Expat community

Embroidery group

In my yoga class there are currently no two ladies from the same nationality. Lynne my English friend started teaching yoga in her home as she had some extensive tutoring from a master at one of their previous postings.  The classes are good and I usually feel as if I had a wonderful massage session afterwards.  Apart from Lynne the other ladies hail from Indonesia, Malaysia, Japan, Korea, Belgium, India, Nigeria,  Erithrea, Ethiopia and myself from South Africa. A few of them I do not know too well but some have become firm friends and we share each other’s joys and misfortunes.  I am fortunately to have got into this class as it is full and people are lining up on a waiting list.  There are other yoga teachers in town but Lynne is becoming very popular.



Street scene in Abuja

My letter writing has been put on the hold for about two months or more as Nick and I enrolled onto an online creative writing course.  We have just finished it and so enjoyed it.  You were suppose to spend only about an hour a day on the course but we got so drawn into what many of the other students were writing that  the hours just got gobbled up. I am convinced that there are some really good and diverse South African books on the way from what I have read from my fellow student’s work.  Don’t hold your breath I do not think it will come from us.  We did it basically just for entertainment and it was such fun. I do not think writing a book will be so much fun, it will be jolly hard work and need perseverance if you ask me.

Music instrument demonstration

My next project is an exhibition. I am going to exhibit watercolour and acrylic paintings which I have done in Nigeria, all very conservative, people and still lives.  The still lives reflect and comment on cultural diversity through my choice of objects and the people are what I see around me.  Most of my time will be spent on getting ready for this exhibition in the next three weeks, but I still intend to write and catch up on my blogs.



To get back to the diversity here, I tallied my two art classes and in one I have one of each: an Israeli, Indian, Kryzakistan, Brazilian and English.  In the other class an Italian, Dutch, Ethiopian, Korean, and (when they do turn up) 3 Nigerians. Basically they are an international community and I suspect some of them are by now more at home in the expat community world wide than at their own home country.  In fact many like us do not actually have a home in our home country and have to either stay in hotels or bum at friends or family when on home leave.

Gatheriing at Fresh Facts newspaper stand

There are also in interesting diversity of mixed married couples: Malaysian married to a German, an Indian married to a Nigerian, a South African married to a Romanian, Brazilian to a German, Ethiopian to a Swiss, French to an American and on it goes.  I think the reason most of them get on so well is that they are all more or less from the same middle class and except and enjoy each other’s quirkiness, cultures and bad English.

The contacts you make could open doors. Nick got a sincere invitation the other day to go and stay at one man’s family in Teheran.  It is not such a bad place; the guy said to Nick, it’s just the government that is bad.

One do become more globally aware and your knowledge of the different countries grow through these people you meet.  I would love to go and explore the world.  I saw on the internet someone is going to start travelling the world with no money and keep a blog on it.  Should be interesting but I guess a tad uncomfortable?

Markets

The sound of a glorious voice filled the air and it took me a while to realize it is coming from right in front of me, from the girl standing at the entrance of the textile shop where we were browsing.  She held a microphone in her hand and was facing away from us towards the isle between the shops.  I don’t think she has seen us.

While I was looking on, some drums were passed into the shop opposite us and two guys started accompanying the girl’s singing.  Soon afterwards voices from all around us in neighboring shops fell into a chorus.  It was one of those magical mornings, full of brilliant colours and textures between the ravishing West African textiles which seemed the ideal backdrop for this unexpected concert. I was most grateful for Maxine’s indecisiveness in choosing material behind me, because I were enthralled and just wanted it to go on and on.



The singing girl



It was a Monday morning and not as busy as it can get later in the week.  Shopkeepers were occupied with their own lives and we went along the stalls experience a bit of their social life.  A young preacher was sermonizing to the passing humanity through a microphone and just a few meters away were another one. Both were oblivious of each other and of, I had the feeling, the people passing by as well.  Maybe the singing girl was there for the same reason but unlike the two guys, she was definitely connecting with people.

The market isles

We moved to the vegetable market and I saw a girl standing high above the produce in her stall looking just too good not to take a photo.  When I asked if I could, she was bashful and said no, but said I should ask the guy in a stall opposite and behind us.  He wanted to know what I wanted the photo for, and eventually agreed to a picture.  When I turned around the girl, still standing high above everyone else had whipped out her phone camera and cheekily proceeding to take a picture of me, after which she agreed I could take one of her… if I bring her a photo next time I come to the market.

The guy accros the isle

An African food market is fascinating: live cat fish, the tiny dried capenta (fish the size of your finger nail) and shrimps, vegetables in bright reds, greens and yellows, eggs, beans, yams and the butchery corner, which is not for the faint hearted.  We were entertained by a detailed explanation and demonstration from a girl selling plantain (looks like green bananas).  Further on at a cooking area a bunch of people were preparing yams and other African foods out in the open.  With Maxine’s inquisitive questioning I got to know a lot more than I usually would have.

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The cheeky girl with the phone camera

As far as we went we talked and were entertained by the vibrant people and must have given them some entertainment as well.  One guy asked us in a heavy American accent if we were from America and when we told him we were Africans he lost interest in us. 

We were the only white people in the market that morning.  When I got home and opened my email there was a warning from the Australian embassy, via my Nieuw Zealand friend warning us not to go to public spaces as it might be dangerous due to the recent bombings.  I am glad I did not see it before we went.

The beadshop

A few days later we went to the (declared safe) Arts and Crafts market for tourist.  Usually I avoid these types of places as it shouts “cheap trinkets”, but not this place.  The huts are tastefully and attractively built, some of the stuff is actually made on the premises.  For instance you could poke your head into a tailor shop and can even have something made if you like. Artist’s paint away in or outside their little studio galleries.  I met the owner of my favorite bead shop at a previous visit, when I saw him using five needles in one hand digging into the bowl of seed beads.  We started talking as, he has not only an wonderful collection of beads in his shop, but is also very knowledgeable about them: the chunky glass beads, the painted Ghana beads, the thick orange “amber”, which he was honest enough to confess, is highly unlikely to be amber today anymore, the camel bone beads from Kenya and the heavy bronze bracelets which are actually old currency and many more.



Mohammed Adamu



At another  favorite of mine, Mohammed Adamu’s hut, we encountered beautiful old masks, carved wooden doors, Benin bronzes and many more He is a keen informant about all the wonderful things he collects on his travels, stones, arrow points, old currency, old music instruments and of course the usual masks.  With great pleasure he told me he is a Fulani, (the first one I’ve met) of the peoples I have heard so much.  The Fulani’s are migrant farmers who live and trek over five countries, often in conflict with stationary crop farmers.

Yes there are the irritating sellers who nag you to buy, but one tends to go back to those like Mohammed who happily and proudly impart knowledge regardless whether you buy or not. Right opposite his stall, is a stall where skins and stuffed baby crocodiles are sold. “All from South Africa”, said the shop keeper, not knowing we are from South Africa, a mistake they often make when judging us by our skin colour. Now he can nag, bringing out cheaper and cheaper stuff as you refuse, and eventually ends up with tiny beads, while telling you he is desperate to sell because his wife nags him.

Some of Mohammeds collection

I love going to these markets to see all the interesting stuff but mostly to meet and talk to the vibrant and interesting people.  The Nigerians fascinate me because as the saying go “you will find all kinds of people in all countries”, are even more applicable here. I know the fraudulent element is very much around (being corrupted by two dictatorships), but the opposite is here too: friendly, gentle, honest, God fearing people, with a “live and let live” attitude. They love life regardless of their hardships…and are willing to share a bit of that love with you…...if you are tolerant.

The two ranches



The alpha male Drill monkey



It is difficult to transfer the experience of something that has made such a profound impression on us all.  It was an a wonderful privilege to have been there, despite the insect bites covering my arms and legs (which are still driving me nuts)

The canopy walkway

What impressed me? The primates and especially the Chimps, the beautiful rain forest, the very special staff working at the Ranch and then Peter Jenkins who initiated the center more than twenty two years ago.  His wife, Lisa Gatsby, was unfortunately in the USA at the time of our visit.



Canopy platform



It was one of those chance meetings which steers one off the path you think your life is heading on.  They, Peter and Lisa, were travelling through Africa in 1988 when they decided to go to Nigeria to get cheap petrol (It is today still insanely cheap at R3.40 a liter).  They were introduced to the conservation center in Lagos through another chance meeting, and walked out of the office with the task to start protecting the highly endangered Drill monkeys.



Common room at Drill Ranch



Since then they have initiated, developed and run a rescue center in Calabar, and two rehabilitation centers, the one in Cross River State Nigeria and one in Cameroon. They take on just about any animal, and Peter rattled off the impressive number of animals large and small including several snakes species they have rescued and rehabilitated before release.  We were lucky to see apart from the monkeys and chimps, a young gorilla (named Goodluck after the Nigerian president) which has recently being rescued from a trap in the area.  The Cross River gorillas are one of the largest gorilla species (larger that Diane Fossey’s silver backs) and highly endangered.  



Chimps being fed by their overseer CJ



At the time we were at the ranch a botto (small night animal), two wild parrots, and a very tame kite that came to the ranch with a broken wing, and has been a resident of the camp for the past four years.  The main focus however are the four groups of Drill monkeys (the largest group were about 130), and the chimps.  The camps (each of which are up to about one km circumference) are electrified with solar energy during the day to keep the Drills and Chimpanzees in. The Drills are kept there until they are ready to be released. The Chimpanzee group, we saw, has permanent residence in the big camp.  They are a non breeding group, as their primary function is to foster rescued orphans. Orphans will not be accepted if the chimps had their own young ones. The chimps are the most endearing and amusing residents of Drill Ranch, especially Pablo, a cheeky character who had an extremely high temperature when he reached the ranch as a rescued baby.  As a result of this fever he was brain damaged and cannot climb trees.  However he is the life and soul, as well as the peacekeeper of the group, as he hates aggression.  If a fight breaks out amongst the group he would charge in and hit the aggressors over the head with a stick.  He is well liked in the group and at night a few of the other chimps will always overnight on the ground to keep him company.



Greedy Pablo want more food



My daughter, Alison, was kept awake the first night when the chimps, whose camp were close to their bungalow, made a huge noise. It started with an ear shattering screech in the middle of the night when one of them got bitten by a mosquito, which woke the rest of the chimps up and set them off into and ongoing uproar.

We set off the first morning, (after first observing the feeding of the Drills and chimps) into the forest for a hike accompanied by a few knowledgeable guides.   It was amazing to walk on the longest canopy walk in Africa (400m long) in the middle strata of the forest, high above the ground and still far from the tops of these enormous trees.  200 different species of ants apparently live at this level and serve as food for the many primates and other animals.  Afterwards a lovely cool down in the forest pool was a most refreshing experience.

Alison and Greg were taken on a night walk that night by CJ, one of the staff on the Ranch, mainly to look for bush babies.  They did not see much, probably as CJ had too many interesting things to tell them.  They reached a point where a strong musty smell became noticeable and CJ pronounced that he can “hear the smell of a viper or a cobra”, and swung his torch around to look for the snake.



Saying our good byes in the animal kitchen area



Reluctantly we bade the occupants of Drill Ranch (animals and humans) goodbye after a two- night stay, to head towards Obudu Cattle Ranch, a holiday resort high in the mountains on the border of Cameroon.  For me the best experiences at this ranch, which is Nigeria’s number one holiday resort, are the steep zigzag drive up the mountain, the views and, oh, the lovely cool weather.  We descended the next day with a Swiss built cable car ride of over 4 km down the mountain and set off on our drive back to Abuja.



Part of the steep climb up to Obudu Ranch seen from the cable car



I will do this whole trip again, despite…….the itchy bites, the roads and the heat.

Calabar





We had a “hell” driver on our first day from the Uyo airport to Calabar.    Speeding and passing other cars on blind spots were the main cause for anxiety.  But that is how they drive here and poor Greg, Alison and Maxine were introduced to it for the first time.  Even Nick who had experienced it before had something to say about it afterwards. He commented that there had been six drivers in the car, five sitting terrified with eyes glued to the front and the sixth one actually driving. 

On the way passing through the town of Uyo, we were stopped by armed police.  Not for speeding or any traffic offence, but because the car had tinted film on the windows which they said were illegal.  The driver produced a special permit but to no avail.  It was outdated said the bully face and our driver ended up sitting on the pavement phoning Remlords the touring company we employed.  After a long while some big shot of the company arrived and when the driver got back into the car he was grinning and muttered money, money, money.  Soon after that Nick received a sms from the company assuring us of a safe travel and apologizing for the incident – impressive!

Welcome at Calabar



Next to the river at Calabar



Nick asked the driver what if there more roadblocks ahead and he said no problem, however soon afterwards another armed guy stopped us.  The driver started nervously fumbling with the papers next to him and very reluctantly opened the window to a threatening looking serious face, which suddenly broke into a broad smile (probably because he saw our anxious faces) and started greeting us in a high pitched voice laughing and wishing us a safe travel, which sounded so hilarious that we all burst into giggles.  I expected him to do a dance for us any moment.  That was the last time we were actually stopped during the whole trip even though we went through numerous roadblocks.   



Water sellers at the Calabar market



In Calabar we were tourist. We visited the old museum, the slave museum, the river, the old Creek town and then on the insistence of the proud Nigerians their modern business complex just outside Calabar, called Tinapa.  Weird, as proud as the Nigerians are of this development (comparable to four of our Macro’s bundled together) they did not seem to use it.  There were hardly any cars in the car park and any people in the shop apart from the attendants.  When I asked our driver if the stuff here were more expensive, he said it is actually cheap.  The only conclusion was that Nigerians prefer the hustle and bustle of the markets. It actually ties up to what I have seen in Abuja as well.  But why spend so much money on such developments if they are not going to be used? Next to this complex was Nollywood with a big gorilla statue on top of the dome and cowboy sculptures outside.



Nollywood at Tinapa



We visited a busy local market next to the river and experienced the warm vibrance of the people for ourselves.  The fishermen resting beside their boats with baskets full of their catch generously invited me to take pictures.  I bought a lovely piece of fabric at the market. (Don’t ask me what I am going to do with it; I just cannot resist these fabulous textiles.)  Maxine wondered off into a small church where she saw people singing and bobbing up and down.  One of them broke away, hopping towards her and invited her to come and worship with them.



The friendly fishermen



One of the highlights of Calabar was visiting a monkey rescue center where we came face to face with several monkey species which were highly endangered. Most of them can not be found any where else than in a small part of West Africa.  These monkeys were rescued from being slaughtered as bush meat, illegal trading and exporting. People keep them as pets and to train and display them for money.  Some of the monkeys were even rescued from overseas.  We met the cute Putty nose guenon with their white noses, the Red ear guenon with long red tails; Red capped mangabey, Mona guenon, the Preuss red colobus and several other species of monkeys. 



The big ocean going ships





Red capped mangabey



These rescued monkeys and other primates and animals are being rehabilitated at centers in Nigeria and Cameroon. One off which, established and run by Peter Jenkins and his wife Lisa Gatsby more than twenty two years ago, was our next stage in this holiday. Deep in the rain forest of Nigeria was this magical place called Drill Ranch, named after the highly endangered Drill monkey which is related to the better known Mandrill monkeys. 



My next letter will be about this amazing place.









Our Cross River State trip.



Forest giant at Drill ranch below the Afie mountain



Wow what an experience! We drove through half Nigeria from the south eastern coastal town of Calabar diagonally across to Abuja, in the middle of Nigeria.  Ok, we did it the tame way by hiring a good four by four tractable vehicle with excellent drivers.  But at least we did it when many of the expats say it is too dangerous or risky.  The main reasons for being seen risky was militants operating in the south, who did occasionally kidnapped and had a preference for white people due to the possible publicity mileage they could get. However that happened mainly in the neighboring Niger delta area. The other danger was the roads itself that were at times horrendous, added to the almost suicidal driving habits of the Nigerians. 

What a beautiful country, even if very over populated.  In the rain season, which is now, it is emerald green.  My overall memory is of palm trees, rainforest, mountains and then the flat green stretch with rice paddies, orange trees, yams, cassava and other agricultural pursuits – still emerald green with no fences anywhere.  Villages dotted most of the way in an almost continuous succession of humanity. Everyday life was displayed like a story along the road, from the usual little stalls selling anything, to hairdressing, welding, coffin making, dress making, cooking going on all the way to small groups just socializing under a canopy.  We started the upward journey on a Sunday and the quaint open churches were full of people. We saw the neatly beautifully dressed people going too and from the churches.  Schools were surrounded by playing children either in bright blue, purple, yellow, or green uniforms. 

The one overall powerful impression that hit us all, from the moment we got off the plane, at the Uyo airport, until we got within an hour or so of Abuja was the neatness and cleanliness.  There was almost no litter in Calabar and the Cross River state and everything was neatly swept, from the smallest village deep in the rain forest to the streets of Calabar.  The markets were a riot of textures and colour, but still hardly anything that you could call real litter.  Market stalls along the way, which were not operating on a Sunday, were litter free and swept, even though the structures were very dilapidated.

The roads, well that’s another story.  Some of it was pretty good but most of the roads made Curry’s Post roads look very tame.  At one stretch I can remember seeing about eight or more cars in front of us, facing just about all the different directions of the compass dodging and swerving, some going in the same directions as us and others towards us – all driving on any side of the road which may enable them to go forward. ……..And that was the main road!



The six days were so packed with experiences that I will have to chop it into several letters.  The basic itinerary was; Flying to Uyo airport, as the Calabar airstrip was closed due to renovations, then driving about two and a half hours to Calabar on the first day.  We spent the next day exploring Calabar and on Sunday went to a fascinating local market next to the river before heading up North to Drill Ranch, a primate rehabilitation center deep into the rain forest below the Afie Mountain. We spent two nights and a most memorable day at Drill Ranch. On Tuesday we headed towards Obudu ranch, climbing a magnificent very steep 1350 meter zig-zag road in the process. We descended the mountain the next day with a four kilometer long cable car before proceeding with the about seven hour drive back to Abuja.



In our party were Nick and myself, Alison and her friend Greg and Maxine Smith, who was brave enough come and visit to us in Nigeria. Maxine described the necessary preparations to be able to visit this country as like a military operation. However, she has travelled extensively around the world described this country as one of the few places that has made a remarkable (and probably unexpected) impression on her.







Spot the parked car on the way





Rice fields







Roadside shop





Cable car at Obudu Ranch



Nigerian wedding



Nick am me with the bridal couple



 Not a traditional wedding,…… a “white” wedding yes, but different in a way.

I could not go to the church ceremony. However I did go to the reception where I was entertained by the descriptions of Nick and some of his colleagues.

Nick had to drop me off at my art class at ten on a Saturday morning and was a bit late arriving at the Catholic church. He did not expect it to start on time, being in Nigeria, and found it did actually start on the dot and he was late – but still he was one of the few early arrivals.  The cleaning lady from his office was the only one from the South African High Commission who was there before him. 

He was a bit puzzled when the bridesmaids came down the isle, all with someone holding their trains while they walked (or rather danced) down the isle. After the sermon the bridal couple was asked to come forward to have their ceremony performed and to his surprised it was not the bridal couple whose wedding he was supposed to attend.  When the ceremony was completed another couple was asked to come forward, this time the bride was his colleague, and then after that another one and another one – altogether five weddings all squashed into one event. What happened to the idea that the bride is the most important person at her wedding? 

Were they trying to save money or what? We figured it out at the reception that it must be a practical solution to a local problem.  People arrive so late for any event in Nigeria that to have five weddings in one morning and hour apart will never work here as the last one will be hours late and imagine the confusion of the guest of who goes to which wedding and when. So in peak season when lots of couples want to get married on the same day they have to share. Although the event started at the right time the guests come trouping in throughout the sermon, even some of the brides came rushing in late, all dancing down the isle with their train of supporters.

At least each couple had their own reception.  The South Africans all sat at three tables bundled together.  We sat next to the throne intended for the wedding couple and could see the proceedings fairly well. We each received a beautiful printed booklet of 40 pages into which every detail of the whole ceremony (order of mass and program) was printed. Everything, and I mean everything was in it: the words of the hymns, words of the rites, prayers, readings, sermon, rite of marriage, consent, exchange of rings (mercifully just once) etc, etc, then the order in which photographs will be taken (2 pages), then the names of all involved including the 8 ministers. Needless to say the church service lasted almost three hours.  Last in the booklet was the reception program – only one page.  This was all bound in a cover with the design of the official fabric the guests (male and female) had to wear.  In Nigeria family and close friends and some colleagues all receive (or buy?) the same fabric to have their outfits made for the wedding.  We gratefully did not receive and was ignorant of the custom.

Although the hall was draped and tables set with golden plates and tall floral arrangements there was not a fresh flower in sight – all artificial even the bride’s bouquet. Again it was practical, because in this heat the real thing would probably have looked depressing.

In Nigeria a bride seems to dance a lot.  They danced in and out of the church.  They danced into the reception, this time with hubby in tow, and then danced for money.  Money got strewn over the couple just like in some cultures in the Mediterranean areas.  But what amazed me it was the bride that kept dancing for the money for a long time (which got stuffed into her bodice, underneath her dress and wherever).  The new husband just occasionally joined her to get a note behind the ear.  A bridesmaid collected all these notes in a big black plastic bag.

And then the presents:  the couple sat on the throne and the guests brought the presents and presented them with it.  Then the guest received presents from the couple (quite embarrassing I found). We went away with specially printed bags with the couples name and wedding date, filled with plates, mugs, a bowl, notepads and pens – a bit like a marketing campaign. A topic for discussion came up amongst us South Africans when one guest brought a present either too big to be wrapped or deliberately revealing: a big box with a baby stroller printed on it.  I will not repeat the comments on this one.

I wonder what their traditional weddings will be like.  In the market I have encountered some old wedding beads, some especially for the bride and others for the groom as well as special headgear.  I would like to see that, …. maybe one day.







Bridesmaids preceding the bridal couple at the reception.



Bridal couple dancing into the reception area





Cutting the cake







Social life

Social life

The evening was dusty and hot, and traffic chaotic but after a few confused circles through the Osokoro district, we found Nelson Mandela drive.  We were due for a mystery evening, not knowing who our hosts were going to be and neither who the other guest were.  We just knew there were going to be eight of us.  We were straining to see the numbers to find number 47 (a German embassy compound), when another car approached from the other side and enter the gate before us.  In it was a big dark Nigerian looking man and an Indian woman.  The assumption that he was her driver turned out incorrect.

They were actually husband and wife. Nelson, the Nigerian husband, told us once we were seated at the dinner table, that when he was posted in Bombay working for Pepsi, he saw this woman and straight away knew that she was going to be his wife.  I looked at his wife, Christine, who with a twinkle in the eye, she said that she had no choice.  They are quite new in Abuja as they were living in Kano (Nigeria) for the last (I think) fifteen years.  What in interesting couple they were.  I became quite friendly with Christine afterwards and will write more about her at another time.

Our hosts were as expected German and turned out to be the military attaché, and his wife, taking the soup, which I brought for the starter, to the kitchen, I could see that this was not a stereotype German kitchen.  The fairly chaotic state had the imprint of one or more toddlers and probably more children in the house.

The forth couple was late and we were all wondering who they were. Eventually the host decided not to wait any longer because we had no idea who to contact and even if they were coming at all.  We were seated on the veranda and were just going to start with the soup when this Nigerian couple arrived.  Some knew them, and others like us, recognized them from sight, as they are quite active in the church we attended.  Ricky was a pastor and his wife a formidable lead singer.  They have recently returned to Nigeria from a 15 year stay in the UK.

As everyone was fluent in English, albeit with different accents, the discussions were stimulating with often differing opinions about religion, politics and just life in general in Nigeria, a most successful evening.

A social gathering of a different kind took place last week.  A few spouses of Southern African diplomats went for a coffee morning at Life camp near the Jabi Lake.  Esther having previously phoned found out that they open at nine o’clock.  Arriving some time past nine we found them still cleaning the place and we were forced to sit outside near the pool, which was not too bad as it was not an extremely hot day.  These ladies are by now all well acquainted and they did not hold back.  Right from the start they gave the poor waitress a hard time. First with ordering and changing orders, getting her totally confused, and then giving special cooking instructions which she had to relay to the cook.  When the hot chocolate arrived in an ordinary small cup, a big fuss was made.  The waitress went back and returned after a while with another cup half full more hot chocolate.  Not acceptable!  However when she told us she made this one herself because the man in the kitchen was impossible, they took pity on her and assured her that they were not criticizing her.  From then on it was dirty forks sent back, seats and tables rearranged, to such a degree that when she brought the plates, she whipped them of the table one by one as soon as she put them down, as she realized they were not clean enough.  She went back to wash them all herself.  Then one of the ladies complained that her sandwich did not have tomatoes and onions on.  She came back with a plate laden with quartered tomatoes and onions.  The chicken of one of the ladies was terribly dry. After feeling initially slightly embarrassed I sat back and started to enjoy this spectacle.

When the bill came the real fun started.  A tax as well as a service charge was added and they demanded to see the manager, who eventually reluctantly came out (I guess he was the difficult “white” man in the kitchen).  They gave him a rousting asking what was the service tip for as they broke no glasses and were they supposed to tip the waitress as well.  He hardly said anything.  The whole argument was that he was probably pocketing what should have been the tip for the waitress.  She was hovering in the background looking very upset.  This changed when after we paid the bill, and the manager disappeared, they quietly slipped a few notes into her pocket and told her not to let the manager see it.  Needless to say she was beaming.

My pictures to today are an expression of the morning.