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.