This is My Story 3

For the previous part to this post, check here.

I felt really bad for the air hosts and hostesses. There was no way for them to be effective in their dispensing of duties considering the throng of Nigerian passengers lining the plane aisles. Several announcements were made for them to get back to their seats, for where? No disrespect to my Ibo people, but boy, were they loud or were they loud?! You would almost think you were at Alaba market! Not to mention the women with kids on board. Other passengers were deliberately avoiding sitting with them. Did I blame them?  Not really? Those kids could be loud and unruly sometimes. But I probably would be too if I was 0-9/10 years old and had to be confined in a metal box for several hours. Matter of fact, add grouchy and touchy to the list.

Since myself and my sister were forming “non-Nigerian-language-speaking” personas. We just took in the whole scenery. I know you are already judging me.  But really, I had no interest in recounting my abroad experience with an overzealous elderly man who has been living in the states for donkey years and has one or two (make that hundred) things to say to me about being a Nigerian in diaspora..uhgggg. So, we let them think we spoke no Nigerian language. After we were told to turn off all appliances, my sister remembered that she had left her ipad on while in layover. So, she brought it out to turn off. Only for this man in the next aisle to say “ awon omo yi sha, se ko gbo wipe won ni ki won pa nkan ni? Won a saa ma se bi kini” (These kids, did she not hear to turn off appliances. They just act so silly).

MISTAKE OF THE DEVIL!!!!!

Increasingly, I am realizing that I am the nice one. Ngor, my sister can be a reaaaalll beyatch (excuse my French). Now it was bad enough that this man was pretty much insulting her. He was even worse off for saying it in Yoruba, which is a language we chew, sleep in, wake up in , drink and whateverelsehaveyou! She turned, looked him straight in the eyes and said, “it is usually better for  folks not to comment on issues they have no knowledge about. You, have no idea why I brought it out, so, next time, keep your comments to yourself” with a baddass incline in her voice. Now,  Ngor is not a small person. Me sister na big gal (not fat) with an attitude. Combine that with a baddass voice inflection and what you get is a pretty scared recipient. The guy just pamu for hin side! I was in hysterics.

Later in the journey, I said something to Ngor and decided to say it in Yoruba. Oh boy!!! The guy in front of me almost hit his head against the window in a bid to whip his head fast enough to ascertain that the sentence came from one of us. So yeah, we had them going…..”non-Nigerian-language-speaking-my-ass”!!!

Lagos my Lagos

My first sign was the scantily lit sight from above. I thought to myself…. “Lasgidi my lasgidi!!! Now my heart is at rest (almost) because I am pretty sure of where I am now!” I had smiles for all the customs officers. I had a valid reason. My passport had expired a day before the trip so I had gotten an Emergency Travel Cert. Knowing my people, I was pretty sure they were gonna give me a hard time. So with several words of prayer and smiles like a chesire cat, I approached them. I had to go with some guy to register myself and he asked me the dumbest questions ever! 

Question	Answer I would have loved to give
When did you leave?	**See jamb question o!!** Heloo….there’s a stamp on that passport you are holding, isn’t there?
How old are you	As old as Metuselah. I do believe that is also contained in that little book you are holding.

….amongst other questions! If it was the American checkpoint, I would be sure they were just trying to ascertain that I was indeed the owner of the passport. But for this guy, I was sure he just couldn’t read.

Customs hurdle crossed, I marched down to the carousel to pick up our bags. You people know there are just two, so Ngor and I picked one each (As we used a bag that could be easily picked up by someone else). Two hours after we were still waiting for our bags. When the last of the bags dropped, I silently blessed my family friend’s heart for insisting that we throw a couple of clothes in our hand-luggage. Did I listen fully?....er….r.r.r.r.  Nope!

After filling out the form for missing bags, we couldn’t wait to get the first whiff of warm Naija air.  I wasn’t sure how I was going to be able to find YY in the army of people by the door. While still looking totally lost coupled with all those gbeborun stares, I heard my YY, my own very YY ***nostalgic*** call me by his pet name for me.**smiles** I think my heart must have done a few seconds of tap dance, as I have no recollection of how I went from where I was into dumping my 170pound self on him. He looked tired (he had come right from work from another state), but nothing else had changed!!! **not fair!!!** I am not really a PDA person, but I think I must have deep-throated his tongue right there! I just kept mumbling “oh-my-gawd”. Ngor interrupted the moment by announcing that she was yet to be hugged.

I was on high and euphoric as we drove into the night.

Typing this, I am still mumbling “oh-my-gawd” and feeling euphoric.

dazzlejunction.com

PS: For those who called me out on my last post concerning YY; Mrs Newlywed and Koinonia, I have one exclamation, "Damn, you guys are good"....i was just being my overtly dramatic self in that last paragraph, I was pissed at him and had told him to eff off in anger.  *sigh* the guy knows my mumu buttons, so needless to say the "overness" was only on the tip of my tongue and a rant. Thanks to all those who commented, I really appreciate it.  Thank You