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‘There is always a
silver lining in every storm cloud,’ summarises my trip from Abuja to
Lagos on Sunday. When it comes to domestic travel, one thing you can
rest assured of is tardiness, or better still, NMT (Naija Man Time).

Nigerian airlines
take things a notch higher when it comes to delaying their passengers,
whether by one hour or 10 hours. I have heard from reliable sources
that some airlines spend several hours waiting for the flight to be
full before takeoff; just like at the motor park, or any major bus stop
in Lagos minus the conductor bellowing the price and destination in a
high pitch. On two occasions, I arrived in the early afternoon and did
not take off till 10pm. The worst thing was not the delay itself but
not being properly informed about what was happening, and the
preferential treatment given to some big men and women.

So, on Sunday, I
arrived at the airport preparing for the worst and, as expected,
Murphy’s Law did set in. The 3:50pm Lagos-Abuja flight was rescheduled
to 6:25pm, due to ‘operational reasons’. The Arik official at the
counter said that text messages had been sent out to all passengers. I
later received the text message around past 4pm. What was the point,
really? With time to kill, I looked around the waiting lounge with the
eyes of a historian, asking myself what had changed. What had remained
the same? Nothing much, was my answer for the former. The place still
looked as dingy as I last remembered it. It had the same shops, and the
dim lighting made the place look almost pre-historic. I guess all the
money had been pumped into the new domestic airport. I silently hoped
that the scene would improve in Abuja; after all, that is where the
money is.

When 6:25pm finally
came, there was an announcement that the flight was going to be delayed
for another 30 minutes. Five minutes later, a uniformed official said
the flight was boarding and we should get on the airport shuttle. I
scrambled on, hoping that this would override the earlier announcement.
Little did I know that I was going to waste another 30 minutes before
the plane actually took off. At the foot of the aircraft, I noticed
that there were two lines and I joined the one closer, only for the man
behind me to ask if I was a man. As I joined the end of the female
line, I saw a man on the queue, so it was my turn to ask if he was a
woman. After it finally got to my turn and I was manually searched, we
had to wait for our luggage to arrive and manually identify them before
they were put on the plane. I wondered to myself: where else in the
world does this happen?

Finally, on board
the very modern aircraft with individual monitors even in economy
class, I crossed my fingers and took my chances. This job as a writer
or journalist, as I am sometimes called, needs to start having some
serious perks and I am not talking about brown envelopes. I told the
air host, a very kind Mr Baba Hausa, that I had my piece in the latest
edition of Wings, the airline’s magazine; and after he confirmed it, I
was treated like royalty: food, drinks and flowing conversations with
the crew members which I will reserve as a story for another day. Three
cheers to the Arik team.

The descent into the capital was the end of my silver lining, as
one of my ear holes got seriously blocked, but I was instructed to hold
my nose and blow gently. It worked albeit over time. Much to my dismay,
the airport in Abuja had not yet changed at all. Still only one
conveyor belt and the place looking so dwarfed and archaic with only
Goodluck/Sambo posters to brighten up the place. Sigh!