A Worm Out of the Bucket

I rolled on my side on the bed to peek at the time. It was twenty-five minutes past seven.

“Wake up,” I said to my wife and tapped her.

I knew we were waking late for the things we wanted to do this morning at this beautiful Durban beach resort in South Africa. We had received an official invitation months before and here we were, my wife and I. Instinctively I knew what had gone wrong this morning; why we are waking so late. Back in Nigeria, my waking up early is somewhat guaranteed by several Free Wake up Services.

There are more than enough of these free services in Effurun to force me out of bed in time to execute my morning chores and still have enough spare time to kill on sundry trivia.

If the nondescript gunshots by the mobile policemen guarding the big-for-nothing men in the neighbourhood do not get me started off my bed at three o’clock in the morning, the bedlam from churches at five o’clock is guaranteed to do the trick.

Years before, it used to be an isolated wail from a faraway mosque that would rouse citizens from their sleep. These days the churches have taken over with gusto. Oh, how they holler, these God 'worshippers!' The one next to our house has managed to partially deafen my wife. Now a doctor says we need $8000 to buy her hearing aids. Tell me where to pluck that kind of money from. Let us just leave these hollerers alone this time. I have written enough about their absurd worship ways in my two books, Getting to Maximum and Managing Church Building Projects.

If either of those two sure bankers does not get me out of bed, the electric power company is certain to do it. The National Electric Power Authority is not the most efficient electricity company in the world. They create the darkest darkness and wield quite some authority to do it. I never call them by their new sobriquet—Power Holding Company of Nigeria. As far as I am concerned, it is absolutely useless changing names for the same inefficiency. When I was a lad and the company used to be called Electricity Company of Nigeria, they were more efficient. It seems to me that the more sophisticated their name becomes, the more pedestrian their services get.

When the Power Holding Company holds their electricity, two things happen in quick succession: my room air-conditioner goes off; then a cacophonous outburst from neighbours’ electricity generators rends the air in defiance of the power outage decreed by PHCN. Either the rising temperature and mosquito noises in my room or the sound of the generators will wake me up.

As you can see, the free wake up services in my neighbourhood are properly backed up, and are extremely effective. They do get me out of bed on time.

As it is, in Durban, there are no frightening and indiscreet gunshots by trigger-happy policemen; no raucous church noises; no PHCN star performances; and no singing generators polluting the air with their exhaust fumes. There is absolutely nothing to wake you up, except your sleep-weary body. Therefore I woke up late this particular morning. The whole atmosphere was set in a certain unaccustomed serenity. My body systems were feeling completely out of place in Durban.

The out-of-place reality started building in Johannesburg. Landing at the Oliver Thambo International Airport felt like landing somewhere in Europe. Everything was simply the way it should be. I was proud that Africa could boast a setting like this, but I was also feeling sincerely stupefied.

Where were the intense heat we had felt at the Murtala Mohammed International Airport only sixteen hours before, and the two-hour excruciating experience to check in and clear Customs and Immigration? That was the experience my body was used to. Not this heavenly welcome and fifteen minutes walk through Immigration and Customs. At Lagos I had seen a potbellied Whiteman fanning himself furiously as he sweated in the line. The expression on his face was anything but complimentary. I felt for him. He was going through a punishment he probably didn`t deserve and which, from his expression, he was obviously not accustomed to.

It was the opposite of his predicament that I was now emotionally going through as I wriggled out of bed this morning in Durban.

I guess you could liken my predicament to that of the beautiful white worm that cavorts and turns happily in the Igbudu bucket latrine. If you think you could make it happier by taking it out of that dirty bucket, you have another think coming: it will die on your neck!

Back to Durban. Once up, we quickly changed into our sport briefs and went for a walk along the inviting beach and promenade. Renovated for the 2010 Soccer World Cup hosted by South Africa, it was an exquisitely kept piece of asset. A multi-racial crowd in different beach attires enjoyed themselves. We joined them. The sea breeze was cool and fresh, and made us come totally alive. We didn`t need much prodding to break into a jog. You will feel left out in the Durban beach environment if you didn`t don some sportsmanship.

Despite the carnival atmosphere, my out-of-place feelings persisted. This was not the Lagos Bar Beach that I was used to. Where was the blast of human excrement to greet you and send you away forever as you ventured on the beach? Where were the overbearing commercial motorcycles and tricycles to navigate around as you ventured a walk on the street? No, this just didn`t feel like it! But, honestly, I was praying silently for these absurdities to leave Nigeria for good. And quickly too!

Gosh, how much more different will Durban get? The air was too pure for my liking; it boasted no drama of any significance. Before we left our apartment my wife had gleefully revealed the sole of her right foot. It was unusually sparkling, a development she was apparently proud of. She has this habit of walking barefooted around the house. Back in Nigeria, I had often threatened to cut off her two legs if she let me see her soles—usually black from the amount of soot and waste that the atmosphere drops generously on all of us, including our beleaguered lungs. That clean foot was a metaphor for the reality that yours truly had travelled to a foreign land in which I was feeling totally out of place like a worm out of the bucket.

Space will not permit me to warn you very seriously about two important sights on the flipside of Durban. It has to do with their women and commercial commuter buses. Find out from my book, Laughing Over Serious Matters. Check it out from https://www.chrisekpekurede.com