Hitting the bank...

In case you didn’t know, they do things different here in Africa. I was trying to buy a plane ticket to see my parents next spring. After weeks of checking out the best prices and what days will work, I finally try to finalize my tickets. Apparently, the airlines don’t trust Nigerians and credit cards so I have to go downtown to the bank and deposit cash directly into the account. We have great business people so this was my first trip to the bank. There is a big gate out front with a bunch of people crowded around. I am not sure how they decide who gets in, but it reminded me of a club. Everyone hoping that they will be cool enough to get in. I know what you are thinking and I am cool enough. I walked in no questions asked. The next door you go through isn’t an ordinary door. It is a big circle. You press a button and the door slides around and you step in. It closes behind you and then the door in front of you slides around. I am not exactly sure what this machine does. There wasn’t anyone there to read anything and there was no equipment outside of the contraption. Which I should point out at this point, Nigeria has really bad electricity. As in, I remember one day that we had electricity all day. Some days are better than others, but you never know when it is going to shut off. So I couldn’t help imagining standing in this bottle-like thing and the electricity cutting out. I would be stuck and probably suffocate. They probably have generators but I just can’t imagine it opening without getting stuck or something ridiculous like that.

So we make it inside with no problems, Praise the Lord. The inside looks like no bank I have ever seen. Apparently, you have to turn off your cell phones. I don’t know why. Maybe they are scared that you will call your cohorts and rob the place. We talk to several people and find the place that I am supposed to go. It is this giant metal door with a peep hole. I am pretty sure that I have seen this door in mob movies. A security guard unbolts the door and lets me in. He points me to a back room that has tables lining the walls. All of the tables have people sitting there with money counting machines and piles upon piles of Naira. A couple of the men even wore masks. Caitlin said she thought it looked like a drug dealer’s place. I said it looked like a massive counterfeiting operation. Either way, we were in the wrong place.

We finally make to the right lady and I hand her the American money. She starts to count it and then she separates some of the money from the rest. She tells me that those bills were no good. I asked why. She says they were printed in 1996 and they aren’t worth as much. I said that was ridiculous. She explained that those bills could not be exchanged for the full rate in Nigeria because they think that they are going to expire. I told again that that is ridiculous. You can spend that money just the same in America. She reminded me that I am not in America. I sighed and told her that was all the money I had with me. She said I could pay in Naira. I said I didn’t have that much Naira with me. And so I had to return to my business guy and sort through his American cash. We finally found all the money. I returned and paid the lady.

I thought that I was good to go. Until I received an email from the airline agent who said I didn’t pay enough and I still owed $36. I was about to get in an uproar when I realized that I am apparently dyslexic and wrote down the wrong price that I needed to pay. So I had to return to the bank for a third time, but now my tickets are booked and I am going-rain, sleet, or shine.