Against All Odds

by R. A. Lang

  The waiter came to take our order, and after he had patiently waited for Inez to finally decide what she wanted, he turned to me. I simply told him I’d have my usual order, including the wine. He nodded, said, “Muy bien señor,” and went away to get the wine. Inez said, “Oh my God, he knows exactly what you want! You’ve been here before?” I replied, “Just a few times.”

  Moments later, he returned with a large bottle of chilled sparkling water together with a bottle of Saint Émilion Grand Cru. Once Inez tasted the wine, she commented on how nice it was and asked where it came from. I told her it came from Bordeaux, and she asked, “Where’s that?” I thought, I’d be better off ordering sangria for this old floozy.

  An American friend, whom I hadn’t seen for three years, was on the island making use of his timeshare with his wife. He had arranged to meet me that very same night in the tourist area on a beach pier. I explained to Inez that once we’d finished, I’d drop her off wherever she wanted to go because I had to meet a friend on the pier. She told me she wanted to go with me. That certainly wasn’t quite what I had in mind because I wanted to catch up on things with my friend and didn’t want anyone seeing her with me.

  After finishing my conch (sea snail) and sixteen ounce rib-eye, we took a taxi to the beach pier to meet my friend.

  Inez explained that she had a Colombian mother and an island father who had jumped ship when her mother became pregnant. Such events were quite normal on the island. Sadly, her mother passed away when she was only seven years old, and her uncle had brought her up.

  We arrived at the beach pier, and sure enough, my friend was waiting for me at the bar. It was really great to see him again, and we sat at the bar catching up on all that had happened since we’d last met. Inez kept herself amused by dancing alone in a style better suited for the red light district. It was becoming increasingly embarrassing to be associated with her that night with her dress barely covering her backside. Looking like a street hooker was certainly the distinct impression she wanted to give every man around her.

  We couldn’t believe the free show she was putting on while she danced alone in the middle of the dance area, so we both deliberately faced the bar. That way, whenever she looked in our direction, she wouldn’t have the audience or interest she was working so hard to get.

  We called for the bill and made our way to the main road to drink and chat in another bar. The bar was situated halfway down a street full of bars and restaurants about a ten minute walk away.

  Seconds later, I heard a shout. Inez was busy trying to catch up with us, struggling with her ridiculous red plastic high heels in the sand. “Where’re we going next?” she questioned. But she should have asked, “Why are you leaving me behind?”

  Clearly, Inez was not the type to give up easily, and she tagged along even though she was being ignored.

  We sat at the bar and ordered a couple of beers. Inez ordered a glass of Old Par whisky for herself before I had the chance to ask what she wanted.

  My friend and I continued to chat about each other’s lives, and he was shocked to hear about all the problems Antonina, Haitian, and Ronnie had caused me in my own house and that under the Dutch law, I couldn’t kick them out. He also couldn’t believe my miraculous escape from Kazakhstan.

  I didn’t see him again for several months. Instead, I met other frequent visitors to the island who also couldn’t sell their timeshares either; so continued visiting the island just to make the best use of them.

  I didn’t see Inez until the following weekend. Word had got around to her that I was having a barbecue at the house. She hadn’t been invited for obvious reasons, but that didn’t make any difference to her.

  Because so many people she knew had been invited, she didn’t want to miss out. She was actually the first to arrive, and she was dressed in a skimpy white bikini and very little else and asked where my pool was. I didn’t have a pool at that time, even though I was getting quotes from various contractors.

  Fortunately, soon after her arrival, other guests started arriving, so that took the pressure off me. Only half the number of guests arrived, which was normal on the island. Consequently, there was far too much meat, but nothing went to waste as the Venezuelans stole as much of it as they could.

  Nobody thought to tell me they were making frequent trips to their cars carrying cases of beer and meat packed in take-away boxes they’d found in my kitchen cupboards. Once I knew Venezuelans had shown up, I couldn’t go out of my house as I needed to guard my few remaining ornaments which I’d collected from all over the world.

  I’d asked my Venezuelan cleaner to the barbecue along with her three daughters, as I knew she started work in the Hoi Sing bar at four o’clock so couldn’t stay long. I hadn’t planned on them bringing their boyfriends with them, which I knew would mean trouble.

  The islanders never wasted a text message or a quick phone call out of common courtesy to inform they couldn’t make it, so I could gauge the number of people coming; that wasn’t their problem. Instead I wasted a lot of money preparing enough for everyone just in case they did arrive. I later asked myself why I bothered.

  After quite a pleasant afternoon and evening, the last stragglers left. There was still no sign of Inez making plans to go home. After Inez passed on her last chance to get a free lift home, I began to wonder if I’d be nobbled yet again for the cost of a taxi.

  It was soon apparent that going home couldn’t have been further from her mind. Inez automatically assumed she could stay the night, even though I hadn’t made any suggestions in that direction.

  Inez was in full party mode, but with nobody left to entertain, she suggested that we go down the road to the fisherman’s bar, built half over the ocean.

  We arrived just in time to catch last orders at the bar. We walked down the small wooden pier and sat down at a table on the very end of it. It was quiet and with a very beautiful atmosphere sitting in the moon light over the Caribbean, only listening to the waves gently lapping against the shore rocks.

  We chatted for a while, and most of the conversation was about places to go on the island and what I did for a living. At that point, she told me she had an eighteen-year-old son who had been brought up by his father.

  Inez was certainly not the motherly type, and having a son would have seriously cramped her style. Because the bar had closed, we ended up returning to my place. Inez continued to drink, but she only had me to entertain.

  We were in my bedroom watching a pop concert on TV, which provided a little privacy from Haitian and Ronnie who were guaranteed to break up any private little meeting. For all I knew, they were probably eating just outside my bedroom door to listen, as they had done so many times before, to check if I was alone or not.

  Inez automatically stripped down to her skimpy white bikini and proceeded to dance provocatively in front of the TV. She was topless, but I just sat on the edge of my bed wondering whether she’d ever suggest calling for a taxi. The suggestion never came. Her intentions were quite obvious: she wasn’t planning on going anywhere else that night.

  Once the concert finally ended, it was sleep time, which is exactly what I did. Inez stripped naked and cuddled up to me with the hope that something would become of it, but it wasn’t going to happen, and nor was I interested or awake enough to last any longer to make love to such a well-tenderised body.

  To my dismay, she stayed for the rest of the weekend, until the Monday lunchtime, as she wasn’t due to work until one o’clock in the afternoon. I really didn’t enjoy this floozy’s company, as she was so opinionated and confident. I can only admit that as I was lonely, I felt something was better than nothing, so I allowed her to stay. I felt that it was clear that nobody in their right mind wanted her, in any case.

  On the Sunday, we took a friend’s taxi down to the local village to have lunch in a bar. The steak and steamed shrimp were well known in the area.

  Before leaving, Inez produced a pair of shorts, which probably would have b
een too small for a Barbie doll, but she somehow managed to squeeze into them. With her shorts and red plastic high heels on, she looked like the perfect hooker.

  After we ate, we waited outside the bar for my friendly taxi driver to take us back home. Due to her obvious appearance, three cars pulled over to ask how much she charged per hour. Rather than being insulted, she found the questions hilarious. She even said to me, “Look at me, I look like a hooker.”

  Unbeknown to me at the time, Inez regularly walked the streets of the red light district working as a street hooker for additional income. She had spent nights in every hotel on the island, each time with a different client.

  The following week, she told me the most outrageous stories about her time in the brothels. She had stripped naked on stage in front of a full male audience and pole danced naked alongside the other hookers. I learnt that Inez was a lesbian, but men paid more.

  To keep in with the various brothel managers, she made her customers pay the bar the usual one hundred dollar bar fine, because she was taking customers away from the hookers working the bar.

  When Inez became a regular visitor to my house, probably because no one else wanted her, Haitian got involved again. Despite explaining some of the things Haitian had done before, Inez seemed to play into Haitian’s hands as if she enjoyed it.

  Inez also had her sick, exhibitionist eyes on Haitian’s obese boyfriend. She would rush into the kitchen in the morning, the moment she heard Ronnie, wearing only one of my short T-shirts and nothing else. She caught Ronnie’s attention by knocking something on the floor and bent at the waist to pick it up. I caught her several times, which infuriated her while she was busy giving a free show to see how he’d react.

  By the time I joined them in the kitchen, Ronnie’s face was the colour of a bright red tomato. As I entered the kitchen Inez protested angrily at my presence because she could no longer perform. I reminded her that it was my house and my kitchen, but as always, the islanders lacked any kind of respect and would simply ignore such comments.

  Now, Haitian had an additional motive to cause trouble, as she had done so many times before. At every opportunity, Haitian interrupted conversations I was having with Inez by butting in and speaking in Papiamento to Inez. She knew I didn’t understand a word of it.

  Naturally, I protested and instructed that only English be spoken under my roof, but I was always ignored. Several weeks went by, and just like before, the situation worsened until someone had to go.

  I had been out of work for four long months, but I still didn’t have any privacy in my house. One day, an agency from the United Kingdom called me. It was regarding another contract in Nigeria, which I was interested in because there hadn’t been many other enquiries up until then.

  The only worry was what Inez would inevitably get up to whilst I was away, as if I cared. The contract rotation was twenty-eight days on and twenty-eight days off, so there was a lot of flying to do.

  I told Inez she could continue living in my house, which she refused because it would have cramped her style with Haitian and Ronnie there. Instead, she chose to return to living in her Colombian friend’s house on the north part of the island. There, she could continue to pick up tourists for her own financial gain, just as she always had before meeting me in the tapas restaurant a few months before.

  So it was back to Nigeria in July of 2011. I was a little apprehensive after previous exploits in the country, but I felt that the island wasn’t exactly being kind to me either.

  Chapter 24

  Return to Nigeria

  Nigeria is a country full of surprises, and I’m not just referring to the wonderful choice of characters living there. Even though I already had so many experiences there, I still loved the people, and still do to this day.

  I arrived at Port Harcourt airport, which looked just as it did years before. With the usual donations for the immigration and customs staff, I got through with all my possessions intact with the aid of a few twenty dollar notes. My armed escort was waiting outside the airport, but I needed to wait for others to clear immigration. It took an hour and a half for the stragglers to be accounted for before we set off to the different places pre-booked to accommodate us on our arrival night.

  The next morning, I met some others who were assigned to the swamp I was to be based at and off we went. It had rained most of the night, so the roads were in a terrible condition. It took us over three hours to arrive at the camp where people of many nationalities were busy expanding the upstream oil facilities.

  Our accommodation was a typical set-up consisting of rows of narrow containers kept off the ground by concrete footings and all linked up with electrical and telephone cables.

  Due to the high malaria and dengue fever risk, doors were always kept closed, and the small rooms were sprayed on a daily basis.

  Power cuts were a regular occurrence when the diesel generator would break down due to dirty fuel blocking the filters. The lack of air conditioning was the main discomfort. If any insect was found inside the trailer, it had to be destroyed before sleep was possible. In swamps, almost everything flying or crawling bites, and some bites could be fatal. Even inside the camp perimeter black mamba snakes were found on a regular basis. They weren’t actually black in colour, but instead a light brown colour. They got their name due to the inside of their mouths being totally black.

  We averaged fifteen men per month going to hospital with malaria or dengue fever or both! One South African colleague contracted malaria and went downhill very fast. In the Nigerian hospital, they identified seven different types of malaria parasites in his body at the same time. He lost over twenty kilos in two weeks and was lucky to make it through. It amazed me that so many people walked around in short sleeved shirts, shorts and flip-flops given the amount of bloodsucking and biting insects around.

  I never bothered to take malaria tablets because there were many side effects. Instead, I preferred to soak myself in insect repellent containing a minimum of 50% Deet in the hope that I would evade being bitten in the first place.

  On a previous project, one South African colleague was unlucky enough to get cerebral malaria and died in just ten days in a hospital in London. Cerebral malaria has to be treated the moment you contract it. After just a few days it is already too late to cure, and he had waited too long to seek help.

  While working my twenty-eight days on and off rotation, I returned to the island at the end of every four-week visit. Four weeks doesn’t sound like long before a four week holiday, but four weeks in a swamp goes very slowly.

  Due to flights not lining up, each trip required a night in Amsterdam. Amsterdam was one of the most convenient stop-overs and gave me the opportunity to buy things unavailable on the island, or much cheaper than the goods on the island.

  During my first trip to Nigeria, I told Haitian that she and her pathetic boyfriend had to get out of my house because I was sick and tired of all her voodoo and troublemaking. I gave her until the end of August to find somewhere else so she would be gone before I returned home.

  Of course, even though both Haitian and Ronnie had stayed in my house for over one and a half years rent free, neither of them managed to save a single cent. Instead of using the opportunity to build up some savings, they ate more and used up every spare cent they made.

  Respecting the Dutch law, I offered to pay the deposit and first three months’ rent for them to move out and rent a new place.

  Haitian explained that she could never leave the house because she needed to rent a really big house in order to have space for all her personal possessions. She continued until I agreed to send her three thousand dollars, which she claimed she needed for a new place. She had already had over $20,000 due to the bar she never paid rent for, a car I needed to buy for them, a generous gift to her voodoo-practising father after the Haitian earthquake and many other needs. They were just milking me dry of anything I’d earned.

  I sent the money and found my house empty f
or the first time since I’d bought it. It was certainly empty! Haitian and Ronnie had robbed me of so many things when they’d left, including clothing, the new laptop I had bought in Amsterdam airport with Antonina, my camera’s tripod, some rather expensive jackets, all my kitchen’s saucepan lids, knives, forks, soup bowls, side and dinner plates. I wasn’t left with a full set of anything once they had gone.

  That’s the thanks I get for helping people out, I thought. It was eight months later that I learned Haitian didn’t really rent a place at all. She’d lied to me about needing the three thousand dollars. Instead, she moved into Ronnie’s mother’s house just two streets behind mine.

  There was still a bad atmosphere lingering in the house even though I finally had it to myself. The stale and musty stench in the large back bedroom, where Haitian and Ronnie had slept, was unbearable.

  I tried to leave the bedroom door open to allow some fresh air inside, but that permeated the air throughout the rest of the house. If I was expecting visitors, I’d have to close the door and spray air freshener all around the living room. I had to completely redecorate the room because Haitian had spat an orange liquid at the walls during her voodoo ceremonies. I wouldn’t allow her to perform voodoo any more in the house, but I knew she would continue in the privacy of her and Ronnie’s bedroom. They stuck cheap plastic hooks on the back of my new varnished bedroom door, completely defacing it, and also on the walls.

  I had to put the mattress outside to let fresh air work its way through it. Even without the mattress, the room still had a stale, musty smell, which remained for several months, so I redecorated it.

  While I was on the island, I wanted to get into my storage room, which also doubled as my workshop, at the back of my house. I went to where I always kept the keys, but they were gone.