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I was seated in the fourth row on board a twin-prop air plane
parked on the hot, steamy tarmac at Kotoka International airport, Ghana,
awaiting our departure to Lagos. Settled into the cosy comfort of the Dash 8
aircraft, I gazed out of my window looking past its huge propeller blades. I
found myself right in the centre of various images and scenarios that an
unfortunate exit out of the window into the propeller blades presented. It
wasn't nice. Since there was very little physical distance between the
propeller and me, I marvelled at the fact that, what separated me from a gruesome end was a double sheet of glass and the fuselage's outer skin. Man's
inventions never cease to amaze me, and it is just completely inconceivable,
the extremes in safety that this situation put me in. Seated in cushioned
comfort on the one hand ;lights, air con, and service call controls an arm’s
reach away, and then, sneezing distance away, a giant blender blade, whirring
at high speed.
My train of thought was suddenly interrupted by the volume and
tone of an obviously displeased man.
“Rubbish! Nonsense! you people have come with your rubbish! I
paid for first class! what do you mean its free seating!?” The tall, elegant,
elderly, Naija businessman with an angular face, a trace of long ago tribal
marks, and shiny bald head, yelled. His vocal capacity was such that we all knew for sure that his
lungs functioned perfectly, and he had no voice projection issues. It was a
minute or two before the owner of the lungs which powered the bellowing voice,
arrived through the entrance door. The cabin steward stood at attention, his
welcoming smile frozen in place now, and rapidly becoming distorted shortly
afterwards as it began to decay. He had to remain pleasantly smiling for
everyone else, but his internal organs were squirming as they reacted to the
verbal arrows. "Good evening sir, you're welcome on boar...." he carried bravely on
"Rubbish! You people have come with your nonsense! I paid for
first class!" was the reply the poor cabin steward got in return. I was amused,
and there was more to come.
The Naija businessman sat down heavily in the aisle seat in the
first row, brewing, stewing and bubbling out his anger, frustration and
irritation into the atmosphere. He was in 'dress down mode', no bespoke
tailored $5,000 dollar suit, but a crisp tan coloured, linen/ seer sucker mix
shirt, buttoned down the front. It had a small lapel collar and at the hemline, there were little side nicks at
each seam, creating a stylish detail. The casual shirt was close fitting enough to give
a sharp silhouette but baggy enough to just skim the high point of his
protruding belly, giving him a slimmer look than would at first be evident.
The poor cabin steward, (let's call him Albert )stepped forward to
take (let's call him) Mr. Adesina's swish, obviously real leather ,designer
hand baggage which was as large as the owner's ego. "Please let me take that
sir, it is too big for the overhead cabin, we have to check it into the
hol...."
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" Arrant nonsense! I paid for first class!..... rubbish!, how can I
pay for first class and you say I cannot keep my hand luggage with me! You
people and your rubbish! I paid for first class! You have come again with your
nonsense!" And these kind of volcanic verbal complaints went on for a while. Meanwhile, Albert was fast
becoming a facial muscle contortionist. He did a jolly good job of smiling courteously at
everyone else at exactly the same time, he smiled at Mr. Adesina with a show of
deep concern as well.
A very large lady with an enormous pair of chests came panting on
to the aircraft long after others had boarded, muttering to herself, but very
loudly. Her various wraps, flailing sleeves and unravelling head scarf sort of
floated in, after, and about her as though miraculously held up by gusts of
wind. She had what looked like a small sofa hanging on her shoulder, it's
weight dragging her ample shoulder downwards, while her mobile phone was
hoisted over her ear with the free arm. She talked to the person on the phone
as though addressing the people standing at the back of a large gathering one
thousand strong. It was all in Yoruba, and a progress report stating her
arrival on the aircraft. The free seating issue presented problems as she
struggled up and down the aisles, trying to decide where to sit. She relinquished her 'hand
baggage' to Albert to be put in the hold quite readily, while Mr. Adesina who
had piped down a bit, was still proclaiming bitterly, but in a lowered volume,
how he had been short changed.
Shortly afterwards, I noticed how with each bewildered looking
face that got on board, there was a chorus of "it's free seating o!" from
various people near the front. It was as though, Albert and his colleagues had
instant co-workers. Unofficial cabin crew, of an indeterminate number,
and had not signed in the duty rota for the flight. It is so typical of Naija's
to take control of such situations. It was that unity we can drum up instantly, something I have witnessed at play again and again. With the
underlying need to process the potentially de stabilising effects of yet
another public service gaff, being helpful to others as they joined in the
predicament and verbalising were vital tools which assisted folks in settling
down faster.
Soon after, the man who sat on the seat right next to the
emergency exit was being given his briefing by Albert. This reminded me of
another flight I had been on months previously, where the air staff's similar script was
constantly being interrupted by a passenger's bold interjections and prophetic
assertions.....
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I watched as an air steward
began to deliver his memorised lines with flair and ease, but his training
could not have prepared him for what ensued. It went something like;
Cabin crew:"Sir, in case of emergen-" He was cut off sharply and abruptly.
Passenger: "Not on this flight!'....
Cabin crew: "If we are flying over water....." he was cut off again
Passenger: "I SAID, not on this flight!" This sharp retort delivered with an
angular tilt of the head, inquiring and determined.
Cabin crew:"You turn this door handle in..."
Passenger:" I said it will NOT HAPPEN in Jesus name!" He barked back with a
potent combination of anger, strong determination and passion. By this time,
his eye balls were right on stilts, challenging the air steward to step down
from what must have come across to him as 'pessimistic reports'. In the meantime, the lady seated next to me rocked
back and forth like an emotionally disturbed child, mini bible in hand, her
lips moving rapidly, muttering prayers for the success of the flight. Her
babbling was mostly undecipherable but every now and then, it would crescendo
with a gush of repeated, laboured exhaling and end with a loud "DJEE-SSUS!"
I was immediately nervous.
This did not bode well for the flight's safety. Perhaps this was a
sign that I was remiss with my Godly connections, and therefore had missed out somehow on the insight that
prompted these outbursts.The cabin crew's automatically spewed out lines were eventually
completed even though in competition with the objecting passenger's 'hallelujah interjections'. The
effect was hilarious and it also prolonged the allotted time given for this
standard briefing.
No other people can collectively have as marked an effect on
aircrew's behaviour, scheduled flight times and safety procedures as us,
Naijas!
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Many years back, when I was a secondary school student returning
to London after one of my school holidays in Lagos, I was on a flight which
was stopped just after it started to taxi for take off. I kid you not, we had a
live chicken- a poor distressed bird, squawking and running up and down the cabin
aisle. Airport security was summoned mid runway, to get it off the aircraft. I
do not know how the bird got past security checks!
Those were the days when your mother could walk you right up to
the door of the aircraft just because the customs official had seen you crying.
Now, your belt and shoes are demanded of you and the metal detector settings in
the body scan doorway can pick up the metal of the fillings in your teeth or
the underwire of your bra. I hereby warn the young men sagging their trousers
as a current fashion trend to be especially careful when reaching this point. I
imagine if they raise their arms to be body searched with the handheld probe
after relinquishing their belts, they could with all probability find
themselves standing in the security queue in their underwear. Their trousers
having taken a quick gravitational dive due south. Meanwhile their baggy trouser's only restraining mechanism being
at that point on its way through scanning paradise.
Easily accessible foreign media has made the dress style of
'sagging' acceptable to our youth, and a valid form of self expression. I
wonder if most of our youth knew the genesis of it, they would be so readily associated with it. Apparently,
in the U.S prisons, trousers issued to inmates generally have a huge waist size. There is no reference to
the wearer's actual size, one size fits all. As well, so that they do not harm
each other, or top themselves, they are not allowed to wear belts. So, of
course, for most inmates, their trouser waists are too big. What is the
connection with all this? The rappers and similar artists who are now
glamorised and in the public eye have had some prison experience or other. They
have somehow incorporated this into their dress style. Not surprising at all
since this is the reality of their lives, but how is this any of the majority
of our youth's?
Media, entertainment and the arts can press forward quite
effectively, the transfer of socio- cultural norms and the subliminal conquests
they achieve are faster and more pervasive than a million consulates filled with diplomats, attending
cocktails, sipping vino and making speeches with veiled statements. Go to the
far corners of the Caribbean, where
Nollywood films are easily available. This is the trend throughout West Africa
where these movies are sold on many street corners . In fact don't go far, step
across to Ghana where, 'tofiakwa!', a phrase meaning 'God forbid' in Igbo, a Nigerian language, has become common parlance. This now common slang emanated from these prolific Nollywood films.
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The experience of air travel has been drastically transformed into
a series of impositions of our personal space and liberties.
I felt at high risk of
picking up some fungal infection or other from the gummy floor I was forced to
walk on with bare feet once, while my shoes travelled separately in a plastic
tray through a scanning machine.
The current requirements for one's travel attire and hand baggage
would match the parameters for someone entering a mental institution as a self
harmer. Such are the restrictions now placed on us by the stringent rules
promoting anti-terrorism. Your thirst for even plain water must, according to the
regulations be quenched by no more than 100 ml of water. I suppose this
protects the society as a whole, but so many basic personal freedoms have been
taken away as well. Sometimes it feels
like being herded like cattle. Our lives are gradually losing depth and
dimension in some spheres, so much for the better quality of life that
technology and modernity promised. But I digress........
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Now back to my Dash Eight experience.
When we landed at Muritala
Mohammed airport, it was far away from the finger which would bring us into the
airport building. Yes,it was a
relatively long taxi to our final stop, but that was no excuse for our
behaviour. As usual, my compatriots grew too impatient for us to reach our
final stop. A cacophony of noise ensued as various mobile phone ring tones, volume enhanced phone conversations
in different languages, a variety of eyebrow raising attitudes oozing into the
atmosphere, and shuffling feet, all competed
with the plane engine's wind down noise. The on board announcer's efforts to
welcome us to Lagos were completely drowned out as well.
Madam 'wind gust' was on again in loud Yoruba giving her status
report, ear cocked, twinkling eyes smiling into the phone....
"ello, ello, ello?, heeelooooo!, 'ello, 'ello?"
I wondered why she did not wait till we had stopped.
"Ello! We are here now, after this, we will get down and get our
luggage." Hardly earth shattering info that could not wait a few more minutes!
There after there was an eruption, a chorus of various impatient
sounds. The clink- clunking sounds of seat belts being un fastened, metal
buckles hissing against sturdy ,woven fabric straps, people shuffling and
jumping out of their seats. The air heavily laden with anticipation. Many were
making a mad dash for the overhead lockers as though there was a known but
unseen serial, hand luggage thief prowling about. The air steward's shoulders
sagged , he exhaled heavily and looked exasperated. He was still seated in his jump seat and
strapped in. He did not stand but remained seated and quickly leaned forward to
grab the announcer's hand set.
"Please remain seated and strapped in, the fasten seat belt sign
is still on!"
O my people! They looked at him as though he was a kill joy and
speaking a strange language at that. By the time we had come to a halt, there
were about half a dozen people crammed into the doorway area, itching to get
out.
No one had time for any of the welcome pleasantries, for safety
procedures or any such thing. The impatient twitchiness, anxiety laden
behaviour and aggressive hunt down continues. A people's behaviour governed
more by their experience and circumstances and not at all tempered by restraint
and considered choice.
But as we say in Naija, 'na condition wey bend crayfish' (A clever Naija saying in pidgin English which translates to:Life happens)
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Lara Cookey
Travel on a Dash 8 aircraft
Nov 2009
The main thing that kept me going was the recollection of all the scriptures, hymns and choruses that I had already known prior to being 'struck down'. The Lord even sent me my own songs which I sang to myself repeatedly. This is the nature of the God we serve, that music; including lyrics are sent to minister to the mind of someone like me, who found themselves in their own company for a very large proportion of the time. These songs could not have come from anywhere else but God himself, as I don't play any musical instrument.Their words ministered to me like nothing I have ever known. In one of such songs, the Lord gave me the words: 
