Photo Credits: www.telegraph.co.uk
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This week, I flew another Nigerian airline.
(Although; this airline gave me its fair share of disappointment, per canceled flight. “The economy”, they
whined. “Scarcity of aviation fuel”, they justified. I had to do some “Ajala-the-traveler”
waka to get to my destination)
But this is not about the airline. Or the Economy.
This is about the return journey.
This is about the return journey.
……………………………………………………………
Everyone settled into their seats. Wore their seat belts….
The attendants did their emergency demonstrations, which no one really
pays attention to, but everyone really needs to pay attention to.
The Pilot mumbled something; we could not hear the words. But he had a
nice voice.
(I suspect he knows this).
We were all set to fly. The flight attendants took their seats. We took
off…
And then; we flew straight into the worst air turbulence I had encountered
in a long. long time.
I am certain we were not all Christians on the plane. I daresay we were
not all theists on that plane.
But at some point, everyone was chanting; speaking in tongues and
screaming “Amen!” at the top of their lungs in response to the fire-brand
prayers led by a breast-feeding mother.
If I was not too busy taking deep-breaths and counting one-to-ten to calm
my nerves, I probably would have joined in the prayerful vituperation.
(I had read somewhere that in most cases, it is the shock in accidents
which kills people first, even before the impact)
For a second, as I closed my eyes, I felt transported…as though I was in a
“luxurious” bus, on an eight-hour long journey, from one part of the country to
another.
Prayers at the beginning of such journeys are a staple. The odds that one
would encounter a mishap on the Nigerian roads was high. If it was not the bad
roads resulting in busted tyres, it could be deadly robbers lying in wait. Or
tankers laden with petrol, with bad brakes and near-drunken drivers. And the
myriad of endless checkpoints, stacked with “law enforcement officials”, who
were more interested in obtaining your worldly possessions than enforcing any
laws.
The odds are too high that many things … that everything could go wrong
on a journey by road in Nigeria. Thus, the Nigerian road traveler is typically
a humble traveler, and would quite readily submit her/himself to prayers
offered to the prevalent deity of the area.
Their "God" is a loud God.
Their "God" is a loud God.
This is not exactly the case with air travelers.
Watch the passengers boarding a flight within Nigeria. Watch their
countenance prior to take-off, during the flight and after landing. They who
constitute the struggling middle-class, and upper class wannabes.
Yes, while the casualties of any incidences via flights are usually higher
than in road mishaps, the occurrences are lower. The odds are lower. The air travelers
can afford to be their non-humble selves.
Their God is a private, quiet God. Asides individual prayers quietly
said, there are no general prayers offered in the aircraft, unlike during
travel by road.
In that moment, there was no lawyer, or architect. No politician. No doctor.
No prostitute. No saint. No painter. No chef.
We were all humans, praying to survive. Hoping that whatever force was out
there would not unleash its/her/his anger against us, and snuff us all out in a
second.
People screamed “Amen!”, without hearing the preceding prayers. Hands were
lifted up…eyes were closed. Even the flight attendants joined in as prayer
warriors. That fear was real.
The height of the consciousness of our vulnerability was evident in the
unity with which the plane erupted in an applause, upon safe landing at our
destination.
Those smiles exchanged. The genuine laughter shared. The handshakes and
shoulder-slaps; sans the haughtiness
that the awareness of differences in social class, religion and ethnicity
brings.
In that moment of the applause, I wondered: why can’t humans generally be
this way? Realising that we are all just really existing in just this time and
space and trying to survive; that there is something bigger out there which we may
never fathom; that life is transient; that in a blink of an eye, life as we
know it could disappear. That there is no need for the continuous and
unnecessary hate and unkindness and greed and worry we as a race have learnt to
trade in.
In that moment, I wished we could destroy the needless boxes that separate
us, the self-inflicted chains that enshackle us, and be a united people.
I
wished we could perpetually exhibit such unity as we formed in that plane, without it
having to be summoned in the face of fear and sudden realization that there just
might be a God out there in whom our fate lies. Not in the hustle and bustle
our daily lives, or in the number of degrees we have acquired, or in the
positions we have attained. But in that above-human phenomenon, which we can neither control and nor fathom.
But you know what they say about wishes… and how beggars would be eating
pounded yam with ofe nsala, ‘round-about’
and shaki as their breakfast.
And lunch.
And dinner.
Paz,
Meg.