I must admit, I was nervous about going to Nigeria. It seemed akin to going into the lair of the beast. I had seen District 9, after all, and have ventured through Little Nigeria – Hillbrow – of a night.

Was I, too, about to become cat food? Nah, I told myself as I waited in the line to get through the myriad of officials at Lagos airport, they’ve banned the film from being shown in Nigeria, so surely no-one will get that idea. Then again, maybe they don’t need any filmmakers’ ideas.

Okay, so what did happen to me during a week of walking and photographing in that modern Sodom & Gomorrah, aka Lagos?  The answer is nothing. I mean nothing bad. Lots of good things happened. My Dutch vrienden and I did motorbike pillion races through the crowded streets that were absolutely exhilarating. The drivers even give you paper mache crash helmets. The most elegant of Lagosian women wear the helmet perched atop their elaborate hairstyles. This is a new trend – ever since the new governor started cracking down on the mean streets of Lagos in a Giuliani manner, things have gotten much better.

Apparently one couldn’t wait those hours stuck in the never ending traffic jams without a crook trying to grab something off you. I found it pretty safe, never feeling threatened. But that traffic is a bit much, by anyone’s standards.

At any rate, while wandering the choked market street near our hotel, the dubiously dubbed Excellence Hotel, I bumped into a barefoot man swathed in a simple white robe. Hmm, Nigerian Zioni, I thought. As it happens, he was a pastor at the Celestial Church of Christ, which had been founded in 1947. I invited myself to one of their services, and in the coming days made my way through a series of confusing phone calls. We were directed to a place that was meant to be nearby. In a city of some 17 million (Lagosians say 33 million, but that’s because federal money is allocated by popula….. you get the picture) I was unsure what hat meant. We – aforementioned vrienden Chris de Bode, Frederiek Biemans and I – took a motorized tricycle with a driver who drove around for over 90 minutes, hopelessly lost.  But we got there, and it was really not far, had we had a driver with some sense.

The church was a delight. An elaborate altar with lots of shiny mirrors and splendid Jesus painting. It was pretty freewheeling, a kind of Billy Graham meets old fashioned Nigerian syncretic Christianity.  The music was great, and the best was when a female adherent felt the spirit move her prophesy at length in a courtyard called Mercy Place.

Lagos is fabulously energized, humorous and fun, despite the fact that the city runs off generators and not grid power (again, don’t ask), and when it rains, many of  the streets simply flood. Can’t have it all.