Back to the streets on Friday night caused a wide array of
emotions. Firstly, the fear I felt last week returned as I thought about lying on
a piece of cardboard, exposed on the street. On the other hand I was quite
excited about meeting some new friends.
I parked my car in Stanley
Street , one of the upmarket restaurant streets in
the area. Hip and Vibey. The car guards try to convince me to park in their
area as they think they will get a decent tip. My car, a company double cab,
not mine at all - impresses them! They greet me warmly when I arrive.
Once I get out of my car, I take my blanket and my bed: a
broken cardboard box. After about 5 steps, my car and I are not associated
anymore. I am now seen as a homeless person. Suddenly the mood changes pretty quickly
to "Why are you here"? The car guards who were so keen on me before,
avoid me and make clear I am in the wrong street.
The people who sit at the comfy tables chatting away look at
me with disapproval. This is an interesting dynamic for me, as with a different
set of clothes I could put my legs under any of their tables and be at the
heart of the party.
When did you judge someone by their appearance, clothes, looks, car...?
 |
| Stanley, who made his home on Stanley street, was driven away by business owners to "clean up" the area.. |
I headed back to the rougher parts of town where I seemed
more accepted and had my usual chats with the 'local' Nigerians. I met a really
nice guy called 'Chris'. We talked about life and some of it's struggles.
