Surviving traffic in Lagos is always a cause for celebration. We celebrated by going to a Christmas party. In fact, we showered and away we went. We don’t believe in jet lag.
The party was, by far, one of the liveliest work parties I’ve ever been to in my entire life. There was a nearly incomprehensible M.C who was spurring people on in dance contests, acts of physical bravery (like hula hooping), and a karaoke contest that was equal amounts awkward and awesome. All of this, while a bunch of other white folk were dressed in African garb. Classic.
Our first meal in Nigeria was a traditional African dinner complete with… um… well, I don’t know. There was pounded yam, which has the consistency, look, and taste of a dough ball. There was rice, which I was glad to recognize though it turned out to be quite spicy. I tried a spicy prawn gumbo type thing that made my ears sweat. I tried a seaweed looking thing that had a different type of hot spice that made my face breakout in bright red blotches. And, call me a snob, but I avoided the basket of fish heads.
For The Hubs, the highlight of the night was the dancing. Not because he danced. No, no. In fact, he said he had one dance in him and that was done at our wedding. What left him giggling (he’s far too big to be giggling, by the way) was the fact that many of the Nigerian women came up to me and began showing me how to dance. Something with a hip movement and a toe point thing and um… I’m not a very good dancer.
You can see the rhythm, yes?
