September in Aarhus

So i just found this post nestled in my drafts with a million fiction tales that will never get published. Things are exactly as I imagined them but I’ve learnt to get along.

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I wrote about getting called for the Erasmus Mundus programme months ago. I was not sure I would be able to go but I wrote this post anyway. That was in March. I have exactly two weeks to leave. I’ll miss Nigeria.

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I don’t know if I’m going away in September and I’ve decided not to really bother myself about that. Que sera, sera….

If I am, I’m going to have nightmares about two things.

1. Transportation.

According to those annoying travel sites which give contradictory information and every blog by expatriates in Denmark, its annoyingly expensive.

Everyone, from the international office to the current Mundus students has yelled, “Get a bicycle” at me.

All I see is flashbacks to one time when I was young, about seven. I had been begged to learn to ride a bicycle. I had scoffed at my aunt and said, “I’ll never need this in my life. This is a waste of my time”. And that people, is how I never learned to bike .

The Fates definitely planned this as revenge. They must be smirking right about now.

2. Food (everything) is expensive.

There’s Stroget street and Bazaar vest, which are famed for cheap stuff and then there are the others. I really do not care. I’m not choosy about food and do not care about prices but when I have to cough out millions (when converted to Naira) for a meal, I start choosing. I mean, eating a couple of flowers a day and fruit from trees by the road side wouldn’t hurt. right?

This is why Nigeria rocks. One can have a meal of Garri, sugar and groundnut (if you’re feeling spendy) and not feel it, cash wise.

Agege bread and ewa nko? Delicious and cheap.

Ok, I’m probably going to freak out over my simple meals when I get there. Staying for months without Abacha will leave me raving. Twitching too.

I’m not going to like this. Coming home looking like a starved rug rat is not it. In the words of my mother “What would my enemies say?”.

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