The One Where Teddy Saved Us from the Wrath of Customs at Lagos Airport

I’m happy to report we’ve been reunited with our Lagos lifestyle and time zone. Jet lag is flu and Covid combined for your circadian clock.

Getting through the Lagos airport was fine

The whole time we waited in the immigration line Teddy, exhausted from the 30+ hours of travel, kept falling asleep. He was seated on top of my suitcase with his little arms wrapped around the tall handle, his torso leaning onto it. Every few minutes he would fall into a deep enough sleep that he would start falling off the suitcase and his body would instinctively jerk back awake. He’d ask me if we could get on our bus yet, I’d say no, and the process would repeat. My heart broke for him.

After spending a full hour in the immigration line, which I’m convinced is the minimum time required for foreigners, (unless you pay them off, in which case you will be ushered in front of everyone else without question) we finally graduated onto baggage claim.

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Happy to be onto the next segment of this adventure, I entered the chaos that is trying to find one's bags at the Lagos airport. Whatever you have in your head about how baggage claims work in America, Europe or the rest of the developed world is nothing like the experience here. Instead, think crazed-Black-Friday-Sales crowds, mixed with WWE wrestling moves, all taking place on a dirty linoleum floor.

Thanks to the slow immigration line, by the time we arrived, all the baggage had long since been pulled off the conveyor belt and splayed across the floor. It was an obstacle course of luggage, luggage carts and humans.

My husband’s company contracts another company to help us with this portion of the airport. Even with help, it’s not for the faint of heart. You need to be OK with some pushing, yelling and shoving. If you get jostled, it's not personal and you shouldn’t receive it that way.

Don't mistake something that’s cultural for something personal.

That’s one of the biggest lessons I’ve learned in this entire expat experience as a whole. I repeat it to myself often and would recommend it to anyone traveling internationally.

I found a small spot on a bench next to an elderly Nigerian lady who had 10 suitcases stacked next to her. I told Ray and Teddy to sit down, so they’d be out of the chaos and I prepared to enter it and find our bags. As I was making sure the boys were settled, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a guy swinging fists at two immigration officers who were trying to contain him.

“Gimme me back my passport!” He yelled. Drama on this level is normal at the Lagos airport. Unconcerned, I continued on my mission.

I had brought so much back it wouldn't all fit into my luggage. Before we left I had purchased 4 giant Tupperware bins at Lowes to aid me in my attempt to bring a year's worth of Oreos and tortilla chips into the country. After one full circle around the obstacle course, I found my suitcases. But the Tupperware containers were nowhere to be found.

Half an hour later, we found the Tupperware.

They had been stored in a separate area of the airport where strollers and other large luggage is unloaded. Relieved to have all my junk food accounted for, we headed to the final challenge of the Lagos airport: customs.

First, they demanded I put all my baggage through an x-ray machine, which I did one heavy back at a time while they all stood watching.

I’d hardly finished loading the last bag into the x-ray, when the first customs lady began her act. She was a large Nigerian woman who marched up to my face and loudly began barking orders that I open every single bag.

“Sure.” I replied.

She pointed to a random Tupperware for me to open first.

“What’d you just say?!” she roared.

“I said, ‘sure’” I replied, confused, why her anger was escalating.

“What do you mean?!” She roared again.

“I said sure…as in no problem.” I tried to diffuse her anger with my tone as I wondered if the word “sure" wasn't translating.

She began aggressively digging through the Tupperware and honed in on a grocery bag full of HEB taco seasoning.

“What is this? You can’t have this.” She yelled. Before I could answer, she found something even better, an unopened Lego set I was bringing in for CJ.

“Where’s the invoice for this?” She demanded.

“I don't have an invoice for that.”

“You can't just bring toys here from another country and not pay import tax. How much did this cost? I need to see the invoice now!”

“I don't know how much it cost and I don’t have an invoice," I repeated, beginning to feel desperate. I knew the way out of this situation was to give her Naira, but Cj’s company has a strict no bribes policy, and coming from an entire summer in America I had no Nigerian cash on me. I scanned my brain for a solution, any solution, but exhaustion had the best of me.

I’d come to terms with the fact that she’d be keeping the brand new Lego set. Cj would need to order a new one. But then, in a divine moment, the solution presented itself. Teddy, beyond tired, stepped forward. His face showing the saddest frown, his bottom lip puckered out and and his little belly protruding. He didn’t say a word, just dropped his head and looked at the ground. Tears were imminent.

“That's who the Lego is for,” I said seizing the opportunity. Never mind that that wasn’t who the Lego was for and I had no idea why he was so sad other than he wanted to get on the bus.

As if by magic, her entire demeanor shifted. She looked to the ground and said, “it's ok, you can go.”

I wanted to hug Teddy and tell him, “great job, buddy!” Instead, I held it together and began bounding toward the exit.

But no

Another group of customs people stopped us, because passing the heckling of one isn't enough.

“That bag right there” the customs man yelled pointing to another one of my suitcases, “it has ice in it. Open it immediately!”

This was true. Right before arriving at the airport in Houston, I had literally met up with a total stranger who handed off a cooler of ice and delicate medicine to me to take back to Lagos for a camp neighbor. These are the kinds of things we do for each other in the expat world. I hadn’t thought twice about saying yes.

“It's not meat. It’s medicine.” I told him plainly.

“For what?” He challenged.

This is where things got tricky, because while I’d agreed to bring the medicine back, I didn't know what it was or what it was for.

“Toe fungus,” I said, mentally coaching myself to keep a straight face.

I could tell he was both surprised and repulsed by my answer. I bent down to open the suitcase so he could inspect it, but he stopped me.

“Nah don’t worry about it. I know you're not lying to me….Where are you from?”

“America.” I answered as I stood back up, ready to actually leave the airport this time.

“Hey,” he whispered as I was walking off. “How’s my American accent? Does it sound correct?”

And with this ridiculous question, I was finally done with the Lagos airport. Until next time.

PS.

I still owe you Holly’s leaving Lagos story part 2. It’ll come next, but I thought I’d share my own firsthand airport experience for this month. Keep in mind, the story above is a fairly average airport experience. In no way would I classify it as bad for Lagos airport. Leaning into the airport experience has been fun, and while the time we spent there is relatively short compared to our time in country as a whole, it's easily one of the things that makes living here so hard and dreadful.

Camp News:

• We came back to one of the biggest camp crises of all time: the pool is out of commission. Apparently, there are multiple leaks and a possible sink hole that has developed underneath it as a result. Thankfully, our country manager and his wife have allowed us to use their personal pool for some weekend reprieve.

• To top the broken pool crisis, the beloved espresso machine at the Rose house broke last week. In America, a broken espresso machine would stink, but could be replaced with the click of a button and 24 hours. In Nigeria getting a broken espresso machine replaced or fixed is a journey…one which will likely last at least a month. Thanks to great neighbors we’ve remained caffeinated during this difficult time.

• Last week, my driver and I were stopped by the cops. He did nothing wrong (this is always the first question Americans ask about traffic stops). In Nigeria, cops pull cars over for no reason. They demanded to get in the car - again. Some of you will remember the first incident where corrupt cops got into our car in THIS newsletter. At least this time, they didn't get into the car with me (thanks to my driver). But they did hold me up for a good 45-minutes and gave my driver a ticket for not allowing them to practice blatant extortion and get a bribe from me. This isn’t what the ticket said, but it’s what it was for.

• I’ll be starting my part-time job at the American International school next week! I’m excited to get back into the swing of this.

• For anyone following my Air France saga where a scammer canceled $6,000 worth of my family's flights, I have good news. In their answer to my complaint to US DOT, Air France awarded us about half the money back in the form of vouchers. I’ll take it!

• On a final and super fun note, while we have several trips planned for the year, the one I am most excited for is a gorilla trekking trip I’m working on for January 2026. Sometimes this expat experience makes me want to pull all my hair out in frustration, other times it makes me want to pinch myself in disbelief of how cool our actual lives are.