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I’ve been stuck in Johannesburg traffic for an hour now; finally pulling off the treadmill of Rivonia Rd, and into the Nigerian Consulate compound – open Tuesday and Thursday mornings only – to be greeted by a mountain of a security man casually swinging a semi-automatic and demanding I stop.
“You cannot be bringing your car in here, and must certainly be parking outside.” The voice is classic Nigerian: all gravel and English gravitas.
I poke my head out the window and twist in my seat to peer back over my shoulder and from where I’ve come; now a stationary stream of morning peak... (more)
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