As I intimated last week, I decided to skip my main blog writing this week so that I could devote more time to my novel. I am pleased to report that not only have I now finished Chapter two of Part two, (which is published below) but have also made great progress on Chapter three.
My current target is to have the first full draft of the novel completed before I go to the UK with Lek in early June to visit my family.
All things being equal, I hope to publish my usual blog, (about my life in Thailand and articles on other random subjects), next Sunday.
In the meantime, here is the latest completed chapter on my novel, “Azzy.”
The Six Wives of Mobi D’Ark: Book One; “Azzy”
The completed draft of the entire Part One, and Part Two, Chapter One of my novel can be found by clicking the link below:-
Now, the new chapter…
Azzy – Part Two, Chapter Two.
Below is the completed draft of Part Two – Chapter Two of my new novel.
Part Two – Port Harcourt
Life in Port Harcourt in the early months of 1970 was a totally different matter from the cosy, expat existence that I had previously enjoyed in Lagos. I was now permanently transferred to this Wild West outpost – with no electricity, no water, no banks, no restaurants, and very few shops.
For the foreseeable future, I would be living and working with a bunch of hard-drinking, foul-mouthed oilfield hands, who’s every other word was an obscenity. Most of them hailed from Texas or New Mexico or Louisiana, with a few from Holland and Germany and even the odd Brit. Some of the Louisianan coon-asses were barely literate.
When I entered the Port Harcourt hotel coffee shop on my first morning in town, I was in pretty low spirits. While I was thankful that I had made it to my destination in one piece, I was worried about my future life in this godforsaken, war-torn town, where I knew no one. But I was soon cheered by a familiar voice shouting to me from a table at the far end of the coffee shop.
“Hey, Mobi! You goddamn limey pencil pusher, come over here!”
At first I thought it was a Yank, but then I recognised the voice. It was Jan de Groot, my Dutch friend from Warri, who was badly mimicking the Americans’ mode of speech.
The sight of Jan improved my mood considerably. “Hi Jan, thank God you’re here, I didn’t see you around when I arrived last night.”
“I crashed early – needed my beauty sleep; there’s a lot of work to do if we’re to get this place up and running again. Daniel’s told me about your little escapades on the road from Lagos – and from what I hear; you still can’t keep away from those little dark-skinned ladies, can you?
I ignored his jibes. “Jan, who’s in charge here?”
“Who do you think?”
“Not you again?”
“You got it in one, my friend – until they decide to send some lazy bastard down from Lagos to take over from me. In the meantime, dear old Uncle Jan has got the unpleasant job of sorting out all the crap. It’s like Warri, all over again.”