ZNZ Again

People are taking Ethiopia Airlines and flying from Lagos through Addis Ababa to get to Cairo. To Dubai. To SA. To China. Some people are even going to the UK and mainland Europe through Addis Ababa.

Nigerians travel so far and so wide. And in vast quantities. Almost the whole plane is connecting to somewhere else. All that opportunity that a Nigerian National carrier should be exploiting.

All the Benin people that are on their way to Italy. None of them with regular hair. The one that is not dreads is plaited. The one that is cut is dyed. All the chics with multiple earrings and bladclat jewellery.

L’are. Migwö.

And the eyelashes on some of these babes, if it rains, everything eye-down will still be dry.

However, given the way they look, worse for wear, I am sure that unlike the Benin girl in Italy stereotype, these women cannot be of easy virtue. Not successful ones anyway. I am convinced more than anything that they are traders. Especially as each large chubby woman is accompanied by a fit and tattooed young man.

And then there are the Ibo boys going to Dubai and China to trade. Everyone knows everyone. Even the immigration officials, airline crew and attendants know some of them by name. Especially the more unruly ones. They are all unruly.

And the young girls. Some, barely teenagers.  Bony. With this big soled trainers. And phones in cases with bunny ears.

And the Yoruba pastors and missionaries - collared and white garment - that are making multiple connections to far flung and little known places deep in Europe and Asia, and the hinterlands of the former USSR. WoW.

And then there’s this couple with the ugliest kids.

Mind you, they’re not ugly because of the way they look, but the downright shitty attitude. I don’t know if it was wokeness  on the parents’ part, but I’ve seen Rio better behaved. They were taking turns to howl and throw things and tantrums and the parents just giggled through it. Usually tolerant Nigerians were very vocal in their displeasure. Hear the mother - lol, they are just children.

Flying in shared spaces, like driving on a communal road, in an experience which all participants should be allowed to enjoy. One endured with mutual respect for self and everyone else. Especially when they pay for it. Not to be harassed and harangued by deranged children non-stop for 5 hours.

And I nearly wet myself from laughing when the mother asked for a cot and the hostess was saying ‘3kg… 3kg’ and they were saying ‘yes… yes..’ and meanwhile the 40kg baby was looking on like a well fed delegate at a party convention waiting for them to give him stout with his small chops.

It was like Sesame Street, everyone on your street was represented.

There’s a guy, when we were boarding, who got onto the plane and conducted a secondary screening of passengers and directed them to where he felt they should be seated. His own seat - unfortunately, was right next to me. He knew everyone. He had two meals. A dozen red wines. And he tried to talk throughout the flight - but for the noisy children.

One guy finished eating and brought his empty tray back to the galley. How crass. And then the Assistant Cabin Hand seated next to me called out to the guy to help him drop off his tray. Bush man. And to make this shit even funnier, he told him to help drop mine off too. It’s not crass. And it’s not bush. We’re just super helpful.

In addition to the children and the trader next to me, there’s a guy snoring heavily a row behind us. And before the communal decision was taken to wake him, his career as an electronics dealer in Guangzhou and Onitsha were thoroughly discussed. As well as the fact that he told his wife that his flight was yesterday and spent an extra day in Lagos with Yoruba girls.

Yoruba girls, you people have a terrible reputation. The man is back asleep and snoring.

Choi. This Yoruba denigration has moved to Tinubu. Someone says he’s a Yoruba vibrator. Lwkmd. The way I’m laughing, God help me if I fall asleep and someone checks my passport and finds out my middle name is Oluwagbenga. We really are in the minority.

Between those children across the aisle, and the trumpet a row behind, I couldn’t wait to get off! But, with my luck, there was runway congestion and we had to circle for another 15 minutes.

And of course there was a fight.

In conclusion, on this Ethiopian Airlines, if you’re not in Business, you’re in the trenches. People are shouting across the plane at each other like they are in their neighbourhood in FESTAC. The man sitting next to me just asked me if I want suya, his guy a couple of rows back has some.

But the airline rice and chicken is peng!

And the suya is not half that bad…