it. 

My assbembled bike! Yay!!

I don't know what 98.6F is in C...but I do know that 37.5 is too high

"When a man with ebola flew into Lagos in 2014, doctors managed to isolate him & his contacts were traced. They contained it -- 8 people died. Will Nigeria be able to pull this off again with #coronavirus?" @ruthmaclean, Ruth Maclean, the newly appointed West Africa bureau chief for the NYTimes

Let me just say - I have no idea how this post will age - but I have actually been amazed by the organization and efforts I've witnessed to contain the spread of coronavirus in Nigeria.

The first case in Nigeria was announced on Friday, Feb 28. It was an Italian who worked in the oil and gas industry.

On that day, two O&G clients of ours instituted a remote work policy in order to trace recent travel and interactions of all employees before risking an outbreak in the office. This especially hurt the [current company name redacted] team as their final read out was supposed to be that day. Sad face.

The next day (T+1 days), I went to the Lagos Theater Festival in Freedom Park (more on that in my post about Uber...). Before even entering the park, a facemasked guard took my temperature* and squirted hand sanitizer into my hands. As the Uber fiasco unfolded, I stood right outside the gate of the park for ~2 minutes -- when I went to go back and enter the park, the same guard insisted on taking my temperature again before I could enter.

The next Monday (T+3 days), when I showed up at work, a similarly facemasked guard took my temperature* before I could enter the compound. Then, a different gaurd took my temperature again before I could enter the building, and directed me to hand sanitizer right inside the door. The building has since been covered with hand sanitizer -- including two bottles in the elevator!

Temperature* + hand sanitizer has quickly become a fact of life for me in Lagos...at the grocery store, in restaurants, at the bank, and of course at work.

Just chilling with some sanitizer in the elevator

Throughout all of this, the only guard that communicates the read of my temperature has been the one outside at work. Every morning, he excitedly shows me the read. Since I have no idea what celsius temperatures really mean, I just try to read his body language to understand that he's being helpful and not passively telling me I'm going to die of coronavirus. (Yes of course I know that 0 is 32 and 40 is "hot"...but I don't really know the nuanced difference between 36 and 37...do you??)

So this afternoon I went to the bank (more on Nigerian banking at some point...no way I can't post about it...) and thought it'd be nice to wait outside for a bit for my Uber to arrive. It wasn't nice. It was effing fucking hot. Harmatan (dusty season) seems to have ended so there's no protection from the sun. It just bakes. And my Uber was slow. (But you already expected that given my Uber post.) I also had to cross the scary street to get the uber. I managed to get my hair up in a ponytail and off my sticky neck but I was uncomfortably sweating in all the wrong places by the time the Uber arrived. I relished the AC, but it didn't quite make it from the front of the car to the back. And there was no value in rolling down the window to get a breeze in the Lagos traffic.

So when I arrived back at the office, I was looking beautiful. (So sorry - no photographic evidence.) The guard took my temperature...and I read from the body language that 37.5 was not okay. We stood blinking at each other. I was a sweaty mess. Surely he understood I was a sweaty mess because it's a 104 heat index and I couldn't find any shade while waiting 14 minutes for my Uber...and not because...he thought I had coronavirus...right...? We stared.

"Just go cool off" one of the other guards said.

Cool off? WHERE? I'm still outside! There's no AC, no breeze, just heat.

"Deep breaths" the guard said.

Okay...I backed my back against the metal gate it was cool. And probably ruining the back of my pretty pink button down, but some sacrafices must be made. I stood in this sliver of shade, enjoying the cool metal for about 2 minutes and then went back for another read.

37 degrees. Success!

So now I know...37 C = 98.6F...and 37.5 C = too hot (99.5 F)

Meanwhile, the Nigerian CDC has tracked down every passenger on the same plane as Patient 0 and has put them on isolation protocol. The second person from the plane just tested positive -- so Nigeria is now up to its second case. However, that patient has been on isolation since Feb 28 -- so it seems that Nigeria is well on its way to containing coronavirus much as it did Ebola in 2014. 

*Quick explanation -- "taking temperature" uses a no-touch infrared thermometer...basically it takes external temperatures...which is (I think) why I was actually able to "cool down" to get my temperature down!

A place to call home!

I've officially moved into my new apartment for the year! Taking after my parents...this officially marks the third property that I own/rent at the same time. Still got the house in Rhode Island...still paying "rent" to my landlord/fiance (we gotta discuss the returns on this one...) in Brooklyn...and now my own adorbs 1BR in Lagos!

Of course / unshockingly -- not much about this move was simple. First there was finding a place...then there was confirming a place...then there was moving in. Actually I lied. Moving in was fairly easy. I decided on Sunday "yknow what...I should just actually move today..." and I texted Amadi "yo what's up? Can you help me move?" And he agreed. But it turns out that when he agreed, he assumed that other people would do all the work of getting the suitcases out of my apartment and into his car because that's the life he's used to here. So he was a little upset that physical labor was involved. I reminded him that he was once a college athlete. That made him a little more okay with the physical labor, but not much. And then we drove to my new place and moved in.

Amadi - college athlete

So since moving in was so easy...let's go back and focus on the things that weren't easy...

First...finding a place

• Context: the real estate market in Lagos is primed for some tech disruption. Despite being way ahead of the curve on mobile banking and whatnot...I'd say Nigeria is very very behind the curve on just like...even having a website showing which apartments are available. And the websites that do exist have one outside picture of a building, or sketchily post the same pictures over and over again for multiple listings of different size/different price making me skeptical that any single apartment even exists
• The good news is: everybody knows a guy. Literally everybody is or knows a real estate agent. But agents focus in on different neighborhoods...so you gotta find your guy/gal. And then if your ideal neighborhood changes (as mine did)...you gotta find a new guy/gal.
• More context: Lagos is effing expensive. I am paying about double for my 1BR in Lagos as I do for my 2BR in RI and on par for my part of a 2BR in Brooklyn (granted - my "half" of the rent in Brooklyn is highly subsidized by my landlord/fiance). Economics would tell you that if prices are so high, then demand should be high...demand should be pushing the prices up. But every building that I toured felt creepily vacant and meanwhile, many of my coworkers live 1+ hours from the office. So um...why don't these landlords just lower the prices? There's people who would rent the places, at a lower price, and they're obviously not turning over units how they're currently priced...
• Ah...because Lagos, I'm told. TIA. Apparently most real estate is simply seen as a safe investment where the land/location will be enough for the asset to appreciate...there's no need to get returns on it on a yearly basis. So the top top Nigerians (we've already discussed inequality) just buy up apartments as an investment. They might list them for renting, but only at a high price that makes the hassle of renting worth it to them. They're not super motivated to reduce the price just to move the unit. 
• Oh...also because of me...I'm part of the problem. Expats/foreigners working for international companies, receiving generous housing allowances also drive up cost of living. 
• The process: So all this meant that I spent several days driving around with different agents, mostly sitting in traffic, and then viewing a few aparments. This was actually convenient because it gave me something to do during my otherwise friendly weekends. The agents mostly took me to all the same buildings and sometimes the same apartments. These were seemingly the only buildings that were activley looking for renters. Annoyingly, most of the units they showed me were Ground Floor, which Bray Mitchell was vehemently opposed to -- which honestly made my choice rather easy. In the end, I had actually only seen one unit that wasn't ground floor and was in my budget. It was convenient that this unit was also owned by a guy who owns a furniture store -- so it was actually decorated well and felt like a place I could live for a year. 

My attempt at a side-by-side comparison of the corporate apartment vs. the homier apartment...these are both in the same building. But the pictures don't really do justice. To be clear...this is the more corporate apartment...just couch, table and rug. I think what's not totally captured / which I don't have pictures of...is that there's really NOTHING ELSE in the room...there's a TV that's just on a wall with a cable box on the floor. Cursory curtains. And couch is very corporate.

This is the homier apartment that I'm much happier with. Picture taken at night so unforutnatley no natural lighting...I dunno...there's a bit more to the couch and coffee table...also not captured is that there's another chair, a book shelf, TV stand...like it just feels like a place you'd actually live in. Anyways...this is where I live now. 

Then...confirming a place...I first found that unit on Feb 11 -- so why did I not move until now? Ah -- of course there's a story there too

• First, we settled on a price. Well actually it seemed that the price was set in stone, but I at least negotiated to get things like wifi, DSTV and cleaner included in the price. I sent pictures to my Nigerian friends and they didn't seem to think I was being immensely ripped off so I shrugged and went along with it. 
• Then the drama started. So here's the Season 1 recap:
• Last year, Person A - who owns a furniture store - rented an unfurnished unit in this building of 1BRs
• Person A's plan was to furnish/decorate the unit nicely (because he owns a furniture store) and then sub-let it at a profit
• I was that sub-letter
• The building landlord (Person B) saw the price I was willing to pay for the unit and was like "wait a second...we want that cash...you're not allowed to sub-let...this girl has to rent one of our furnished units"
• So...re-negging on contracts is a thing
• At one point here they also threatened that they wanted to rent out the building in its entirety to a corporate client 
• Remember the story that I had already been shown multiple units all in the same building with different agents? So I already knew I didn't like the furnished units offered by the building -- their idea of "furnished unit" was a bed and a couch -- ta da! furnished!
• But I had to go back to the building to look at one of these sad "furnished" apartments. I held my ground and said I wouldn't be moving into one of them. Started to reach ot to other real estate agents to see about other options.
• Then my real estate agent when AWOL.
• Then he came back to say...Person A just decided to buy the whole damned building...? This part got confusing and I would probably have had to rewind and put sub-titles on...but I had a phone call...and it resulted in me being able to move into the originally furnished apartment that I wanted. Yay!

Then of course I had to sign contracts and pay. Being that I'm in Nigeria...I was very worried about this step. Interestingly, basically NOBODY around me was worried about it. Like I actually read the contract line-by-line and made comments for edits. My agent then just told me to make DIRECT EDITS to the contract and send back a signed copy. Didn't even feel the need to discuss with the landlord. 

At the point that I moved into the apartment...I literally did not have a signed contract from the landlord, nor had I paid for it. Nobody seemed to care. I asked so many Nigerians and everybody was like "why are you worried? Just move in." It took A WEEK after I moved in for them to send me the invoice for the apartment. 

So like...scary place to do business where contracts are not enforced and where you can have rented an apartment with the understanding that you're allowed to sublet, which is then re-negged...but also where people feel comfortable letting others move into an apartment without a contract in the first place...? 

Thank you so much for offering! But…you’re definitely not going to come visit me!

A lot of people (not all the people – for example, not my mom) – got excited when they heard I was moving to Nigeria (FOR THE YEAR – as Tejas always wants to make sure I qualify – I love you babe!) saying “ohhhh…that’s so cool…I’d love to have a reason to visit that part of the world!” I love your enthusiasm. But you’re not going to come visit.

Here’s the thing…a Nigerian tourist visa is incredibly expensive and incredibly time consuming. And I mean like…super really expensive and super really time consuming.

First off…why? Honestly, I don’t really know. It might be because tourism is not nearly as important in Nigeria as many other African countries or it might be because Trump hates Nigeria (but actually that can’t be the reason because it’s not like the US is singled out…)…but these are just guesses because in any googling of “why is Nigeria visa so expensive?” all I get are lists upon lists that say a Nigerian visa is one of the most expensive and cumbersome to get.

What do I mean by this? (1) The process sucks and (2) It’s super expensive.

1. The process sucks

 Okay – so first you have to apply for your Nigerian visa online. And you’re like “Oh awesome! So tech-savvy! You go Nigeria!” But it’s definitely NOT awesome. This online experience is the worst thing ever and will make you want to cry…for example…

• The process is 7 steps. You’ll enter your information and click through all happily…and THEN when you get to “submit” on Step 7…you’ll get an error message that says “Issue on Step 3”. No more detail. Just an Issue on Step 3. So you click back to Step 3. In doing so, you lose all your data for Steps 4-7. It’s unclear what the error is in Step 3…so you start trial-and-error…changing one thing…filling out the rest of the application…and then getting the same error message. You want to give up, but you can’t. Because this is a necessary step. This process took me about 2 hours.
• FYI – advice if you ever do apply for a Nigerian visa…I believe the issue in Step 3 was that I used punctuation in a city name – when I changed my last international trip from St. Emillion, France to Paris, France…no more issues! (Yayyy engagement memories!)
• It requires online payment. Fine. It’s 2020. Makes sense. Except…two things:
• It literally does not let you use a secure web browser…which yeah…most web browsers are. The error message you get for this really aggressively tells you to “STOP TRYING TO SCRAMBLE WEB ADDRESS” which…yeah…is what an encrypted browser will do. There’s no way to turn this off. I could only get it to work when I used Internet Explorer. (lolz)
• US credit card companies are like “oh hell no” when they get a charge from Nigeria. And then…you descend into credit card black hole…the error messages I had here were:
• First, my credit card rejected (obvi)
• Then, I called my credit card company and tried again – it got rejected again
• Then, my credit card company was like “oops – we didn’t press the button – try again”
• Then, I tried again – this time I got an error message that I had tried using my credit card too many times so the Nigerian embassy was rejecting it
• So then I had to start the process over again with a new card
• New card charged me foreign transaction fees. Sweet.

Related – my credit card has been cancelled twice since arriving because of “suspicious charges” – but every time they say “oh no you don’t have to tell us when you’re travelling…and I’m like…dudes…can you stop turning off my card every time I try to buy dinner??”

• The visa application is “seamlessly” integrated with your Google login. Like why? This meant that me and Tejas had to use separate computers to fill out our vis applications. Also meant having to go through Google 2-step verification when switching over to IE for payment…because like…obviously I’ve never even bothers to login to my google account on IE…
• If you fuck up, there’s no going back. I messed up something on my visa application and immediately called. They said they could not edit it…but that I was welcome to submit a NEW application and then submit for reimbursement for the first.
• I’ll just say…I’m so effing happy that I used Chase for my first application because 2.5 months and 25 emails later, I obviously have not seen any evidence that they will reimburse me for the first go-around. (Chase agreed to just reimburse me.)
• Obviously, I had to use a different card for my second visa application. I don’t know why. Just because obviously.

So that’s the online process. Then two (plus) more absurd things have to happen:

• For a tourist visa, you have to submit:
• Letter of invitation from somebody with a Nigerian passport (so I cannot invite you with my workers’ permit…I need to ask somebody in the office to send the invite)
• Evidence of flights and hotel (fine – a lot of countries require this)
• Your effing three most recent bank statements I am not kidding (don't worry fam - I blacked out my account number)
• You have to go to the Nigerian consulate in person for an interview on a date that they assign to you

Obviously…they charge you another fee when you go for your interview. Which gets me to the fee side…

• $160 – advertised visa application fee. Lolz.
• $20 – online credit card processing fee. Because in 2020, credit card processing fees are 12.5%
• $XX – whatever foreign transaction fee you’re charged by your credit card company
• $30 – “Embassy Processing Fee” – the charge when you go to the embassy – which is obviously a lot more than that…it’s actually…
• $85 - $95 – the “rush processing fee” at the embassy – aka the only way to maybe see your passport again
• ~$265 – to do it yourself

I had a friend try and do this himself (for him and his boss). He told me he went to the embassy every day for 2 weeks and was told that they weren’t ready. He finally took $1000 cash with him, gave it to the security guard…who came back with the passports within 5 minutes.

Let’s say…you have a job, so going to the embassy multiple times for an “interview” isn’t really convenient for you…you also have the option to pay a third party company to deal with all the waiting and bribing for you. This does not come cheap.

First of all, these companies can burn with payday-lenders IMHO. They aggressively try and steal your money. Their forms are a maze of “check this box if you don’t want us to charge you $50 to register with the US embassy abroad” (a free service you can very easily do yourself online) and “uncheck this box if you don’t want us to not charge you $100 to save a digital copy of your passport” (you mean like…email a copy of my passport to myself? Also…which option means I don’t have to pay for this??). Anyways…as much as you don’t want to…you end up having to use one of these thieves of a company…so then your costs will be:

• $60 – going rate for non-express service
• $100 – least expensive option for shipping everything. (I saved $$ by going to the office to pick the damn thing up…but like…it doesn’t cost $50 to ship within NYC)
• $290 – an increased fee from the Nigerian embassy for “third party processing” … aka they increase the required bribe if you signal that you’re rich enough to pay a third party company to go to the interview for you
• Notably – the UK doesn’t allow civil workers to pay these “facilitating payments”...and shockingly…the internet seems to think it’s a lot cheaper/easier to get your Nigerian passport in the UK
• $630+ to get somebody to do it for you

Of course - when I arrived at the Lagos airport...every American stood in line clutching the same envelope from the same agency that "assists" with the Visa application process. Thieves. 

So I love you all. But I’m pretty sure Tejas is the only person who will put up with the stress and cost of a Nigerian visa to come visit me. Actually that’s not true…I did the online process for him because I figured he’d never get through the forms himself. And my company is reimbursing for the costs of his visa. If that wasn’t the case…I’m pretty sure not even Tejas would have come to visit me!

Yes I was applying for a business entry visa (NOT a worker's permit though) -- but I submitted 7 beautifully colored and labeled folders to keep all required elements in order. Kisses. 

I'm Back!

Hi! I’m back! Since my last post in 2015, it seems that blogging has really fallen out of fashion…everybody who’s anybody now has their own podcast…or at least a Youtube/TikTok channel. At first I thought it might be fun to experiment with a new medium while here*…but I fell back on trusty blogging because...

1. I’m a bit of a long-winded story-teller and there’s no telling how long a vlog/recording would take…at least with writing, it’s a bit easier for me to go back and edit out my most meandering points
2. As much as others seem to love my “deep”, “powerful”, “raspy” and “porn star” (real quotes) voice – I could not actually imagine having to listen to recordings of it to post updates, or to put myself at risk of getting ridiculed for vocal fry.
3. As the biggest proponent of podcasts since Tatiana introduced me to Start Up…even I can admit that sometimes (read: subway, toilets), it’s easier to read something than listen to it. I want y’all to be engaged. So I hope you’re ready for a long toilet break.

 *Where’s the “here”? Ah right – “here” is Lagos, Nigeria. (pronounced Lay-gos...I think) The largest city in Sub-Saharan Africa, and home of your local Nigerian prince. I will update you once I find him. I will be here for a year doing a rotation with my company (which most of you know or work at…and if you don’t know, it’s easy to find, but in the pretense of keeping this a personal blog…I won’t mention by name). And just to precept** your questions -- Tejas is staying in NYC for the year but he and I are still happily engaged. Welcome to 2020 relationships. Love you babe *eye googly emoji*

I actually...don't have a picture of me in Nigeria yet...so here's a picture of me at the UN a few days before leaving!

So buckle up and get ready to read about life in a city of 16M people without a true public transportation system, with pollution worse than Beijing, with regular blackouts, with 10%+ inflation and with inequality…oh…um…only 8 spots worse than the US***…

…that all happens to be a country that prides itself on entrepeneurship and hard work...that is at the heart of Africa’s start up and tech scene (Yabacon Valley or Silicon Lagoon), one of the top oil producers in the world, and home to Africa's richest man. A lot going on. A lot of frustrations. A lot of opportunities. Certainly a lot of material to write about (assuming I have the time).

So air quality isn't ALWAYS worse than Beijing. But on the day that it felt particularly smoggy so I decided to check...well then it was most definitely worse than Beijing.

**This word apparently doesn’t mean what I think it means. But I can’t find the word that I mean to use here. What is the word that you use to “intercept” a question and like answer it before being asked? Hmmmm.

***Wait a second…can we talk about how a country with 25% unemployment and 50% of people living in extreme poverty – the highest rates in the world – is only 8 spots below the US on the GINI Index? Like yes…I expected it to be much worse than the US. But c’mon America. Maybe this of all things could be a wake-up call?