The visa application office is in the basement of this beautiful old building and it has its own entrance ensuring Joe or Josephine Public is kept far from the embassy offices. The first time I went to Nigeria I was travelling from Liberia while working for an NGO and it took me five trips before I could gain entry to the embassy.
On my fifth attempt, I managed to get my foot inside the door and once achieve, I refused to leave. And that was just to get the application form. On my first two visits I came well prepared with a book but so swift was my visit I over-paid the parking metre outside.
On that last visit for the visa, I ended up waiting so long I needed the bathroom. The inside of the visa application office was reminiscent of a dole office anywhere in Ireland 30 years ago, before the Department of Social Welfare decided they needed to smarten up and pretend to show a little respect for its clients.
There were notices posted everywhere warning that verbal or physical violence would not be tolerated. Notices also threatened that if you even stopped your car outside the embassy gates for just one minute, you may forget about receiving any service. The Nigerians themselves were true to form and vocal about the treatment of ordinary citizen by their government.
Another woman told us she was at the embassy every day at 9 a. I have to say — there were more than a few chuckles that day. Nigeria was just a wee culture shock from my previous posting in the hustle and bustle of Bangkok, with its shiny towers, good public transport and general easy lifestyle. A planned city with huge boulevards and motorways, Abuja is like many cities in West Africa, full of thankfully Lebanese restaurants and supermarkets and the bonus of it all, some South African supermarkets.
