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12:05pm 16/09/04 Lagos



Laying in my king-sized bed, staring out through the reinforced steel bars that are supposed to make me feel safe from intruders, but in reality they just turn me into a prisoner. Past the balcony and the sattelite dishes lies the back court yard, with the staff quarters, a straw-roofed patio, the swimming pool (which I've been told belongs to the MD, and which I'm not to touch) and an eight foot concrete fence, garnished with rolls and rolls of razor wire. Beyond the fence flows "Five Cowrie Creek", the body of water that separates Victoria Island from Lagos Island, and is the filthiest waterway I've ever witnessed.

All along the 'creek's' edges are endless piles of rubbish, which sometimes inhabits the middle of the waterway, preventing boats from travelling along it, as it clogs up their propellers. Yesterday evening, on my way home from the ill-fated squash game that left me crippled due to a ligament tear in my left calf, I saw a young man pissing off the bridge. This is the bridge I cross every day on my way to work, where hundreds of hecklers and beggars spend their days chasing dollars, along with the chaotic traffic jams that fill this city with a thick smog of carbon monoxide. No big deal, just a "piss in Five Cowrie Creek".



This is only my fourth day in this godforsaken place, and already I am incapacitated, without travel insurance. I hope it's just a torn ligament, and not a snapped tendon, although it sure did both feel and sound like the latter. I need medical advice, as I have no fucking idea how long a snapped tendon will take to heal. Some tendons need to be operated to fix. That'd be just my luck... get fucking sent home, with no money. All this for nothing. If it'd happened after just one more week, I'd at least have earned enough to pay off my debts.



22:38pm  Same day... same place... same room.



At least this notebook is some consolation... finally I have some proper paper to write on.



So much for the buffed and tanned image I had promised N*** for my return. Been drinking every night, eating lots of crappy junk, and now I won't even be able to exercise for another month. And the tan? Well I spend most of the day indoors, either in the neon-lit, air-conditioned site, or in my reinforced steel fortress of a hotel room... also air-conditioned. The only time I experience the tropical heat that surrounds me, is when I walk to and from the front door of my 'hotel' to the 4WD that picks me up and drops me off for work each day. Oh, and the 50 metre walk to the cafeteria where we have lunch.



At approximately 6pm this evening I got to witness one of the most disgusting aspects of third world environmental management. I watched the tide come back - whatever it's called - and with it came all the rubbish that had washed down it earlier. It was like a giant toilet being flushed in reverse, and on top of all the faeces was tons of plastic wrappers, cups and every imaginable type of litter. It covered the width of the river, shore to shore, which is about 150 metres across, and it didn't stop coming for at least half an hour. No big deal, just a piss in Five Cowrie Creek.



(later, but before midnight)

Fuck! Beginning to bleed out of my ass yet again. Perhaps it goes with the job? What else is there to do at night, in an extremely volatile society, but to sit in your hotel room and get drunk? Last time I bled regularly was back in the mid 90's - when I last worked as a travelling installer. Maybe it's just karma... the inevitable consequence of selling your ass for quick cash?

*     *     *



I crack open yet another bottle of Castle Lager and make up improvised mock-lines in my head, for the dialogue to the muted B-grade "action thriller" broadcasting on my cable TV. I take a generous swig of beer and sigh. I feel like a character in one of these cliche movies. The special agent who's gone off on a mission, leaving his beloved family and pets behind. I shed tears at every emotional scene in romantic dramas, even every time man's best friend makes an appearance. On the flight to Johannesburg I remember waking up from a brief slumber, expecting Spocky to be in my vicinity and available for a hug. I can't describe the heartache I felt, when I soon realised I was 10,000 metres above the Indian Ocean, far away from all my loved ones, headed towards months of isolated hell. Just to pay off my debts. Just to keep those nagging claws of western society at bay for just a little while longer. What then? When it's all over, what will I do? Who will I pimp my ass to next for survival?