Accidental tourist.

The rule here is that if you go to the mainland, you go with a security escort. But what if you *accidentally* go the mainland?

Do you remember a few posts back when I wrote about saying "yes" to just about anything my friends suggested? Lately, I have been up for new experiences. Especially if a friend will be there to show me the way.

So when my friend Ignatia offered to take me to a new market I'd never visited, I said "yes!" I confidently told Ade I would meet him at home, and off we went in her car... over a bridge... a long bridge... into a part of town I had never seen.

I played it very cool; pretended were were not on the mainland as I suspected. (I certainly wasn't going to ask!) We chatted casually about our children and our husband's crazy work schedules. And when we arrived, I grabbed my purse and camera and trotted after her into the warren of shipping containers that pass for shops here. And honestly, it was awesome. It was like an open-air Wal-Mart. Cheap Chinese-made goods as far as the eye could see. Everything from bath rugs and trash cans to party supplies. Plus some tacky trinkets that would look right at home on my (late) grandmother's bathroom counter (if you could find them among the prescription bottles and hoarded beauty products).

And fabric! Beautiful, quality African fabrics for good prices. I was overwhelmed.

I bought some water colors from a bitter shopkeeper who fussed at me for not buying more, a snow globe for Bitsy's birthday (shhh, don't tell her) and some kitchen sponges.

I promised every shopkeeper (except for the rude one) that I would be back with a list to do some serious shopping. Most of the shopkeepers were ladies and very kind. We were shown around one shop by a young man around 10 years old. I will definitely come back to buy from him. He was a sweetheart. He had the prices memorized for just about everything packed into that 8-by-10-foot container.

After one-and-a-half sweaty hours, we decided to call it a day. We found the car, but not the driver, and while we waited, a middle-aged man asked me if I had anything for him. That's code for, "I want money." I just smiled mutely at him. The right thing to say would be, "I give you a smile and offer you God's blessing." Or, "Have a good day." But no, Captain Cool (me) just stared and grinned like an idiot, and then jumped into the backseat of the car as soon as I could. But my friend was not done with us. He literally opened the passenger door in the front seat and demanded money. Ignatia gave him about 30 naira (worth US$0.30), and he left in peace.

Later that day, in the car with Ade and Michael, I asked Ade if he knew this market.

"Is it on the mainland?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Is it safe?" Michael asks Ade.

Ade waffles. Apparently, it's been the home to some union violence lately.

Michael gives me a look. "Don't make a habit out of this."

So much for my dreams of cheap party supplies and never paying ridiculously inflated prices for an ironing board again. I am banished back to the land of ex-pats, to the relative safety of the islands off the mainland.

An old-school iron, heated by charcoal. This was outside a tailor's shop
where the sewing machines were all pedal-operated, of course. 

Fanning the charcoal to heat the iron. 

A local boy clowns around in front of the camera.
Several boys crowded around to see the digital image on the display.  

Satellite view of the market. See what I mean by "a warren"?