Sociologically beyond

To forget the hard things, it was it despair that we left the complex on a Saturday night. With such a need to see something different, there's no danger warning that can scare us. Patrick even dared to drive himself! And, after all, we had to have some drinks on poor Faisal, who was loaded with malaria and that had been sent back to Pakistan for a few days!

The car complained, screamed again, but at the third attempt it ended up by setting wheels on the sand of the unpaved sidewalk, right in front of Pat's club, in downtown Lagos. The entry was crowded with young girls with provocative looks. I asked François if they were hookers, but he explained to me that "here they can only get in when in the company of a man", something that I found quite strange when I recalled the night queues of Lisbon.

Once the front door crossed, we went through the garden that was still empty, we went around the squared dance track, and Paulo insisted in standing in front at the TV that broadcasted the most classic of all Spanish matches. But, blame it on destiny, right bellow the screen, and, therefore, right in front of us, stood the counter. The counter was not a problem, but the gorgeous woman next to it created a real dilemma for Paulo: to look at the game or to look at her? At the same moment Ronaldinho did a great go through, the girl bended her appealing breasts forward and Paulo had to revolve his eyes to manage to follow the three spheres. I was even afraid that he would get some eye disease with such an effort. And I was glad I was never a huge football fan: for me the choice was clear, and I turn towards the dance track that was filled of women of similar kind. But I wasn't going to be an ordinary voyeur, and I hided behind the first row of tables, where were sitting the real and ordinary voyeurs. May the report state that I was not observing the people on the dancing track to watch the beautiful black girls moving with perfection the sublime curves of their bodies. Nope, never, "no way", I'm not voyeur, I was just ... humm... well... I was conducting a detailed sociological study so that I could better understand the Nigerian culture and habits, knowledge that could prove to be very helpful in dealing with the local people at work. Apart from being stated in report, may it also be stated in my project appraisal: not only was I raising my effort to never yet explored areas in this context, I was also working until three in the morning. On Saturday!

At a certain point some guys of the first row of tables (the voyeurs, those guys) decided to join the dance track party, and this time I was sorry that the match on TV was over: it is better to see Real suffering than to suffer seeing 50 year olds trying to prove that they're still young, foolishly shaking their arms and swinging their beer bellies, trying in despair to catch up with the girls. Bigger pain is to see them trying to seduce twenty year old beauties. "And achieving it"!

Huh? What? What did you say, Paulo? Achieving it? Wait, but that's impossible. Not even in the Twilight Zone! François, with the experience of four years of sociological observation in Nigeria, explained: "they're not professional hookers, but some flirting with white rich men that don't know where to spend their money are a breath of fresh air in the girls bank statements.

At a certain point the lights were lowered, and as then we could only distinguish the male white skins, we came back home.