I’ve learned a lot here in Africa. But one think I’ve yet to learn is how to stop procrastinating. The Friday before we leave for Lagos, Anjarae informs me that Americans intending to go to Nigeria need a visa. And we haven’t had much luck with African visas in the past, you know? Trouble is, the Consulate General of Nigeria only processes visas on Tuesdays between 10am and 2pm (not including the two hour lunch break from 11-1pm), and it takes at least two weeks. Hashtag Winning.

We are having trouble figuring out how to squirrel our way out of this one. By Saturday lunchtime, we’ve given up and have decided to drink away our sorrows on the beach in Braamfontein. Because why would there not be a beach on a rooftop in the middle of the CBD? It feels like LA with the amount of silicone up here. After a few Grolsch beers (which go down like water, for the record) with Chemeli, Anjarae and I whisk Margot off to our next day drinking event – a braai at James’ new place.

We’re running around Wooly’s like it’s Supermarket Sweep. Clutching raw chicken chunks, as many bags as potato crisps as we can hold, and a small packet of mixed nuts, Margot is really excited to see how the “real South Africans” spend their Saturday afternoons. “Ooooh! I’ve never been to a bris before!” Eish.

By the time we put a dent in the Chenin Blanc(s), we’ve done the “Bada-ba-ba-ba”s of the whole A&A in Africa show, and James is laughing at how we’ve somehow failed this Nigeria trip, especially after booking it months ago. Depressed with depressants, we struggle to make it to dinner for Sijh’s birthday. But friendship first! So we saddle up and head into Sandton City for dinner, where Anj finds herself complaining to Uchenna about how big of a bummer this whole visa deal is. “Oh, my uncle works in the Consulate. I’ll get him to talk to his friend.” Ahh, NOW we’re talking…

Fast forward to Tuesday. My one day that is truly back to back with meetings from, let’s see, oh yes – 10-2pm. Convenient since those are the only hours of operation for the visa processing. So I’m just going to do the best I can. I rush to Illovo the second I’m out of class, printing out plane tickets, Sayo’s baby-faced passport, my bank statement showing my empty savings account (#nonprofitlivin’), and his letter of invitation. “This is to serve as a letter of invitation to the above named who is a friend of mine and resides at Flat 20, to visit me in Lagos, Nigeria on vacation…Yours faithfully, Oluwafeyisayo Folawiyo.”  20 what, Sayo? Super helpful. “As if I wrote it, McKee.”

After rushing to park in the Design store parking lot despite the berating guard, we’re forced to wait at the big green gate to be let in until our Invitee is ready for us. It’s like the Wizard of Oz over here. But just as the gate finally opens, the guard threatens me that if I don’t move my car…So I trade Anj and Anna my passport and stack of papers for two sets of keys, and I’m the new Nigerian Consulate Valet man. Turns out hopping curbs in Nugget to create parking spots is harder than it looks.

I’m sweaty from running cars around town as I beg at the Big Green Gate once again. CONSULATE GENERAL OF NIGERIA it reads, in block letters. And below the seal: Unity and Faith, Peace and Progress. I so badly want to make some progress right now. Just let me IN!

When I barge into the EXIT door and into the aircon of the lobby, it feels like I’ve reached the 4^th level of Super Mario Brothers. Now I’m just looking for coins. I find my way upstairs into the corner office where Anna and Anj are sitting across from our new best friend, a stack of three passports in his hand. People come in and out, dressed in caps and robes, and we can’t quite gauge whether this is actually happening or not.

He urges me to “get back to my kids” but I insist on staying with my paperwork just in case I need to sign (or don’t want to abandon my only really important possession at the Nigerian embassy). “If you need to sign, I’ll buy you a lawyer.” Alrighty then. When he hands our passports over to a lovely woman in a silvery blue gown, we know we’re in.

But our new best friend won’t have us sitting there in silence. “I have something I need you to read since you’re Americans!” he exclaims, as he gets click-happy and prints 6 copies of an article. 

“US consulate worker killed in Joburg.”  OoooK? And then we’ve launched into a debate over what a man could have possibly done to “earn the stabbing of a woman.” Um, I can think of a couple things. “Is the moral of the story to beware of beautiful women?” he asks us. Pretty sure there’s nothing about beauty anywhere in here, but we’ll let him go with it…until we get back our passports. “Are you going to take me out to the Sahara and leave me for dead since you are beautiful women?” he demands. Where did this go so wrong?

Passports in hand, it’s time to leave our new best friend. Anj and I go home to celebrate with chicken parm night on the roof and a delicious bottle of Chocolate Block. We’re going to Nigeria!

Now for packing. It’s Thursday and we’re doing our last minute shuffle for our flight in the morning. “Wait a minute, do we need anything for malaria?” Anj asks. Nah, probably not, I say. “Well, let me look up the map just to be sure.”

We just don’t learn, do we?