MM1 blues- Arrival in Naija July 2014

Our chaotic exit out of MM1 ( Muritala Mohammed Airport, Lagos, Nigeria) immediately erased every stored notion of rest and calm that was acquired on our trip away. Being thrown together with our compatriots; NigerIans , male, female and children of all shapes and sizes and from a variety of ethnic groups, is a feat not meant for the feint hearted. Everyone was talking/shouting at the top of their lungs. Some were complaining and some were giving instructions, while some were patently irritated by having run away trolleys bump them in the ankles and calves.
A man in a luminous grey suit, which was so bright and reflective that it could pass as silver had on a chocolate coloured polo t shirt, and the shade of brown of his shoes were almost exactly the same shade. He had bold tribal marks on his cheeks and proffered his unsolicited opinions on how things could have been better organised. I could almost see sparks flying off his metallic suit, that is how much he churned out his irritation into the atmosphere.

We were just grateful that it was not raining because the airport management of MM1 are plastic, waterproof people from another galaxy, so they cannot see any reason to get passengers to their cars via covered walkways. We were just thrust into the open and more or less left to fend for ourselves in order to reach the buses provided to ferry us to the car park!
Had it been raining, I shudder to think how things would have gone. It had rained earlier in the day, and this accounted for the whipped chocolate cream that I had to step into. I acquired a muddy hem on my maxi dress like a tribal right of passage. There was just no way of hoisting the garment and manoeuvring three different kinds of hand luggage through the teeming crowd at the same time.
Interspersed in the melee were touts holding up wads of crisp one thousand Naira notes, offering to sell foreign exchange or just break down notes into smaller denominations. They had the same effect as blue bottle flies buzzing around my ears. My first instinct was to reach for a fly swatter. Both official and 'kabu-kabu' drivers bent on attracting passengers to hire their vehicles tried to intercept our egress by running alongside or stepping in front of us to offer their servIces. If the money changers were flies, these were annoying pests of another kind which I can't quite find the adequate description for.

Soon, it was all over and we were in our car, and speedily being transported home. My head was reeling, I was utterly exhausted and I haven't been more pleased to cross the threshold into my home in a long time. For now, all is well and I can quickly forget the MM1 experience. That is; until the next time I travel out and return. 

But when will this avoidable chaos end?