Word limits are a pain. Which is why the title of this entry isn’t complete. The title is supposed to read ‘We Crossed Seme Border In 15 minutes Even Though It’s supposed To Be Closed’. But before we did that, we bought way too spicy rice for breakfast at Amoke Oge. Drank a ton of Smoov because we are strapped with enough bottles to start a small party. And got stopped by NDLEA, Police and Customs officials, more times than SARS would stop a young man with dreadlocks and tattoos driving a Benz.

What’s really going on at Seme border?

Here’s the gist. Officially the border is closed. But in Nigeria closed apparently means ‘Closed to commercial illegal activity’. On the morning of the 20th of August, Uncle Bubs and co just woke up and ordered a closure of the border. According to Customs, this was done to carry out a top-secret military exercise to secure our borders. They are also insisting that at the moment the border is only closed to smugglers and anyone involved in illegal activities. Which apparently also includes traders moving anything from rice to cars through the border.

How do you cross a border in 15 minutes?

Well, you are going to need a couple of things first.

• A government who does such a thing as shut a border for more than a month to prevent ‘illegal activity’. That takes away 90% of the regular traffic you’d meet at the border. And you get a couple of customs officials with enough time on their hands and bored enough to make singsong rhymes with your name as they idly glance through your bus during what is supposed to be a security check. 
• An agent/fixer/inside guy. They have no official role at the border except as the guy who knows the right palms to grease and the right people to talk to, so that you don’t even have to come out of your bus to get your passport stamped.
• Sheer luck so that you get the super combo of the two above. 

Cotonou is a lot like Lagos, except it’s not

The switch from billboards and signage worded in English to those worded in French that the 6-week class you took at Alliance Francais apparently can’t help you understand is the first sign you get that you’ve left Nigeria.

Then you notice that the crater-sized portholes you drove through for miles to get to the border are suddenly gone and there’s not even a dent in the road in sight for miles. 

But then you see heaps of trash on the road, not Mushin level, but Herbert Macaulay by midday level and that feels familiar.

You get a BDC guy to change what’s left of your naira to CEFAs – the official currency in Benin and he looks exactly like your average BDC guy in Lagos with quick hands a kaftan to boot.

You see an Ecobank where you stop to withdraw some money and you forget you’ve crossed the border for a second until the cash comes out and it’s CEFAS and not Naira.

You pass by dozens and dozens of bike men which all feels familiar except there’s something off. Every single one of them is wearing helmets and there are dedicated bike lanes so that the odds of a bike guy taking your side mirror off are significantly lower than Lagos. There are also many female drivers something you’ve only seen in South-South Nigeria.

You buy a couple of MTN SIM which somehow takes longer than it took to cross the border to get and that feels sort of familiar until you pop the SIM in, try to buy data and all the prompts are in French so Tosin has to help you out. 

You hear traders converse in Yoruba and you lookup for a minute to make sure the driver didn’t take a wrong turn and you are back in Badagry. 

And the people? Interesting is the first word that comes to mind. The most interaction we’ve had with a local so far is with our barely-able-to-hide-his-condescension-for-Nigerians-or-(women?)- concierge. Who made sure he was polite enough for you to not complain but haughty enough to let you know he holds you in absolutely no regard. 

You open the fridge in the lobby of your hotel to grab a bottle of water and notice there a dozen soda brands you’ve never seen or heard off before. So you chose a bottle of something called Youki instead because trying out new food and drinks is kind of your job description and it turns out to be a lemony delight. 

The Spaghetti Bolognese you order turns out to be a chunky beef stew and that reminds you a whole lot of many a Lagos restaurant.

Today you are going to spend your morning immersing yourself in the culture at Dantokpa market and your afternoon exploring Ganvie Lake Village, a place only white people call the Venice of West Africa, but you suspect might look a whole lot like Makoko.