Kamdora Story: In Transit

Kamdora Story: In Transit
In Transit

Everything about our side of the airport was different. The smell, the look, the feel. It was like we were thrown to the back of the class where the delinquents stay. 

Trust Nigerians, everybody was talking and talking loudly. It’s like we have no concept of bedroom voice. On the other side of the glass were the people going to Egypt. So quiet, so calm. We on the other hand were fighting to be the first on the line like the plane was suddenly going to change it for us and take off without us.  ‘Eyyysss don’t be a nuisance. You saw me standing on the line. Do I have two heads?’ 

The workers at the airline were tired of us. Bags that were clearly not qualified to be hand luggages were being carried to the plane. I could have sworn one of the workers started speaking pidgin. ‘Madam look at the bag you dey carry. The thing resemble hand luggage? Wetin dey inside?’ 

Let’s not even talk about the way we treat the air hosts and hostesses in the plane. Like we died for their sins. I remember one time on my way to school this woman got into a shouting match with one of the hostesses cos they didn’t have a drink she liked. 

Sometimes when I see things like that, when I see how we behave uncouth, I want to grab my microphone and shout, ‘I know you didn’t ask but I swear I’m from France not Nigeria.’ Does that make me a terrible person? 

Joy Ehizuenlen
Passionate about jollof

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