In the early 90s, I often had the pleasant duty of showing people some of the more interesting and exciting aspects of Lagos, Nigeria.

One particularly popular trip was to visit the village of Makoko – which was entirely built on stilts in the lagoon – and which could only be reached by dugout canoe. The organiser of these unique trips was a delightfully twinkly old Swiss lady, called Mrs Shonubi. Back in the day she had worked for Swissair on the Nigeria run, married a Nigerian and settled there, becoming a well known member of the community.

The people of Makoko were very much in the margins of Lagos society, so our trips and friendships were particularly valuable to them.

On another occasion, I asked my Co worker, Lyn, what her interests were, so we could get the most out of her first trip. She was a keen runner, so on our first night there (a Monday) we headed off to find the Lagos Hash House Harriers run. The starting point wasn’t far from the new Chevron LEKKI offices, on nearby Ikoyi Island, but despite leaving in good time, we got mired in one of the “go slows” and arrived at the start a few minutes after the 100 or so runners had left.

The organisers were happy to point us in the general direction of the run, suggesting we’d have no problem catching up.

Off we set, listening out for the usual hullabaloo of 100 Harriers chanting and shouting as they follow the trail set by the two ‘gates’.

Lyn was not very comfortable – as we could hear nothing- and no pack in sight. I tried to ooze confidence – but wasn’t keen to just keep running into the maze of streets that make up Lagos.

Finally we reached a major intersection and to our left we saw a small group of police, manning a road checkpoint. I decided to avoid that direction at all costs! Hoping that these two sports- clad ‘Oyibo’ wouldn’t be noticed I suggested we carry straight on.

Then the police started shouting and waving their guns. “Just ignore them, pretend we haven’t heard them” I said to Lyn.

The officers’ voices got louder and more insistent, “Don’t look over there” I said.

I glanced across, seriously worried now, that we would end up getting bailed out of a police cell on day one of a long trip.

Then I saw what the police were desperately trying to tell us:

“They went that way!” They were shouting, indicating the other avenue.

Thanks to those police, we joined the main harrier pack and enjoyed a safe and tasty celebration at Cocos bar and restaurant afterwards! I was always touched by the warmth, humanity and care for others that Lagosians showed, contrasting with life in, say, London.

Peter Young