Chasing a Jet Plane, Not Only Diplomacy

 Chasing a Jet Plane

My wife grew up in Nigeria in the 80s. She has very fond memories of Port Harcourt, and our dinner conversations have on many occasions been about her pastimes, play times and friends from those years. Her childhood stories of staying in a compound with many friends of the same age group fascinated me, as I did not have such a childhood and I perhaps yearned for it. Her childhood stories filled in the gap in mine, and over the years I have got to know and befriend many of my wife’s childhood friends. 

Once, all of a sudden, an opportunity arose for me to travel to Nigeria. I used to be a press officer in the Ministry of External Affairs of India and the Prime Minister of India was to travel to Abuja, the capital of Nigeria, for the Commonwealth Summit. As a press officer in the MEA, I was supposed to be part of the advance recce team to tie up arrangements. I had heard so much about Nigeria, that I decided to go a few days in advance of my colleagues and visit my father-in-law, who continued to live and work in a Birla enterprise in Port Harcourt. There was a great deal of excitement and nostalgia amongst my in-laws’ family when they learnt I was going to visit pa-in-law in Nigeria. Apparently, I was the first family-member-by-marriage to travel to Nigeria. 

I reached Port Harcourt after changing from the Emirates aircraft to a Virgin Nigeria Embraer at Lagos airport. In an hour or so, flying over the emerald green Niger Delta, I reached Port Harcourt in Rivers State. I spent a weekend with my pa-in-law visiting his factory and friends. I also visited the house in which my wife grew up, and saw the trees and plants that my mother-in-law had planted back then in the compound where they used to stay.  While the compound was well kept, the road leading to it was potholed and bumpy. When I asked my father-in-law the name of the road, he said that the locals called it “Man must walk road”—in obvious reference to its being a potential graveyard for motor vehicles. While being dismayed at the state of the road, I marvelled at the Nigerian sense of humour. 

Traffic, rather, traffic jams in Nigeria, are legendary. Unlike in other parts of the English speaking world where traffic congestions are known as ‘jams’, in Nigeria, they are known as ‘go slow’. It is clearly a misnomer, as there is nothing slow about them—they are a dead stop. When I had to catch the flight on Monday morning, at almost mid-day, my father-in-law reminded me of the ‘go slows’, and said that we needed to leave early in the morning to avoid traffic snarls and catch the flight. I had to travel to Lagos and then to Abuja, to meet my team who had arrived the night before. As it was related to a PM visit, I was anxious and readily agreed to leave early in the morning. 

We were either too early or very lucky and we reached the airport in a breeze. I checked in and handed over my suitcase, and with our boarding cards in hand, we found that we had many hours to kill before the flight’s departure. I called my wife in Delhi and gave her a detailed account of my visit to the town where she grew up. I must have earned several brownie points then. She asked me what my plans were. I said we would kill time in the airport as we’d arrived very early. Then she came up with a killer suggestion: the Federal Government Girls’ College Abuloma (her former school) was close to the airport—why not visit it and take some pictures? After she left Nigeria for India, she hadn’t been back to her school and had many fond memories of it. Not to lose out on this opportunity of staying on her right side, I readily agreed. Being a small town airport, there were few security restrictions and with boarding cards and time in hand, we set off to see the FGGCA. 

We zipped out of the airport and within minutes crawled into a ‘go slow’. There was a total standstill. The only movement was the hawkers selling their wares. My anxiety levels started rising and I asked the driver about the prospects of being able to reach the school. He just muttered “wahala,” (Nigerian pidgin for trouble). I asked my father-in-law whether we needed to abort the plan as the bank of time we had was rapidly evaporating. Pa-in-law seemed like a sea of tranquility but I could sense the turmoil within him, obviously divided between parental love for his daughter, and his responsibility to see his son-in-law on the plane. However, when the ‘go slow’ soon turned into a “no go”, he took the decision of aborting the Abuloma mission and returning to the airport. Luckily there was not much traffic on the other carriageway and we were able to reach the airport in time for the flight. 

When I entered the departure lounge, I found several people calling my name out loud. K-leg (very suspicious)! I didn’t know I was so popular in Nigeria, and on a first time visit, that too! Visibly surprised, I went up to one of them and presented myself. He was aghast, rather furious, and demanded to know where I had been. I told him that since there was so much time for the flight I was hanging around. His reply? “Oga, your flight don go! See the tarmac, there it goes!” What!!! I rushed to the door, saw the Virgin Nigeria plane taxiing away, and panicked. If I did not get on this plane, I would miss the connecting flight to Abuja, and the important prime ministerial mission. Without thinking, I darted out of the terminal building and ran after the plane. This was certainly a big security breach. Soon, many well-built security personnel and airline staff came running after me and held me, restraining me from going ahead. It simply couldn’t be done. They were angry. I saw that the aircraft was now taxiing on the runway. Suddenly I had a brainwave. I told the guys holding on to me that it was fine if they wouldn’t let me get on the plane, but my suitcase was on it. Which led to a series of disbelieving cries of “Wetin!!” (Nigerian pidgin for “What!!”). That was an even bigger security breach, so it was decided that we would run to catch the plane. This time, rather than just me running after the plane, I had a phalanx of fitter companions, running much faster than I could and waving the pilot down. Luckily the aircraft had to taxi to the end of the runway and then turn to take off, and we caught it somewhere in the middle of the runway. The pilot stopped, opened the window and asked what the matter was. “Sir, his suitcase is in the plane!” The gentlemen with me said. The pilot replied saying that in that case, I’d better be on it too. 

I was lucky. It was a small jet with built-in stairs on the door, which the stewardess kindly lowered for me to climb in. I was a bit worried about how the passengers would react to me. But in true Nigeria style I was greeted with a round of applause. Notin spoil, as they say. All was well!

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