A patriotic rip-off
Fourteen years ago
during the World Cup
in France, we engaged the services of a Nigerian agent to facilitate travel,
tickets and accommodation to watch Nigeria
play Bulgaria at Parc
des Princes in Paris. It was Nigeria’s second match after our shock defeat
of Spain which then had the legendary Luis
Enrique as their playmaker.
We probably paid
through the nose for that service, I paid for my cousin and I and it was just a
shade short of a GBP 1,000 – it did not matter, we were going to have patriotic
fun like we’ve never done before.
Just late enough
We set off from
London on the long bus journey, taking the Chunnel Tunnel that left many of us
literally seasick because there was no horizon or frame of reference for our movement
even though we knew were moving.
We got to the
stadium just after the national anthems but just in time to watch the kick-off,
the moment was electric. I cannot say I once saw where the ball was on the
field but when we scored in the first-half we had the game in hand and our
hearts in our mouths until the end of that game.
Sadly, I failed to
record memories of that event because my camera gave up the ghost within the
first 10 minutes of the game starting and by the end, I had lost my voice.
No stars here
That was just the
beginning of our odyssey; we got back on the bus to go our hotel where we were to
have a Nigerian food splayed out in celebration and jollity – it never
happened, we got lost for over 2 hours searching for the hotel, we were
literally worn out.
Then we got to the
hotel and it was difficult to find words to describe the fact that our
countryman business people in the quest to maximise their profits had landed us
in a place too cheap for the humblest person not to be haughty.
The rooms had bunk
beds I had not seen since I left secondary school almost 20 years before, the
shower room was a squeeze that literally had the toilet for the drain and
amongst us were professionals and some who had travelled all the way from
Nigeria only to be greeted with contempt, insult, injury and disdainful abuse –
it was atrocious.
We are done with this
We were at a place
called Fontenay-sous-Bois
[French], just to the east of Paris in what could not have the grade of a 1*
hotel at best.
Three of us decided
we were not going to stand for this, called a taxi and drove into the centre of
Paris where we found better lodgings, service and access to the city proper
with a lesson that I learnt too well for a long time.
I swore never to do
business with a Nigerian again and cancelled the plan to attend the match between
Nigeria and Paraguay in Toulouse.
Will I ever?
Besides that, I
would never have thought I would ever for any reason find myself in
Fontenay-sous-Bois again after that unfortunate experience, but today, I find
myself in an office in the middle of that small town that made me remember that
old nursery rhyme.
Doctor Foster,
Went to Gloucester,
In a shower of rain.
Went to Gloucester,
In a shower of rain.
He fell in a puddle,
Right up to his middle,
And never went there again.
Right up to his middle,
And never went there again.
I might have sworn to
never ever but now I know never ever to say never again.
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