Back to relentless Lagos. Today we’re on our way to Ota, in the Ogun State north of Lagos. My driver, Lawal, is from that area, one of many reasons I insist on working with him. The other is the fact that he literally rescued me last time at Lagos airport when things started going wrong. You really need to have someone waiting for you at arrivals, especially at night. Since taxis aren’t allowed to queue in front of the airport, the drivers walk you out into the parking lot. The cheerful character touting “taxi?” may just take you for a ride.
On that visit, the hotel shuttle driver went AWOL for a few hours. Lawal never got the word that he was not the pickup guy. Very awkward conversation. But he knew I was in trouble and hung out just in case. When I cried “uncle,” he got me out of there in a hurry. A good driver in Lagos is literally a life-saver. His English is much better than my Yuruba, but communication is still challenging. Lawal’s standard response is “no problem.” I take that at face value.
Off to work. We pull out of the hotel parking lot and I watch the security guards pass a mirror on a stick underneath an incoming car, searching for bombs. Then they use a chemical sniiffer. The “boot” and its contents are checked thoroughly. The gate with electrified razor wire rolls aside and we’re off.
I like Ota. It is very calming after the ball of nerves that is Lagos. With that calm comes much greater poverty. Lawal showed me the street where he lives, and I wonder just who gets the king’s ransom we pay for the driver service. Clearly not the guy in whose hands I put my life. I have to pay the bill in cash at the end of the week. In Nigeria, the largest note you can get is 1000 Naira. The 2nd largest economy in Africa runs on $6 bills. We’ll make our nightly stop at an ATM, like we did last night and will again tomorrow. I squirrel it away in the hotel safe until it’s time to go. $300 in grimy bills make pocketing your wallet like folding a phone book.
I’m leaving now. 5 days of intensive work with 4 clients. They (and their business results) are best to judge how I did. We addressed critical needs and some tangible progress was made. The proof will be in the number of jobs we create. That’s my prize. I know some jobs have been added and saved, and that’s a good thing. I also know a company that had to let some workers go to stay afloat. Small business is a struggle anywhere, especially here.
We developed value propositions, customer segments, hiring plans, worker motivation, corporate goals, and factory improvements. I coached on a number of topics – a lot of it leadership training. I really like that part of the job. Throughout my career at HP, especially in later years, I got more of a kick out of mentoring rising stars than cool assignments. I didn’t know this job would fit me like a glove. I guess I’m really lucky in both my careers.
And now… Murtala Muhammad Airport. Gateway to Lagos, Nigeria and most of West Africa. Check in was good. I’d arrived ‘way early since there it’s too easy to lose an hour in Friday traffic. I glide over to security where the stern lady is holding the metal spoon I carry for measuring various nutritional powders. The agent has decided that it must go. Of course, rationality triumphed over common sense and I complained. She made an ominous cutting motion across her jugular vein. Fortunately, I resisted the urge to point out that there were a number of pens and pencils in my bag that could do the job better. When you’re in a hole, stop digging. Plastic spoon from now on.
Murtala Muhammad is festooned with many beautiful 37” displays, one at each gate and then some. Every one of them had an identical, sincere welcome message from the Federal Airport Administration of Nigeria (FAAN), but no departure information anywhere. Really. No list of planes and gates. Nothing. But I really felt welcome. What more could I ask for?
Well, anything except Arik Air. The flight I’d booked on Africa World was cancelled 3 days ago. I was relegated to the “Wings of Nigeria.” Their concept of time is unparalleled in West Africa. My best flight so far with them was only 2 hours late.
So hours after the scheduled departure time, I left my 2nd lounge of the night to find the gate area empty. Panic rises. The woman selling cookies nearby has very specific details about the reassignment to the other terminal. So, the system works – in its own way. I speed walk over to find a long line at the gate while our baggage is searched again. Then the attendant waves at some folks walking down the corridor and tells us to “just follow them.” We each blindly follow the guy in front. Downstairs, out onto the tarmac, around aircraft, dodging baggage vehicles to the correctly labelled plane.
A dozen lost passengers finally catch up with us, the doors are shut and we’re ready to go. But first, regulations require an insect spray. The cheerful voice on the PA tells us that if we’re sensitive we should close our eyes. It is, after all, a “non-lethal” spray. Wait, non-lethal? Isn’t some living thing supposed to die when you spray this stuff? Will they just sleep it off until the plane returns to Nigeria? I plan to hyperventilate and hold my breath until blue.
A million and a half miles and I still hate to fly. Turbulence brings me closer to God than the exuberant Masses in Accra. You’d be amazed at how many childhood prayers you can remember on a roller coaster at 30,000 feet. As a special bonus we had not one, but two screaming babies. 40 minutes is a very long time.
Immigration at 10PM is a root canal that you all can picture. My only comment is to the two young ladies with diplomatic passports that shot them to the front of the line: I heard you talking about coming to Accra just to hang out at Labadi Beach. Official business, my ass. That said, bien jouée. If I’d had one of those babies, I’d be home and unpacked while everyone else was still getting fingerprinted.
