December is for the holidays. Period. After working for a whole year, I believe it is only befitting that I get to pack my bags and go home to relieve stress. And everyone knows, home is where mama is. December is also perfect because of the weather- I get to experience Maid without the extreme heat, mosquitoes and lack of electricity.
So it was that I started planning the road trip ahead of time. I usually look forward to these trips- stopping on the way to visit relatives and long-lost friends. The last road trip I took was in 2019, when we traversed Kano-Bauchi-Gombe-Potiskum-Damagum and finally Maiduguri route. The kids and I spent a night at each city and by the time we reached home (Maiduguri), some six days later, we were exhausted but very much excited. The looks of gratitude on the people we visited still leave a warm fuzzy feeling in my chest. I do not know if I will ever see some of those people again.
- Conspiracy theories of COVID-19, Chinese loans & international politics
- Bello moves against kidnappers, as JNI holds prayers for peace
Then COVID happened and of course there was no December road trip to Maiduguri in 2020.
This year, I decided, Omicron be damned, that I would take the trip home, albeit a bit discretely. My car was serviced and I was monitoring the security situation along Damaturu-Maiduguri axis even more than the Nigerian Army. Every morning, I would ask, with bated breath, of any happenings along the road; and the answers were always skewed, some days a rocket launcher, other days a kidnapping and yet on some days-nothing. On days when nothing happened, my mood would lift and the hope of making the trip home would be rekindled, only for it to be dashed when Channels TV news came up at 10pm. Another shooting, another senseless killing.
Finally, my husband decided. You can only go to Maiduguri by air. Road trip cancelled.
Saddened, but choosing to make lemonade instead, I started to look up airfares and do the necessary bookings. Kano to Abuja. Then Abuja to Maiduguri. Return trip.
The first leg of Kano to Abuja trip was rescheduled the night before. A flight that was supposed to take off at 12:05pm was suddenly brought forward; It was to take off at 9:40am instead. See me, see wahala! I have heard of delays and postponement but never have I heard of a flight time being brought ‘backward’ 3 hours earlier. What if I had not seen the email at around 8pm the night before? Does that mean that we would have ‘missed’ the flight?
We set out early and made it to the airport by 8:30am. Boarding passes in hand, we made ourselves comfortable in the lounge while waiting for our flight. 9:40am came and passed with no announcement. The kids were getting irritable so I handed them their ipads and stretched out on the cold metallic chairs and covered myself with my veil and proceeded to make up for lost morning sleep. My 9-year old daughter was aghast!
‘Mummy, what are you doing? Please sit-up! You are embarrassing us!’
In my mind I was like: Iyye! Embarrassing? Leave me alone jor. I am cold and sleepy and it is not my fault the flight is not on time. Allow me, abeg!
To her, I simply rolled my eyeball Nigerian style, hissed and resumed my nap. Nonsense girl kawai!
At around 10am, boarding was announced and I hurriedly rounded up the gang and headed for the tarmac. Alhamdulillah, it was a smooth flight to Abuja. Not surprisingly, my daughter was ignoring me.
Wahala started the next day when I saw on the news that PMB would be visiting Maiduguri to commission Indimi’s project in the university along with some of Zulum’s projects. Why did he have to travel on the same day we were traveling for heaven’s sake? Why? As if on cue, Azman air duly sent an email that night that our flight for 12:15pm had been rescheduled for 2:00pm.
As a true Nigerian, I started preparing accordingly for the long day ahead. Laptop and phone for me, sandwiches, drinks and fully charged ipads plus earphones for the kids. We raced to the counter as the traffic at the entry to Nnamdi Azikiwe Airport was pretty heavy and we thought we would miss the flight. Again, boarding tickets in hand, we went upstairs to wait for the flight.
At the last airport security check, I was pulled aside.
‘Madam, these items are not permitted’
I looked at the ‘impermissible’ items: bottled water, juice boxes and Nutella sandwiches I had lazily put together.
I looked at her name tag: Bunmi.
I quietly rehearsed my lines and channelled my inner ‘yorubaness’. I was not born in Eko for nothing.
‘Ejo, e ma binu. I am travelling with children and this one that PMB has also gone to Maiduguri, I know that we might have a long wait at the airport. The snacks are for the kids when they get hungry. Please bear with me.’
There was no way I would be buying water at N500 per bottle at airport shops.
She looked at me long and hard and decided I was legit. There was no way I was disguising a bomb between two pieces of bread.
‘You can go’
‘Thank you, ma. A dupe Ma. Ese gan!’
Bunmi smiled warmly at me. Oruko mi ni Fatimo!
Surprisingly, the wait was not as long as I anticipated. Some minutes later, we were called to board. After settling in, the plane engines were suddenly switched off.
The pilot announced that it would be another twenty minutes before take-off as we were waiting for clearance. Apparently, PMB’s travel had affected everyone at the airport, not just us. His flight had caused delays and traffic had built up at the singular run-way. One-by one I watched as the flights took off. The wait would not have been so bad were it not for the heat. I don’t know if it was in an effort to conserve fuel, but by switching off the engines we were plunged into darkness and unimaginable heat. Passengers used the laminated safety instruction booklets as fans while they became increasingly restless. Ten minutes later, the cabin was filled with screams of irritable babies and toddlers. The cabin crew could not take it anymore and I watched as one of them bravely approached the cock-pit. I suppose she was successful, as before long the engines as well as the ACs were back on. Shortly after, we were airborne.
On arrival, I saw that the Nigerian Airforce plane was still on ground and I knew that our troubles were far from over. All the roads leading to the airport were blocked making it impossible for passengers to be picked up. The driver supposed to pick us up found a petrol station and parked as they waited for his Majesty’s grand exit. The streets were lined with people singing, waving and dancing to Rarara’s hit song.
Meanwhile, at the airport, we resembled refugees. Passengers, with their luggage, seated under trees pressing their phones. Thank God for the sandwiches. The kids munched on them happily and played on the empty airport street. Adults gathered together in the mild harmattan sun and debated Buhari’s manifesto. Insecurity. Poverty. Corruption.
The sight of air force helicopters in the air, signalled PMB’s exit from Maiduguri and we all heaved a collective sigh of relief. Before long, cars started trickling into the airport.
We made it home, a few minutes to 6pm. It had been a long day.
Alhamdulillah for journey mercies. And thank you Bunmi for your kindness!
