Innocence

Posted on April 29, 2013 by aitayemi

Innocence

I wish I had left my mind in Ibadan
A shell driving a shell to Lagos
Ignoring the statue at Challenge
Via Ijebu but not quite Epe

I wish I had left my heart in Ibadan
Then I wouldn’t have to “off” the radio
Because words like “Love, really?, drama, form, familiarity, talking, seriously?”
wouldn’t bother me so much

I wish I had left my past in Ibadan
Forgotten Geography
along with places such as Akobo, Mokola, Theatre, Bodija
Remembering nothing that quickened my heartbeat

I wish I had left my body in Ibadan
6 feet below ground
unmeasurable distance above earth
looking down with no care for love or lust or infatuation

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was broad daylight when I left Ibadan, so I decided to take the old Ibadan-Lagos road from Ibadan to Lagos. It took me through Ijebu-Ode along the Lagos-Epe road.

The Church

I can’t help but marvel at the church above (the few times I have taken this route – always from Lagos to Ibadan except today I was going in the opposite direction and it was during the day). I pulled over, got out of the car and went to stand in front of the fence. I was tempted to go inside because there was the outline of 2 apostles on the metal double-door.

The bridge
This bridge below is just before the church (below). Not sure what it is called. But I guess the Federal Govt. “Omotosho-Epe-Ajah 330KV DC Transmission Line” at one end of the bridge should serve as a reference point.

I parked the car after going over the bridge (I couldn’t stop for some time so I parked a fair distance away from the bridge). Then I walked back (taking pictures along the way). Anything to keep the thoughts going through my mind at bay.

It all reminded me of my father. A surgeon (first class) and a farmer. He had a love of the land. Sweating under the mid-day Sun as he made the yam mounds. I still remember once the non-nonchalance with which he used the hoe to kill a snake that suddenly popped up once when he was making those mounds. He practically didn’t miss a beat.
Of course at the time (every Saturday spent on the farm), the gnats weren’t so nice, but we still had to fertilize the corn, weed the cassava fields, and clean out the piggery if necessary (actually fun getting in the pens with the pigs). And there was the fish ponds, the cattle, and the goats and sheep. There was the Mango trees, the sweet Agbalumo tree.
What wouldn’t I give now to spend a Saturday on the farm with him.
I think the fact that you could find me with slippers in the house and walking barefoot outside on the road/compound has something to do with my growing up 🙂

While taking photographs of the “creek”, a boat man came rowing midstream. I greeted him and asked if I could take his picture. He said to go right ahead. he even turned around the boat so I could get a good picture of him. He asked where I was from, and I said Lagos.

The other end of the bridge. The PHCN construction is just to the right.

The first “joint” where the bridge more or less started.

The pictures below were taken after I leaned over the bridge and greeted them. I asked if I could take their pictures. They didn’t understand me at first, but once they realised what I meant, they enthusiastically agreed.

Since they responded in Yoruba (but with the location at the back of my mind), I asked if they were Yoruba. The oldest boy told me that they were not Yoruba. That a lot of tribes were represented there. There were Ijaws, and other tribes. He himself was Togolese. I asked if he could speak French. he said very little. I greeted him “Bon joule” to which he responded “Bon Joule madame”. We all burst out laughing at his mistake which he realised and I corrected (use Monsieur for men and madame for women)

Innocence.
Even the naked one in the group was willing to have his picture taken. I was the one that kept saying he should get in the water (since I was going to put up the pictures on my blog 🙂

Michael I think his name was. The most willing out of the group. He came up on the bridge afterwards to look at the pictures. Reporting to the rest that the pictures were very good.

Putting on a show for me (Michael I think). The little guy came up on the bridge, and jumped down into the water below! I asked him if he had done it before (jumped). He played along and pretended he hadn’t and it may be dangerous. I told him he was very brave. That I wouldn’t do it even if I was offered money!

Since they were all on the metal pipe, I told them I wanted to take a few more pictures. They decided to put the naked guy in the middle!

Back in the water!

I asked them what they did and they said “fish”. I said I didn’t think there would be big fishes in the water. they responded that it wasn’t the right season. That for now only small fishes are in the water.

I said goodbye. Once of them responded that I should “wash” the pictures. The others made fun of him!

It seems there are two ways we lose our “innocence” (the simple joy in being alive; in the wonders around us): age (growing up), and education.
Just after the bridge was a shed with a couple of kids under it. They were properly dressed and the bungalow in the background was probably their house. They were tending to a tray of smoked fish. I asked if I could take their picture and the boy said “Koni she she O!” (impossible!). Of course, it may just be superstition, who knows what I could do with the picture? Maybe “remote-control” them into slavery or money-making rituals! It contrasted heavily to the response I got a few meters away from the children and even men who were “closer” to the land.

The 25-liter plastic jerrycan collecting the real deal (palm-wine) from the palm tree!

The shed had various domestic items in it. I could also see a bottle of “Alomo” or whatever the aphrodisiac in the small green plastic bottle is called.

The other end of the bridge.

Village visit or consulting the “Babas”?

The car in the picture is a 2-door coupe.

The state of Nigeria

The old toll gate

The Epe bridge?

Loot from the Route!

The watermelon cost N600, the 6 mangoes cost N100, and the real poison (palm-wine) cost N500. After taking the pictures of the boys, it suddenly dawned on me that it would be a crime to leave the area (with all the palm-wine smell heavy in the air) without sampling some of it. There was a shed just a few meters up the road from where I had packed my car selling the good stuff 🙂
The plastic bottle is for size reference purposes. I bought the Mangoes and Watermelon at the T-junction (Epe/Ogun/Lagos).
I find it difficult to haggle too much with people selling food stuff. I think about all the effort it takes to grow them, the farmers and sellers under the fierce Sun … and I think how easy I may spend the same amount on something not even relevant such as a bottle of drink or a lunch …

From London to Berlin

Posted on March 11, 2013 by aitayemi

LONDON TO BERLIN

Not this time though. The title comes from the hook of one of my favorite songs (“From London to Berlin” by Infernal).
“From Paris to Berlin, and every disco I get in, my heart is pumping for love … you left me longing for you.”

In the last week, I have been “West-Coast” trotting. From Lagos to Accra Ghana. Stayed at the Golden Tulip Hotel. If you ever find yourself in the hotel, make sure you order the grouper fillet at least once (it’s served with chips). One second in your mouth and then it’s gone. It is that good. You almost don’t need to chew it since it is very soft and smooth. The meeting I went for in Accra was relatively OK. Went in to nip some brewing trouble with a client in the bud. Promised to find a solution to their problem by leveraging my organization’s technical resources.

Then it was on to Dakar, Senegal via Freetown.

So I took a flight on ASKY from Ghana to Freetown A relatively small plane sitting about 100 people. I was seated quite close to the back. The lunch was a surprise for such a small plane and a small airline I think. They even had a choice of drinks on offer.

After the meal we settle down for the flight. And that was when the trouble started.

The smell came in waves. I started thinking someone in the “house” was responsible. The big guy in front of me was a close suspect. It appeared he was still eating well after the lunch was over which made me more suspicious. Maybe he was letting it rip secretly – silent killer.

As I said earlier the smell came in waves. And one could almost choke on it. I kept looking at the back of the head of the big guy. After some particularly bad “waft”, he picked up some newspapers and started fanning the air with a motion that looks as if he was trying to drive away the bad air. It was at this point it hit me that he may not be responsible, or he may even be thinking the same about me. So I picked up the on-board magazine and copied his actions. So he knows we are on the same side.

At some point I realized it was coming from the toilet at the back. The hostess seated right at the back got up and adjust the toilet’s doors, but that didn’t really help. At some point I got up and looked up the aisle to see if there was any row with empty seats, but there was at least one person on every couple of seats (2 seats per side of the aisle) and I guess even though they may not exactly say no, I can understand that they had settled happily into the believe that they can stretch on this journey having got an extra seat for their economy ticket. So I sat back down, I wasn’t about to rain on anyone’s parade.

But I kept an eye on the hostess. I was hoping she would bolt and then I wouldn’t give a damn about moving forward yet. But like the true “sea captain” that she was, she stuck it out. So instead I checked the time and tried to estimate how longer the flight would be before we got to our destination.

After a particularly bad “one”, the hostess got up, rummage in some overhead bins, then went all the way to the front of the plane, found a can of air freshener and returned to the back of the plane. She sprayed it judiciously and sat back down. I was in heaven for a few minutes. Then the smell over powered the fragrance. The hostess didn’t even bother to spray it again – I guess she realized it was futile. It smelled as if the toilet had spilled over and was sloshing around in there. I hope it was a one-time fluke on a flight that was otherwise quite comfortable. But I have learnt my lesson – if I find myself on ASKY again, I am going to demand for a seat close to the front of the plane!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In Freetown I started looking around for Senegal Airlines (which was listed as my next carrier on my itinerary). I asked around and generally found out that there was nothing like Senegal Airlines. But Africans are very helpful and someone suggested that it was ASKY. Then while looking around for the ASKY staff, another person was helpful enough to go hunting for the ASKY manager but returned to tell me that the ASKY manager had gone home and he would let me know ones the gentleman returns (my flight wasn’t going for another 2 hours or so). The smell of alcohol was strong on his breath and I thought he was slightly drunk. He suggested I made myself comfortable. After about 30 minutes, I started asking around again and finally figured out that it was Brussels Airlines.

The flight was delayed for about an hour and a half.

Finally we were airborne.

So when I landed at Dakar, I stepped out of the terminal building and into the company of a couple of people. One was a Taxi driver and the other was Idris. I hesitate to call Idris a tout. He himself said he was into business and was hustling (not the completely negative connotation – think more along the line of a “fixer”). The Taxi man attempted to convince me to let him take me to my hotel since the complimentary hotel shuttle had left (my flight was delayed by about an hour and a half from Freetown . Once I told him I had no money and intended to wait, he lost interest. But Idris was not so easily dissuaded. He was going to assist me in any way he could. Pointing out where the hotel driver was likely to stand if he was actually waiting for me. In the meantime we got talking in the cold night air. Idris (according to him) speaks French (his native language as he is from Ouagadougou the Burkina Faso capital), Spanish, Italian, a little English and Hausa (but not Yoruba). He was working with some Senegalese “Expats” (for about 3 years) in Libya but was then deported when that country’s troubles started. He made his way to Senegal . He got married to a Senegalese lady and now has two children.

Football like religion gets worked into everything. Both are as divisive as they are cohesive. He suddenly remembered that we beat them at the African cup of nations recently. He burst out laughing.

Idris: “You. Are you married?”

Me: “No. Not yet.”

Idris: “Why now?”

Idris: “A man without why and children is not OK. But a man with a wife and children is ready for anything. You see in African culture, even if you have a wife but no children and you die, you are quickly forgotten. But if you have children, they will carry on your name. People will see them and say those and the children of Mr. so and so. When you have a wife benediction will follow.”

Idris: “You see I went to fish. I caught a big fish and stopped. Then I handed over to someone else and he too caught a big fish.”

Idris: “You should catch one Senegalese lady while you are here.”

Me: “She won’t follow me. Nigeria is too far.”

Idris: “Why not. She will.”

A cat passes by. I start to make “moose moose” noises. It paid me very little attention and sauntered on its merry way – shows it is completely at ease around humans.

Idris: “You like animals.”

Me: “Yes. Growing up we raised everything – chicken, pigs, sheep, goats, cattle, ducks, cats, dogs.”

Idris: “Good. It is good to like animals. They bring good luck.”

Idris: “It is good to have cats. If you treat them well, they have no ill will towards you. In fact, if something negative is about to happen, they give you a sign. They are mystic.”

Me: “Some people don’t like them though.”

Idris: “But cats don’t like any place where someone has died. They run away immediately (he said laughing).

That’s something I am hearing for the first time I think.

Idris: “But it is not good that you beat Burkina Faso. You used Juju.”

Me: “But someone has to win.”

Sometime later he mentioned again that Nigerians have plenty juju.

I put two and two together and asked if he watched a lot of Nigerian movies.

Idris: “Yes. On Africa Magic.”

He thinks we make good films. Of course, a lot of our African neighbors now think Juju is part and parcel of everyday life and as common as dogs and chickens roaming the streets.

So he thinks the real hustlers would only take the money off visitors to Senegal while he is more interested in building relationships. He gave me his number and says if I or any of my friends visiting Senegal needs help getting around or to get anything, we can always call on him.

He has two teeth missing from his lower jaw. He says he had an accident on a scooter he owned and but for God, he nearly died. He said he then sold the scooter to pay for his hospital bills. Now he doesn’t like getting on motorcycles.

Idris: “You are a good person.”

Me: “How do you know.” I smiled.

Idris: “You are a good person. I came to you even though you didn’t know me and you still talked to me. If you weren’t a good person, you would have pretended to get on your phone and be talking to someone. But at least you gave me audience. That is good. You have a good heart.”

I smiled and thanked him.

He waited with me until his wife called. He apologized and said he had to go. That is when he slipped in the request – anything I could give him out of the goodness of my heart. Today was a bad day (I assume business-wise). I really didn’t not have any local money. I told him so and he still took it well. But said I should save his number in case when next I come I need his services. I showed him the entry on my phone and that made him really happy. He said it is all about the relationship.

If indeed I come again to Senegal – especially if it is at my own behest – he would be the person I would definitely contact to take me around. If you are headed in that direction and you want his number, let me know.

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Dakar is quite beautiful. So were the people as well. I understand that they loved sports and exercising a lot. As a colleague commented, even the older and middle-aged men did not sport big bellies. The beaches were full of people exercising.

One other thing, though there is alcohol, most citizens of Dakar don’t drink on account that the main religion is Islam. But a lot of them smoke – go figure. I guess the religion specifically mentions alcohol while there was no cigarette at the time the books were compiled. Yet, tobacco is just as destructive.

Well what happens in Dakar stays in Dakar. No, I am talking about myself. All I did was eat Gambas (over-sized prawns) and drink Pomme (apple juice with some of the fruit ground in). I am speaking for myself only of course.

Arrived Lagos at about 5:30AM. Didn’t get our luggage for over an hour earlier. I shouldn’t have checked in the darn thing. But I didn’t want to toss the 2 pieces of banana I had in the bag – and I wasn’t ready to eat them – and didn’t know if the scanner would have picked them up – yes, I guess I could be stubborn that way. Besides, the other guys except the boss checked in their luggage so I followed suit. Besides not having to mind the bag for the duration of trip sounded fun. That was Nigeria welcoming me back home in case I had forgotten how it “used” to be :-).

Random strangers

Posted on November 27, 2012 by aitayemi

Random strangers

I know I will likely get some interesting comments on this post (or maybe not – people may just read it and think I must be nuts but not actually comment on the post 🙂
For some reason, on my trips back to Lagos from Ibadan (and at least once from Lagos to Ibadan), I have given completely random strangers lifts all the way to Lagos.
Several months ago, I had pulled into a petrol station just on the outskirts of Lagos to have the air in my tyres gauged when a fellow approached me for a lift to Ibadan. I was not so sure, but when he added that he had one of this “staff”who would be going along as well, I just completely refused. But he didn’t give up immediately, so by the time all the tyres were checked, I relented and asked him to get in. I found out he was a tanker driver for the petrol station and was on his way home (Ibadan) for the weekend. I dropped them off somewhere before we got to Iwo road (I would have taken the “Challenge” road, but I thought if I had done them a good turn already and it was getting a little late, I decided I might as well see things through – I practically dropped them at the bus stop next to their houses – but I ended up in some traffic due to the detour. Just short of their stop, the gentleman asked for for the cost and I said no, not to bother. He said some prayers as they got down and thanked me profusely. He said I should continue doing good deeds, etc.

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A couple of trips back, I had pulled into one of the last petrol stations just before leaving Ibadan (just shy of the old tollgates) to top up my gas tank when a guy and then a couple of people tentatively approached me to see if I could get them to Lagos (usually they expect to pay – but lower than what a typical commercial vehicle would charge I think). I at first flatly refused, glanced back at the jumble on the back seat and thought of the trouble I would have to go to get all that stuff out of the way. Another person, a little scruffy looking approached as well – when the first two offered to show me their ID cards, he said he was just an humble (Islamic) alfa which no form of identification. I turned him down as well. But by the time my tank was full, I was having second thoughts. So I indicated to the first couple (colleagues selling one of these health products that also involve getting other people to retail the stuff) to follow while I drove a little away from the pump. I got down and had to shove everything into the back of the vehicle. I also had to erect the 3^rd row seat. The alfa had returned back to the side of the road to keep trying his luck with other passing cars. While arranging my stuff about 3 others also came up to ask if it was possible they get a lift to Lagos. Since it looked like I was committed at that point, I agreed as well. Then I thought of the alfa and what kind of Christian would I be if I didn’t take him while I took a few other people that showed up after him. So I beckoned to him as well. By the time we got back on the road, I believe I had 6 complete strangers packed into the vehicle with me.

We made it safely to Lagos, and when we were almost in Lagos, I think it was the Alfa that asked about the cost and I indicated they didn’t have to pay, the alfa led all the others in a comprehensive prayer for me with all the others saying Amen at suitable points. He was full of praise as to how I helped complete strangers and did not ask for any money. After the prayers, he hinted at the fact that he was still going to Obasanjo Farms and had spent all the money he had getting from his village to Ibadan. I think that was pushing a little too far, so I purposefully didn’t get involved in that – especially as he didn’t ask me directly for money – he just put it out there.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Just this past weekend, I was returning from Ibadan to Lagos, when I pulled into the same Petrol station. I noticed a reasonably dressed gentleman with a bag pack trying to get a lift at the side of the road. When I was done filling my tank, I noticed he was still there so I pulled up as I drove past him and indicated he get in, a second fellow that was more or less behind him came up as well and asked if he could get a lift as well. I joked that his face looked hard, but told him to get in as well. The fellow at the back soon fell asleep, but the other fellow in front was awake all through. We discussed some of the antics of the other drivers on the road and some topics on the radio as we went along. The fellow in the back asked to be let out at 7UP and when I pulled over he asked what was the cost, and I said no – you could see the surprise on his face but he thanked me as I pulled back out into the traffic. The other fellow got out around Oworonsoki.

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I guess I could ask for money, but I won’t for several reasons: (not looking down on them, but) If they were comfortable enough, they would be driving as well and not trying to hitch a ride; whether or not I offer them a lift, I was going to Lagos (or Ibadan) anyway; and finally, it was an opportunity to help people without expecting anything back. Hopefully, some of the goodwill will be extended to others along the chain of life.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I won’t necessarily make a habit of it, but I can’t promise not to do it again. In fact, I am likely to – the way I see it, if I do pick up someone that” “wants” the car, I would just let them have it with no fuss – there are more important things in life than holding on to a car that’s at least 7 years old! The only thing I probably won’t do is stop along the road under any condition (if a passenger is pressed, he/she better hold it in until the next town or village). Unless a gun or cutlass is involved, in which case I revert to letting go of the car with no fuss!

Airport Shenanigans

Posted on November 10, 2012 by aitayemi

Airport Shenanigans

The last couple of days (actually several weeks ago) have been pretty interesting. I had a meeting in Abuja for which I had a 9AM flight from Lagos to Abuja on ARIK Airline. I decided I would wake up at 6AM and leave the house at 7AM. It started raining heavily at 5AM or thereabouts, and that was when I should have been smart and drastically changed my plan. But instead, I stayed under the cover sheet and enjoyed the sound of the rain (which I always do) and finally got up at about 6:10AM. The rain had stopped a little when I left the house at about 7:10AM but started again soon afterwards. Getting out of the Island was pretty cool as the traffic was on the opposite side of the highway – but by the time I was approaching Surulere, I knew I was in trouble. The traffic was literally bumper to bumper. I was in traffic more or less all the way from then on. I kept looking at the time on the dashboard and thinking about the fact that I was supposed to check-in at least 45minutes before the flight and there I was at Maryland at about 8AM. On the stretch of road to Ikeja possibly around Sheraton Hotel, some stupid fellow in a beat-up old Mercedes Benz actually bumped into me twice. He was struggling for space with a bigger commercial bus and trying to be sure he got in behind me on the queue. I put the car in park, got out and went to look at the car. His bumper was in contact with mine, but there didn’t seem to be any damage. I looked at the fellow and he raised his hand to indicate he was sorry. I didn’t say anything but just went back into the car. A few stops and starts, and there was a second bump. This time I was angry. I don’t think he heard anything I said, but definitely he saw me pointing to my head to indicate he had some screws loose. I insisted he backed away – his bumper was still resting against mine.

I was rapidly losing time. By the time I was looking at the Ikeja bridge in the distance, the time was about 8:30AM. I tried not to panic but I had heard of the airlines selling people’s seats at the slightest excuse. The traffic was so slow I knew it would be after 9AM before I got to the airport and I was already late. And then I would have to find a place to park the car as well. I started looking at the buildings on the right side of the road for a suitable place I could park but I was passing in front of a couple of car sales company with their compounds full of cars. Then I noticed the NIPOST office. I just drove in there and parked. I put on my suit, took my laptop bag, then went inside the building as if to send a mail. I could hear the staff talking in some backroom but no one was at the counter. I waited a minute or so and made my way back. As I came out and made for the gate, the guard/gateman approached me and asked “May we know you?”

I was caught! I laughed and said “hey! I am a customer now.”
He said I should just have explained to him that I wanted to park my car there. He asked where I was going and I said down the road (God forgive me, though not strictly a lie). He didn’t actually ask for anything but I know it was expected. I told him I may take a little while but made it worth his while as I went out the gates. I started jogging with my bag on my back. Stopped a couple of commercial bikers but they weren’t interested once I mentioned I was going to the airport. Then I saw a biker on the median actually asking “airport?”. I frantically waved at him and I was soon at the old local airport. The short trip cost me N500. Another round of jogging got me to the tent which was serving as the check-in point (the main airport terminal was undergoing renovation). The place looked like a market. The queues wound all over the place. I asked about the flight and one of the official suggested he can help with the boarding pass as they had closed the “counter” on the 9AM flight to Abuja. He said the staff that will assist charge a standard price of N2,850. I tried to haggle but paid up when he returned my ticket to me and said he was only trying to help me (I know I was probably being played, but looking at that queue …). I soon had my boarding pass and was soon in the boarding area – about 8:50AM or thereabouts. I went a couple of times to ask some of the airport staff if the boarding call had not been made – it would be crazy to make it all the way there and then miss the flight because I wasn’t paying attention or it had been announced before I got there.

Well, after 9AM, we were told to proceed to board the plane. Phew! I made it!

* * * * * * * * *

Landed in Abuja about an hour later than planned. The driver and car from my company’s travel agency was waiting already. So I was soon on my way to Abuja town. Went to the hotel of one of my colleagues, then we took off together to meet the rest of our team (they had flown in to Abuja the day before). Had a light lunch of Pizza and Maltina and then it was on to the meeting. We had assumed we were going to make a presentation (actually I was) to the client only to get there and find the place full of friends, foes and competitors from the I.T. industry. It turned out the client (a government parastatal) had invited everybody for more briefing on what they expected from us going into the competition to get a piece of the business on offer. The only refreshment that was served was hot bottled water – I guess the bottles were sitting outside in the sun.

I had dismissed my own driver, since all my other colleagues had cars as well, so I went with a colleague that was staying at the RockView hotel where I had a reservation. I checked in, dropped my bag and we went out again. Some ATM withdrawal, and conversion to Dollars (by my colleague) from one of the men offering bureau de change services by the roadside, then we went hunting for lunch.

Had pounded yam, snail, shaki and cow leg (I always ask for one without bones if I can get away with it) – was basically following the lead of my colleague on the choice of meat – but I was the one that made the decision to eat pounded yam though. Got back to the hotel at about 7PM. Planned to go out on the town at 8PM but it soon started raining heavily. I wasn’t feeling too up to it anyway. And since we didn’t even have a car, I guess that was probably why my colleague didn’t even bother to come around at 8PM. The rain went on for several hours. I think I ordered room service at about 9:30PM. Ate the food at about 11PM or so.

Next day, I checked out at 12:30PM but waited at the hotel lobby. Called the driver to come for me at 3PM but he showed up around 3:30PM. He had to go to the mosque so I didn’t give him any grieve on the issue. Made good time to the airport. Got in just before 5PM and went to get a boarding pass from the Arik desk for my 6:45PM flight. The staff punched my details into her computer and told me they had “closed” the flight. What! Closed a local flight almost 2 hours before the flight take off time! Well, I wasn’t having any of it and let her know immediately. She responded by asking me if I was going to listen to her tell me how I could solve my problem or not – rude – but I let her get in her explanation because I it was looking like I had more problem than just a ticketting officer giving me attitude. She told me to make my way to the back office and ask for the manager who will be able to help me.

I went to the backoffice and at first I thought a free for all was going on. The place was packed full and several voices were raised angrily. All addressing some man in the middle who turned out to be the manager. It immediately dawned on me that things weren’t looking good. If all those people shouting and screaming had issues with their tickets …
I was able to get in a word to ask the man if he was the manager. I think he must have pushed one of the female clients and there was a verbal altercation going on between the client and an elderly woman who was also a member of staff of the airline. I think the client must have abused the manager or strongly demanded to be treated with respect as both a lady and a paying client (because of the push) and the elderly woman must have joined in on the side of the manager (of course!). The older woman made allusions to the client not having home training or no parents to which the client responded that the woman should not address her “anyhow”, that she’s got a child in the University (I was tempted to ask her whether that was actually true later on, because while she was probably older than me, I would have thought only be a few years) and also tagged on a few well-chosen nasty words to put the older woman in her place.
The manager then went to sit down and continued watching the passenger screaming and yelling. Of course his action drew more condemnation as to his lack of respect for paying clients who were all on their feet and having ticket issues through no fault of theirs. Some gentleman who was sitting quietly there supposedly had had all his luggages misplaced by the airline and he must have been there for several hours. A couple of FAAN staff came in and tried to pacify the clients. There was some back and forth between them and the manager. The manager then said we should all go back to the front desk but an elderly lady (a client) blocked the doorway and most of the clients insisted our reservation documents should be collected first as the manager had been dodging them for quite a while – spiriting himself away from place to place when clients are looking for him. Finally, all the documents were collected and we then followed the manager back to one of the agents who was then instructed to handle only the bunch of clients that accompanied the manager. She started issuing tickets to us one by one.

Once we were all checked in, some of the affected clients became impromptu acquaintances – discussing the fracas we just went through.

And while we sat there waiting for our flight (which I think was ultimately about 2 hours later than the time on our tickets), every so often we could hear another hapless client screaming and yelling at the agents’ desks. Most were women, but at some point, some burly young man who had a similar issue took things one step further by grabbing what we though was a bunch of boarding passes off the table of one of the agents. The agent (a lady) tried to retrieve it from him with no luck (the guy just stretched the hand holding up the passes in the air while warding off the lady with the other). The manager joined in as well. Some security operatives were called and came along as well. I was not sure if it was because they were reasonable officers or because of the size of the man, but rather than get physical, they were just attempting to reason with the chap. This went on for quite a while. He finally handed the documents back and we watched as he checked-in, so I guess they must have sorted him out.

Of course in such situations, people were bound to think along other paths. One of the client suggested that not being successful at getting ones boarding-pass may not always be a bad thing – I told her I knew where she was going with what she said – and we all sort of smiled – the idea of course was that it may be providence preventing one from getting on a flight which may be doomed.

Ultimately, what we found out from our back and forth discussions, was that it appears some so-called “VIPs” with no ticket were streaming into the airport earlier in the day, and some touts and their representatives were securing seats (that were already sold to clients) for them.

Since you are reading this, we got to Lagos alright.

I then went to where I had packed my car, walked part of the way, then flagged down a commercial bike rider. Went in and apologized to the man on duty – he said I should just have told the other man that was on duty the previous day that I would be not be coming back that day (but I wasn’t going to risk being told I couldn’t park there when I was already late for my flight). Gave him “something” as well and asked him to pass on part of it to the man from the previous day.

That was some journey!

Forgot to include the following bit 🙂

Arik flight (continued) . . . .

The refreshment tray stopped by my seat and the hostess asked the lady by the window “water or juice” she said juice. The next gentleman to my right chose water. I chose juice. She looked at me and said “water”. I thought she didn’t hear me first time so I repeated juice, then she said, “sorry only water. Juice has finished.” The airline couldn’t even stock enough juice to serve a planeload of passengers! (I can understand if one type of juice runs out – say maybe Coke is no longer available, but Fanta or Sprite is still available – but to say only water is left? …)

Lagos

Posted on November 9, 2012 by aitayemi

LAGOS

The sign says “Welcome to Lagos” and it is interesting to read it upside down.

I know it is time. But it’s OK because I am thinking about you. I am not sad. Well maybe a little. My life is not flashing before my eyes, but I am thinking of a lot of things. I am happy you forgave my sudden journey into unreasonableness. You truly did, or didn’t you? And it was good that it wasn’t due to another woman. That would never happen.

There is always being one of the 144,000 to look forward to: but maybe not, can’t remember if it’s strictly Israelites only.

“Welcome to Lagos”. I have always wondered why don’t the sign tell the truth? I guess that’s not good for business. That in Lagos, you will be robbed and robbed again. That you may never leave? That all you earn you may lose and more?

“Lagos” I am reading it backwards. I can read it as “So Gal” – “So Gal, will you think of me from time to time? When there is a lull in your busy schedule?” I think you will – even if only because I am gone.

I can hear the sirens and I can see some feet in the distance. Looks like they are coming this way. They need not bother. I will be gone long before they get here. I know. I hope I am actually writing this and not just gibberish. I can’t see too clearly to tell, so if it is not all legible, please forgive me for the very last time. I should see you sometime, but that won’t be true: I won’t be around.

I should have told you I was in pain that day. But I sucked it all up, took the pills, smiled, laughed, and even managed to tell a couple of jokes when all the time I felt like the devil was up my behind with a blowtorch and a demon horde out of hell. I wasn’t myself and I wasn’t thinking straight for several days afterwards. That is an excuse – but it is the best I could come up with for my behavior – because even now I can’t explain why I acted the way I did.

I can see the Police describing it as a single car accident. I let my thoughts wander too far off the road. I didn’t see the plank of wood on the road until it was too late. Everything after that is a blur. But thankfully my diary was within hands reach when the car finally stopped moving. I know I am broken beyond repair because I can see certain body parts that are not supposed to be visible. I should round this up now because the pen is slipping out of my hand and I can barely control it.

I don’t see the white light – maybe it only appears at the last moment in which case I won’t be able to write about it.

Say me well to everyone. Be good.

(Editor’s note: The rest wasn’t legible partly because of the blood smear, but there may have been the word “mum” in it)

NOTE: this was written several months ago.

Illumination

seek …

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