Interesting things happen every
day. Sometimes, people like myself with an inflated sense of being a global
traveller, globetrotter (that should be the same thing) look forward to a new
story on every trip. This time, it is not on the plane. There was nothing
unusual on the Arik flight from Accra to Dakar. We got the much beaten cliché
when we were settled on the plane-all 15-20 of us. Ladies and gentlemen, we regret the delay and wish you a pleasant
flight. I could have sworn I was going to hear that when I received my
ticket, along with the rest of the fools who bought an Arik ticket. Same story;
every time. The anthem of apology and Arik go hand in hand-from unapologetic
flight attendants and captains.
Sorry, I made a mistake. Blame it
on midnight hunger but there was unusual activity on the flight. Two for that
matter. You know that almost nice announcement they make about the spray prior
to departure and when they are midway in spraying chemicals on you on the
flight? How it is not harmful and only those wearing contact lenses should wear
a non-existent mask (I am joking)? Some guy took it seriously and sat as they
asked. He was not wearing contact lenses; therefore, there was no movement of
hands to nose and eyes like the rest of us who fear anything that has to be
sprayed in the name of regulations. He sneezed, coughed, splattered and did
things with tissue and nasal mucus from Accra to Dakar. I sat across from him
with a small evil smile forming at the corners of my mouth. Lessons come in
uncomfortable fashion….I tried to say with that smile.
In a few minutes, I was quickly
put in my place when dinner was served. I say dinner but it was food that
looked like plastic toys. Really, I can only describe it as the plastic toy
that came along with the baby doll-white with long blond hair-when we were
little. We craved for that combination without even knowing the meaning of
crave. We just did it. Unfortunately, my mother did not lean towards craving
and did not know the meaning either. So on Christmas, when we were supposed to
get toys, she would buy tie-dye wrap around skirt and t-shirt (for me; not my
brother) for the annual November bazaar at our school in Duala. That was your
bazaar/Christmas toy and gift-wrapped like the skirt around your waist, she
seemed to say every year. Who am I kidding? We were poor people who did not
know we were this way so we wished for the plastic food toy and the white blond
doll.
Looking at the dinner, I did not
want to eat but arriving at midnight meant the next meal was at breakfast. I
opened the hot aluminium container and tasted a green pea. How did I expect a
green pea to taste? No way. Then I did the unimaginable but most normal thing
on a plane when you are about to eat food that will never fill you up. I tried
to adjust my seat to just relax and eat. The woman in 21A pushed me right back
up. How that happens on Arik is anyone’s guess. Right back to whatever degree
the seat was angled at. Ah ah! She
said this in a slow menacing voice. I remained in the position she pushed me
into.
There is water on my table and you will spill it.
Okay. I would have adjusted it and you did not have to push me back up.
I said all of that in my head. Cowardice is unevenly distributed on naija
flights and become immediately active when you hear Ah Ah and feel a determined push. I literally stayed in my place,
ate my food and smiled in ridiculous fashion at the woes of the man sitting
across from me.
Anyway, due to the two hour
delay, we arrived in Dakar past midnight. The flight attendants smiled and said
good night like the airline had no responsibility for what had happened. Enjoy
your stay…blah blah blah.
Everything flowed. From landing
to departure from Dakar to Goree Island. I am sure many of you are like me. We
get picked up in a crowd. Easily. In earlier life, my conceited self assumed
beauty was the driver; now I know people smell crazy, adventurous, loneliness
and fear. So on the ferry to Goree, I was worried about my bags. Three of them.
I could not take them off the ferry by myself and definitely could not assemble
any verbal nonsense that would mean can I
get help with my three heavy bags (rouge et noir and grey). So that
occupied my mind for a while and may have slipped into my aura because in a few
seconds after I decided to go out of the cabin (I am gone Titanic on you) and
feel the sun, I had someone asking me questions. Are you American? No. Wanted
to say, actually, I am Kpelle but just ended it at no.
This man came up to me. He was
physically challenged. His hair, locs were brown. Dusty. The same colour as his
clothes. He had cut them short as if he got impatient one afternoon and decided
to dare himself. They were lighter at the tips and dark near the scalp. I envy
him understanding that my hair did not listen or respond to the sun and the way
it add kind colour to locs. My locs are determined to announce my age of almost
half a century and have positioned themselves to compete in brutal fashion with
hair dye.
He asked many questions as I
thought a thousand things about this situation. He wanted to know if I had
accommodation and if I had a problem having some water with him after I found
my hotel. And if I wanted to take a picture, which is usually nicer on the
ferry with Goree as the background. Goree makes me sad and inspired. It is one
of the utmost indications of the survival and kind nature of the human spirit-a
triumph of people over their oppressor (in his old form). So it is not a
picture taking mission I am on, Truth is, I do not have a mission and have
vowed with matrimonial passion that I would be open to new things, people,
ideas, learning. So I have no mission but to be present and in tune.
The ferry arrives and the
memories follow suit. The days flow. More hours than days. Then it is departure
time.
At 3am on Monday morning, I must
be at the Leopold Senghor Airport. I don’t think about negritude even though
this thought almost informed my first debate at 2 in the morning on arrival. I
heard this man (some diplomatic type who does political analysis at 2 in the
morning) say, Senghor was a Christian who ruled Muslims. Muslims were the
majority at the time but they listened to him. He was a great leader to do
that. And my uninformed point, really driven by hunger and a little anger at the
woman who pushed me, was they were defined and concerned by other frameworks at
the time and not one of religion. I kept quiet.
So back to departure. I get to airport and have this sinking
feeling that I had had all through the night, except for the one hour that I
slept. Everything seemed smooth. Seamless. I checked in and got my immigration
slip. Filled it in in record time and was on my way to join the queue when
someone ran towards me and said a lady wanted to see me. I do not know any lady
at the airport and if it were not early morning, I would have thought that I
was important. I walked to the counter and was sent to the Asky office. The
woman sitting in there had nice silver jewellery. Great make up for early
morning. These are the women I am afraid to piss off. Some way I always make
them angry even without saying a word. So I am treading carefully and searching
for that inner smile that would say I am nice and I do not laugh at people
having a reaction to the spray on the plane.
She informs me that I am on
stand-by and cannot go through immigration. That cannot be true but I had convinced
myself that I will not piss her off. So I agree and find a seat right outside
her office. Then-I search for an unsecured Wi-Fi network. I find one
miraculously. This is not Roberts International Airport. I go to my ticket and
I see that I am confirmed. All days. All flights. I stepped into her office.
This time, I am not afraid to piss her off. I tell her I am confirmed. So by
this time, a couple or more people are in her office. It had a new energy of
agitation and growing anger. Then she gives the message. Her message was you
will not go today but tomorrow. She informs us in a way that you would think
she was giving us small glasses of sugary hot minty Senegalese tea, with drink
up encouragement. All of this was done in a small room smelling of cheap wanna
be Parisian perfume. I returned to the hotel and realised that most of the
scent I could not stand came from that tiny bottle of hotel body wash I had used
that morning at 2:30.
Damn! Anger, French, incredible
laughter from people who wanted to say, are you stupid but could not say
it…flooded the room. Like it is usual, the emotions subsided and we had to
agree. We were not getting on a flight when Arik had made a decision. The
pilots apparently arrived late the night before and could not do the early
morning flight. Quite understandable for more than 10 persons who had booked
and paid for flights on that day to Accra. Then we asked for next steps. She
said they would take us to a hotel for the night. The name of the hotel was
repugnant. It was a name that was aligned to their obvious cost-saving
strategy. No one followed her or agreed
to go there.
As I stood outside of the airport
waiting for my pick up-this man walked to me. He smelled bloody anger this
time. Do you need help? Do you want to buy cards? Taxi? To all I shook my head,
while watching for the hotel driver in his grey suit, holding the King Fahd
placard. The man got pissed-something I had spared the airline lady of. Karma
is not always what you want it to be. He informed me that Rita Marley had
visited Dakar; and stood right where I was standing. The difference was that
she was friendly and communicated as a true sister. I, on the other hand, did
not have locs as nice as Rita’s and I was being unfriendly. He did not have
time for that. He said all of this at a volume unusually high for 4 in the
morning. I remained quiet.
Interesting things happen every
day. There is a story with every travel. A story for every night and sound on Goree Island. With an
imaginative, compassionate mind, the current cries of babies outside of the
window after midnight overwhelmed me with the real story. How did the babies do
long ago-during slavery? How did adults do? How does the man on the ferry make
it? And oh, I am not Rita Marley no matter how I pretend that Bob was my
lover in my former life.
