Ship graveyard

The shouting was for the benefit of the captain on the boat sent to fetch us. Apparently he was guiding the boat into the wrong area. I walked to the railing, and the scene of the commotion, and peered over the edge. I had been expecting a larger boat and was surprised at what I saw. There were two men on an 18-foot speedboat that had two engines on the back. The seating area was covered and the wheel was up front (sorry Papa, I don’t know the proper terminology).

I was given a life jacket to wear and then instructed to walk down the plank and get settled on the boat. Stuart followed me and we both took a seat on the same cushioned bench inside the boat, at which point the boat tilted heavily in our direction. My eyes went as wide as saucers.

The boat captain began bringing aboard our luggage and arranging it on the boat to even out the weight. The extra packages of life vests and supplies for the island were also brought on board. There were three Nigerians on board with us – the captain, another employee, and an armed policeman.

The smell of the petrol was overwhelming and made me start to feel nauseous. Soon the engines were fired up and we were on our way. As we moved across the water I began to relax because I have always enjoyed boating. The policeman had taken his seat next to Stuart and was closest to the back end of the boat, with the other Nigerian sitting across from him.

Suddenly there was some lively conversation between the two and not understanding their language, I turned to Stuart for explanation. Turns out the policeman inadvertently had his machine gun pointing straight at the other fellow. They joked about it and the laughter eased any remaining tensions I had.

Our boat ride was to take nearly an hour and twenty minutes so Stuart spent the time pointing the area out to me. The banks of the river were lined with heavy forest – the trees were short and had a special name I have forgotten. There were numerous other vessels sharing the water with us from small wooden fishing canoes to large ocean tankers. Here and there small fishing villages sprung up along the coasts resembling a lot of the housing we had seen in town.

There were boats permanently lodged in the river, some near the shore while others were in the middle, casually buried there. Stuart pointed out one tanker that had caught fire and its carcass had been left in the middle of the river to rust.

At one point the policeman stood up and began motioning to us. The bench we had been sitting on had given way and we were sinking into the storage compartment underneath it. As we lifted up the cushion to investigate there were several roaches that scurried away from the sunlight. I was disgusted but tried to remain calm because I knew there would be many more to come during my stay.

The rest of the trip was pretty quiet as we all sat and waited. The captain maneuvered us through the wake of other boats, occsasionaly causing the boat to rise up in front and slam down hard. Stuart moved to sit across from me and look out the other side, and he would turn towards me after we had crashed over the wake and frown. I didn’t mind in the least and was secretly hoping for more waves because it broke up the stillness and boredom of the long ride.

Stuart shifted forward in his seat and pointed his finger ahead. I looked up and saw the island in the distance. I began to feel excited because we were finally going to be there, and excited about getting to see our new home.

To the dock

I didn’t care for the tea at all and after asking Stuart about it discovered that the funny taste came from condensed milk. It seems that making tea with this is quite popular here and I am not a fan.

We were summoned back downstairs into the van to continue our journey. As we climbed in we noticed the back cargo area was piled high with life vests and other boxes to be transported with us on the boat. Our journey by water was arranged to take us from Port Harcourt to the island where we would work and live because there is no other means of transportation to the island except a tiny airstrip used exclusively by one of the other oil companies.

Soon our driver took us back into the street and I could feel my anxiety level rising. I asked Stuart how long it would be before we arrived at the boat dock and he replied that we had about a 20-minute drive. We didn’t know at the time that we were going to a different boat dock than usual due to some unrest with a shipping company.

We drove through more mud soaked streets that were lined with little wooden, makeshift shanties. These huts did not have running water or electricity and I was humbled at how happy the people seemed going about their daily routines. I observed that they all looked well fed and decently dressed. I am told the Nigerians are a proud people despite the rampant and extreme poverty. Upon reflection, this area seemed to be in better shape that what was to come.

After a while we turned off the main road into an Army base. This road also had a lot of traffic and was bombarded by motorbikes. Even though the streets were wet, the riders wore no helmets or jackets for protection. To me it seemed as if people caught a ride where they could – I saw several pedestrians walk up to bike riders and attempt to give them money for a ride, or walk up to a person in an automobile and try to buy a lift to work.

Along this road were several neighborhoods surrounded by high walls made of either concrete or wood. As we passed I saw row upon row of shanty housing cramped tightly together as if to squeeze in as many people as possible. They were made of scavenged scrap wood and appeared crooked and doomed to fall over at any moment. The alleys were deep with a mixture of sewage and garbage-laden mud, and dogs and other animals scurried about unrestrained. Most people seemed absorbed in their various morning chores such as hanging out freshly washed clothes or sweeping out their shanties. The children, waiting for the school bus, were chasing each other dressed in their already soiled school uniforms. Some groups of people sat together as if that was either their sole activity for the day, or they had yet to go home from a previous long night. In either case, they appeared weary and dishevelled.

All the while our mobile policeman sat quietly in the passenger’s seat scanning the scene. I was grateful for his presence even though the commuters did not appear to be armed.

As we neared our destination the housing areas decreased and were replaced with crude businesses set up in the same shanty type buildings. Crowds of vendors were busy setting out their wares for sale including blankets, clothing and wheelbarrows. The selection was diverse and appeared made up of items either previously used or stolen. Thievery is extremely common in this area and was reflected in this scene.

One of my co-workers, a South African, just asked me what I was earnestly typing on my computer. I told him I was recounting our trip to the island and mentioned that I was having a hard time remembering the details. His response:

“You know, the brain has a way of blocking out traumatic experiences.”

I wouldn’t say the experience was traumatic per se, but it was definitely shocking and frightening especially when coupled with the realization that I am no passing tourist – this is my new home.

Soon we turned into a gated area protecting the entrance to the marina. We drove through a yard littered with many boats resting on land – some of which were unrecoverable and rotting away where they lay. The skies had darkened somewhat and the general setting was depressing to me – dark, dirty and foreboding.

The van came to a halt not far from the edge of the dock at which time Stuart and I were instructed to get out and wait. The steward began gathering our bags from the rear of the van as he prepared to load them on the boat. There were several Nigerian men, obviously employees of the shipping company, standing at the railing of the river in their blue hard hats. There was about a six-foot drop from the railing to the water, obscuring our impending vessel from my view. The river was a brown and muddy color and stretched out much further than I had imagined in my mind.

Suddenly, the crew turned towards the water and all began shouting at something below.

In the new home

Here is the entry you all have been waiting for!!!

Stuart and I have arrived safely in Nigeria and have made it to our home. It was an interesting, scary and eye-opening trip to say the least and I hope to post details soon.

We had a lovely flight from London to Port Harcourt – again I felt very spoiled as we were in the upper class section and had our every need attended to. That was by far the best airplane ride I’ve ever had – including the complimentary back massage.

We arrived in Port Harcourt to the smallest airport I have ever seen. There was basically the tower control terminal and a few passage ways extending out from it. The plane pulled around and parked right in front of it all, they extended stairs, and we disembarked. It was the only plane there.

Then we walked into a large room that resembled a warehouse, with ceiling fans on the windows and no air conditioning. It was full of Nigerians with several sitting behind a desk – these were the immigration agents. I was so nervous I could hardly stand it so I let Stuart go first. I decided to keep my mouth shut and hope I made it through. They started to give Stuart a bit of a hard time until he told them he has lived in Nigeria before and suddenly we were passed through.

We went over to the only baggage carousel and waited while Stuart befriended a couple of Nigerian men to help us load up our bags. Once that was done, he quickly paid them a little cash and told one of them to help us get past the customs agents.

If I was nervous before, it was increased ten-fold by this point. We took the five suitcases over and the customs agents (about 4 of them) had Stuart open one of the cases. If they don’t like you they can go through everything piece by piece and confiscate what they want to keep. Stuart must have said, “my friend” and “mate” several times as he reassured them that we had only clothes with us. Finally, after he passed them enough money, they let us through.

We entered into a large crowd of waiting Nigerians, mostly men. We met up with a Nigerian chap from the company as well as the policeman that would travel with us – he was an armed guard dressed in uniform wearing a green beret and carrying a AK47 type automatic machine gun. Apparently no one messes with these fellows because their policy is to shoot first, ask questions later.

We all climed into a Toyota van and started our hour drive through Port Harcourt on our way to the boat dock. This part of the journey was the most shocking, and most terrifying to me. I sat behing Stuart in the van and tried to become invisible as I clung to him.

We saw the most indescrible poverty imaginable and at times were surrounded on all sides of the vehicle by other commuters, motorbikes and pedestrians. I felt that we were completely out of place and stuck out as targets. Since it is the rainy season, the grounds were beyond soaked and there was mud everywhere as well as puddles and large patches of water. The streets were lined at times with wooden shanties, surrounded by trash, rusted vehicles left to rot, and children playing in the filth. It was beyond shocking to me eventhough I had prepared myself for the worst.

This was the longest ride of my life. At one point I was brave enough to pull out my camera and take a photo, but the Nigerian riding in the seat behind me politely told me to put it away, that it was not a good idea. I quickly saw his point and was embarrased.

Turns out there had been a big rain on the island that morning so our boat was going to be delayed. We were routed to the company villa in Port Harcourt to wait. I felt a little better once we were locked inside the gates of the villa but I was still completely shell shocked and nervous at what our new home was really going to be like. Stuart and I sat in a musty room and drank a glass of tea while we waited.

Waiting for de plane

On Sunday, we had a nice breakfast with the family (after a maddening dash to pack, get dressed and ready and load the car). Ms. Marge again out did herself with a wonderful meal.

Then it was time to go and the tears came. I first got sad saying goodbye to my cat (I feel guilty) and then went downstairs and the family was lined up outside.

Saying goodbye is just not pleasant and no matter how many hugs you give, it doesn’t get any better.

We’ve been in London for a few days, said goodbye to the girls, and I am presently now in the lounge at the airport waiting for our flight that leaves in less than an hour.

The stay in London was nice because I had an opportunity to sleep after the events of the week. It was a tough week with all of the running around and I can’t believe how quickly it went by. I wish I had had more of a chance to sit and relax with relatives and friends.

Well, they’ve called us for the flight. Now I am officially off to Nigeria and my new home. I hope to be able to update you all soon.

I would write more but I just wrote several emails detailing the trip and now I’m spent on words.

Hugs and kisses to all….

We’re off!

Yesterday was a lovely day, and so many things happened that I will try to write about at a later point, the best of course was the vows we took.

I was so grateful to all the friends and family who were able to join us, and thought of those folks that weren’t able to come but were there in spirit.

I don’t have many photos yet of the whole affair, but hope to come by some soon.

Today we leave on our journey to Nigeria. I am going to miss everyone terribly, but this is going to be quite an adventure!