Nigerian countryside

Jetting through the Nigerian countryside with the Mitchells, Harper, Andrew in the back and our driver Philip, when Abba’s dancing queen comes on and I am slapped with a memory of living with Aitor on California Ave in West Seattle. Pie minutes, the grilled ham and cheese sandwich maker and the swimming pool bed dance across my thoughts. Philip slows every minute or so for massive pot holes and people dressed to the nines for church. It is a little like driving in a video game. There are no lanes and people just use their horns to let people know they are there and not to run them off the road. The horn is a safety device rather than and instrument of disrespect. Now, Donna summer is on the “ Bitches from Hell” compilation as we slow into a little town. Sandra rolls down her window and the smell of garbage; rancid water and heat enter the car. People are crammed into taxi’s or mini-vans probably at least ten-fifteen people per car. Oil trucks litter the side of the road. I assume most of them are functioning though most of them are in some sort of state of disrepair. The sides of the roads look like truck graveyards. Then, we pass some actual burned out stripped trucks and I can tell the difference between functioning trucks and broken trucks.
“Ahh Freak-out” plays now. And it is freaky. Freaky how extreme poverty becomes the norm as I glance out at the shanty’s literally feet from the car. Pieced together with scraps of wood and tin. Philip casually says “someone is dead. When we ask he says traffic is bad because of an injury.” Not unlike the states. We pass the accident. “I will survive” pipes in and I hope so… for the accident victim.
We pass an ad for a phone company, “I call my Madam for free”. I think I am a “Madam” and realize how many of me can justify and ad campaign and advertising. I am a little sickened and of course guilty. We are coming into what I think is the outskirts of Lagos proper. It looks like the outskirts of many major cities in the states, bigger industries, billboards, building supplies, car dealerships, truck and suburban life. We even pass a huge gas station with a “mini mart” and lumber mill like back home only ten years old. Traffic is getting thicker as we are at least half an hour from home. I see more apartment buildings. Ricky martin comes on matching the quick pace of traffic. I would giggle to myself that Rick M is on the “Bitches from hell” cd, but a car comes so close to us that I have to stifle a gasp.
People are staring into our car and I remember, "We are a car full of white people." We enter a real freeway and Philip tailgates a car in the fast lane. I am warmed by the familiarity and smile. Philip backs off. He is a good driver.
“Bananarama?”
We pass the airport and I recognize it from a news segment about street and city management. We are passing a village built on stilts. It has been here for probably centuries and I can imagine what life was like here before a city. Harper is waking up but not yet. We pass an open burn pile and the smell turns my stomach. We are nearly home. Janis Joplin sings of her Bobby McGee and I am thankful.