It's not easy

In the two West African countries I have lived in, the phrase ‘it’s not easy’ is common. It is often used at the end of stories about ‘challenging times’ and repeated back by the listener with a lot of feeling and empathy.

Today was one of those days.

I went out last night, and received an invitation to go out tomorrow, so today I was more than happy to chill. I finished my book, drank tea, ate the remains of the delicious coconut rice I made last night, and generally enjoyed some quiet time. I knew I needed to go grocery shopping, but I kept hearing rumbles of thunder so I put it off until the weather looked brighter. By late afternoon it seemed that the storm in the air had moved on, so I walked out in the sunshine to catch a taxi to the supermarket.

I whizzed round ‘park and shop’, enjoying my self-set challenge to try and buy something new and interesting each trip, and got to the checkout with a full basket. One of those baskets on wheels, which is far too big for the space within the supermarket so you constantly have to lift it around people, and watch out for others who use theirs to swipe your legs out from underneath you, like commuters with wheelie suitcases. But I digress.

While waiting in the queue I realised that it was pouring down outside. The first real heavy rain – torrential, with thunder and lightning. I was quietly thankful that I had asked the taxi driver I’d come with, a harmless looking old man, to wait for me and take me home once I had shopped.

As we drove home, aquaplaning through flooded streets and watching the water run down the storm drains like rivers, the taxi driver asked if I wanted to take his number to use whenever I needed a taxi. He had been really nice, and I don’t have many taxi numbers in my phone so I said yes and took it. He said ‘whenever you need a taxi, around town or to the airport call me. And if you need me to go with you to the US or the UK I will come’. At which point he rested his hand on my thigh. I did the leg equivalent of shrugging it off, and so he rested his hand and arm on the side of my seat, alongside but not actually on my leg. Harmless old man suddenly didn’t feel so appropriate, so I said ‘erm NO!’ and pushed his arm away! I don’t think he will be my regular driver!

Once back I waded through the water that had built up in the compound and decided to wait for the generator to kick in before unpacking and cooking. And waited. And waited. Turns out there is a problem with the generator today, so I fished out my head-torch and started cooking – fending off the crazy mosquitoes and a mouse that kept trying to come into my kitchen as I did so!

I am now sitting in the dark, gratefully drinking a cold bottle of pear cider and watching the lightning as the storm lingers over the city, with the phrase ‘it’s not easy’ buzzing around my head.