Big Pimpin'

We first went to Bottles, 3 weeks into our arrival in Lagos. Bottomless pitchers of margaritas, an open courtyard and African arts and crafts on the wall were all pretty positive factors. When Nneka, Udhedhe and I first arrived, the place was absolutely empty. Yet, to our confusion, the bar tenders told us that all the tables were reserved and that we would have to sit at the bar. Within a few hours, it became pretty clear that this place was going to get nuts. Foreigners from around the world were jam-packed into Bottles, using it as a buffer against the rest of Nigeria. My Nigerian girlfriends were none to pleased about being caught in an "Expat Bar" but the margaritas really were to die for and made it a bit difficult to leave. After engaging in some very strange conversations, we peaced out, vowing never to return.
 
Two weeks later, we were back. This time we decided to come early and leave even earlier. When Udhedhe and I got there, Priscilla had already ordered us a pitcher and told us about some old American men sitting behind us. "Sugar Daddies" she guaranteed. Looking over my shoulder at the poor jovial, tubby, old men, I almost felt bad at this blanket statement. Almost. Because within 15 minutes, they had sent a pitcher our way! What was left to do but drink it of course. We even distributed it among some new friends we made at the bar. One of these friends, Mariam, was this tall, beautiful Nigerian (semi-model (?)) who was incredibly friendly, and as is the case with Nigerians, instagram-obsessed.

Side-note on Instagram: I have followed most of the new friends I've been making in Lagos and every single person's  profile (girl or guy) is filled with selfies, photos dressed up in front of mirrors, make-up photos and the occasional funny-but-pretty selfie. Hipsters in America would be horrified! Also every photo is liked and commented on by at least 100+ people. If I uploaded one such photo, even by mistake, I would be destroyed by my friends' comments: "Think you're cool?", "Awkward", "You're so vain." But apparently, pouty faces is appreciated here.

Anyway, Mariam exchanged numbers with Priscilla and invited us out to Cafe Vanessa on the following Friday. After stopping by Seni's epic house party (which we never should have left), we headed to the Cafe. As soon as she saw me, she grabbed my hand and pulled me over to this guy sitting on the couch and said "Vie, this is my boss. He owns Cafe Vanessa, saw your photos on my Instagram and wants to meet you," and peaces out. I am so uncomfortable and also slightly convinced that Mariam is some sort of Madame. He puts his arm around me and as I awkwardly excuse myself, he says "I like girls I can lift up with one hand."After that I steer clear of him and hang out with Nneka, Priscilla and Udhedhe in another corner. To be fair, he plies us with tons of champagne and moves on to other people. A few days later, Mariam, forces my number out of Priscilla, and calls to ask / tell me that she was giving my number to her boss. Being somewhat prepared (and sober), I am really direct and rude when he calls which worked.

Today my suspicions are confirmed, as Chinny from work tells me that the local women who go to Bottles are either high-end prostitutes or madames soooooo we will never be going back. Except this coming Wednesday for one quick margarita.