Amaechi and Sirika must read this!
“Good morning sir; welcome!” said the young man in cleaner’s uniform in the restroom of the Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport, Abuja. The passenger answers grudgingly. There is solicitation for alms written all over the cleaner and the passenger was not in the mood for such a game, more so as it was just 6.30am. The […]
“Good morning sir; welcome!” said the young man in cleaner’s uniform in the restroom of the Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport, Abuja.
The passenger answers grudgingly. There is solicitation for alms written all over the cleaner and the passenger was not in the mood for such a game, more so as it was just 6.30am.
The cleaner follows the passenger to the urinal as if the traveller needed assistance to unzip. “My friend, can I have some privacy, please? Why would you be following me about like this?”
The cleaner backed off and moved over to the wash hand basin. As soon as the passenger was done, the cleaner was ready with liquid soap and tissue paper in hand to ‘assist’ him in washing his hands.
The passenger was exasperated: “Please put the soap and toilet paper where they should be. Nobody needs your assistance to put soap in their hands and dry them after washing”.
“Sorry, sir, I’m only trying to assist.”
The passenger ignored him and washed his hands. As he brought out a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his hands, the cleaner’s face fell as if he had just been bereaved. But he wasn’t done yet. “Journey mercies, sir. I am just like your child. Have a nice day, sir.” The passenger understands that code. It is the airport equivalent of the police’s version at checkpoints: “Happy weekend, my Oga; your boys are greeting you!”
Beggars, beggars, everywhere! Back to the lounge, as the passenger took a seat, a goon in reflective jacket respectfully tapped his shoulder and asked if he needed assistance with getting on the flight as the plane was overbooked. “No, thank you! … And by the way, who are you?” The goon was jolted as if he had just stepped on live electrical wire. And as suddenly as he had materialised from nowhere, he vaporised.
As boarding was announced, all hell was let loose. Even if the call was for entrance into Paradise, the struggle to cross the boarding gate couldn’t have been more acute. The passenger silently congratulated himself for having the foresight to buy a Business Class ticket which would save him all the hassle associated with domestic air travel in Nigeria. But on this occasion, all animals were not just equal, the race was for the swiftest and strongest. Bracing himself as anyone with Nigerian blood in his veins would, the passenger muscled his way through the boarding gate, through the bus which conveyed passengers to the plane and unto the plane itself.
What confronted his sight as he stepped into the plane was a combination of Onitsha, Oyingbo, Wuse and Ariaria markets all rolled into one. There was no Business Class. The hostesses dolefully announced that it was an all-economy, free-sitting flight. Translation: Grab whichever seat you can!
By the time the passenger settled in a seat, he had become a bundle of jarring nerves. Why would airport cleaners constitute themselves into beggars inside the very toilets they were employed to clean? Why would any airline sell tickets beyond the seating capacity of its plane? Why would an airline sell Business Class tickets when its flight would be an all-economy one? Throughout the flight, other passengers told their story of woe.
Nigerian airports have become glorified motor parks where anything goes.
The passenger heaved a sigh of relief on landing in Lagos. But the water and juice he had taken conspired with his body chemistry to irritate his bladder again. He had become a regular witness to the incidence of bladders which had served their owners for more than six decades forcing them to head to the restroom as soon they entered the Arrival lounge.
“Welcome, sir. How was your flight? A cleaner with toilet paper and liquid soap in hand accosted him as he made his way to the urinal. He went through the ritual of lecturing the beggar that he did not need his assistance in any way and that he should please stay far away from him if he did not want him to visit his frustration on him that morning. The cleaner got the message and grudgingly muttered under his breath “I …err… was only trying to help”.
One wonders what the duty of the Federal Airports Authority of Nigeria (FAAN) is. Priding itself as having been set us to “develop and profitably manage customer-centric airport facilities for safe, secure and efficient carriage of passengers and goods at world-class standards of quality”, it boasts that over 3 million passengers pass through Nigerian airports annually. But all evidence points to the fact that our airports have become motor parks where touts and beggars of all descriptions fester.
What about the role of the Nigerian Civil Aviation Authority (NCAA) which is the regulatory body for aviation in Nigeria? Nothing has changed in the sloppy manner our airports are administered. In fact, some frequent fliers on the domestic route think that things have become worse. Buhari’s broom is yet to be deployed to the airports.
What one expects the two ministers overseeing aviation, Ex-Governor Rotimi Amaechi and Ex-pilot/Senator Hadi Sirika to do, is transform the sector. At the moment, they are being shielded from reality because they travel via the VIP lounges and don’t know what lesser mortals go through. When Buhari’s government was inaugurated there was a momentary positive change at the airports because the staff didn’t want to be swept away by the broom of change. Now they’ve seen that it is business as usual and they have reverted to default mode – comprehensive and unmitigated confusion.
What holds true of the domestic wing is oftentimes also true of the international. So, you can imagine what first time visitors to Nigeria think of us, especially when you factor in the shenanigans of the Customs and Immigration at entry points. I challenge Amaechi and Sirika to rise up to the occasion.