Because the Superstitious Nigerian’s Guide to Survival notes that people can actually crash a plane via telepathy or hating, it is only after over a year living here that I can now admit to you, my friends, foes and witches on my father’s side of the family that…I moved to Germany!
Yeah, Angela Merkel’s country. Exactly…the same one Buhari called West Germany and the exact place where all your boyfriends buy the second-hand cars and spare parts they sell to get the cash that gives them a visa to… the land between your legs.
Actually? The real situation is not that I moved…just that the oyibo I married for paper was transferred to Germany and well, I had to tag along.
The culture shock is on another whole level of shockery; comparing the culture shock I experienced in London to that of Germany is like trying to compare Seyi Shay with Serena Williams – one na feather, the other na heavyweight, as in…ogbonge!
I live in Trier, the oldest city in Germany, which is a tiny place on the border with all sorts of countries, and is a tourist hotspot brimming with nine UN World Heritage sites. Yet, Trier is so rustic and basic that though it has mostly been a joy, it can also be a pain in my pert-squat-enhanced-posterior, depending on what side of bed this osanle wakes up from.
Let me just end this needless rant with the useless trivia that Karl Marx was born here in 1818…or so. Yes, all that came from Google.
Nobody got time to sound like a brochure biko…na money we come Europe come find.
So basically, you have been warned; most of my accounts are coming from the little corridor of South-western Germany, located in a State that is the only one in Germany that has a cabinet minister for…Winegrowing. I cannot be held responsible for what I say when I am under the ehm, influence.
No, don’t laugh; like shit business and bleaching cream business in Nigeria, Wine business in these parts is big business.
So, not to worry – I have recovered in the past year from the most epic bout of culture shock I think I will ever have enough to be your guide, should you wish to turn your osanleic tendencies towards Germany, or Trier, specifically. After all, as Dollar don turn Naira into toilet tissue wey agbero dey use take clean yansh inside shalanga, wetin remain???
Na to try ya luck somewhere else!
So, stay with me, ask me anything, troll away, poke fun away, all join but hold on a minute….you know the drill. Crowbar time.
Or have you forgotten????
Yes, I have finally been able to get over my surprise and dragged my tongue from the floor that is my lower jaw. It is now safely ensconced back in my cheek, where it belongs.
So…let me just first of all get my crowbar to extricate my tongue from my…cheek!
See you next week.