An Evening in Lagos

There are weekends, and there are wild weekends. Then there are wild weekends in Lagos. The Lagos nightlife may not be nearly as well known as that in Miami, Paris, or Las Vegas. It may not even be nearly as wild as Nairobi. But it scores, and how!

Friday started off bad. I mean really bad. You would have no idea how bad it was unless you have had a splinter stuck in your rectum for ten days. We had a new housemaid. The older one, though, did not let go easily. She scared the new one away, and she left too. So now, there is no maid. For someone who knows the joys of having a maid, a maid-less existence is sad, almost depressing. It casts a pall of gloom over the entire household.

As bad as Friday was, Saturday could not have started off on a better note. Actually it could have if we had a maid, but under the circumstances it was like the smell of fresh earth after the first rains. Work was fun. Ah yes, sometimes I do enjoy work. Post that, the weekend began.

It kicked off with a movie - Casino Royale. Man, what a Bond film! I so absolutely fucking loved it. And that despite it deviating from the Ian Fleming book. The movie done, we hit Victoria Island. Now VI is the place to be in Lagos. We hit a few nightspots - three. And what spots too!

There is something about a Nigerian woman's butt. It is booty in the true sense of it - round, curvaceous, tight - and they know exactly how to shake it. Currently, there is a trend - a very healthy one too - of wearing low-rise (really low-rise) jeans/shorts/skirts without underwear. Everywhere you see, there are butt-cracks on display.

If you are one of those whose vision flows top-down, then I don't think you would ever see it for the bustline would put Beyonce out of business. I don't know if I am a tit-man or an ass-man, but hey I am not complaining.

We had a woman at our table. Of course, she was hot. From what I have seen of Lagos, they only have hot women here. It is almost as if there is a caveat - be hot to be in Lagos. Anyway, I think it was the Jack Daniels. But I could not help flirting with her. Nah, it was me. Jack Daniels or no Jack Daniels. The Jack Daniels helped though, especially once she went off with one of my housemates.

It is a little blurred after that. I do remember getting home at half past three, switching the air-conditoning on, and hitting the sack with all intentions of sleeping the morning off. Alas, man proposes and housemate disposes! His alarm went off at 8:30. Who does that? On a Sunday!

It is quite mundane and boring after that. All the homely things were done, which basically translates to getting supplies for the week. That is as homely as we get. Dinner, badminton, table tennis, and a movie later it was bedtime.