An Ordeal In ‘Freezer’ Sweden

No, far from it, it was because my first daughteris in Malmo University as an exchange student, a programme sponsored by the European Union. In the end though, the adventurer in me couldn’t resist going to see some important landmarks, not only in Malmo, but right across the Baltic Sea, into Germany, despite the severe […]

No, far from it, it was because my first daughteris in Malmo University as an exchange student, a programme sponsored by the European Union. In the end though, the adventurer in me couldn’t resist going to see some important landmarks, not only in Malmo, but right across the Baltic Sea, into Germany, despite the severe winter.  That is why I ended up in the big freeze.

I left our shores some few days to Christmas, precisely on the 22nd of December with Egypt [the same now troubled Egypt] air. I was supposed to transit for two hours in Cairo, before proceeding to arrive Denmark around 1pm. But as God would have it, we didn’t get there until about 9pm, due to that severe winter.

This is what happened.  On descent into Cairo airport, the pilot abruptly announced that we couldn’t land because of poor visibility, but only after making two earlier attempts at trying, leaving us hazzarding different guesses, and which a Lebanese passenger seated next to me didn’t find quite funny. He complained and said ‘the pilot should go land in Beirut, which is close by, instead of making these dangerous attempts’.

Can anyone really be more selfish than this? I was obviously the only one who heard his protests, because, instead of Beirut, we were diverted to Sham el- Sheikh, that famous or in-famous, [depending on how you look at it] tourist holiday haven, about an hour’s flight from Cairo. I was glad they chose Sham el-Sheikh because of a stretch of black rocky mountains, laid in a deep gauge resembling the Grand Canyon I was opportuned to see along the way, if not for anything. And what a beautiful view it was.

We got clearance to fly back to Cairo about an hour or so later and by the time we landed, my connecting flight had left. At the transit desk, I, along with Mizan, an Ethiopian who arrived from Addis, also going to Copenhagen, were given alternate boarding passes for a flight to Vienna, Austria. We were also given a single sheet of paper that would enable us connect to our destination with Austrian Airlines from there.

With our names co-joined on that paper and same African background, we became like Siamese twins from then on. I immediately went to sleep on take off, only to wake up to another announcement by the pilot that Vienna airport was closed, again thanks to that severe winter. We were diverted to Linz, a town about 30-40 minutes flight time from Vienna.

That being the second time we weren’t able to land at our destination in one day, made me to immediately embark on prayers.  It was the beauty of the snow capped mountains and farmlands from my window as the plane glided through the clouds almost effortlessly, that took my mind off all negative thoughts.

Everywhere was white. The dark and thin branches of pine trees battered by the severe winter and left for dead, were the only contrast in that vast white ocean below. There is indeed a great lesson in how those trees amazingly spring back into life immediately after the winter, or more appropriately, after the dead.

Chatty passengers had all shut their front doors [mouths], as Wendy Williams, that equally chatty American talk show host is wont of saying.  Even the aircraft engines were quiet. It was as if the pilot had put the plane on silent, I tell you. The serenity was just too much. I had never seen anything like that in my life. It looked to me like the minutest example one could see, of probably, how Heaven would look like. Mark you, I said probably. I haven’t the faintest idea, so, don’t quote me. ‘Allah Dai ya bamu Aljannar’ [may God, in his infinite mercy reward us with the heaven], help me say Amen. Luckily, we were able to land and as the Almighty would have it, Linz became our point of entry into Europe that day.

Out of immigration, we went straight to the buses already lined up to drive us back to Vienna, hoping the airports would be open by the time we got there. Such efficiency can only be found outside our shores, for now.

We drove for over two hours right through the heart of Austria, a pleasant journey, thoroughly enjoyed by my Siamese twin who was sighting snow for the first time in his life. The white was darkened for me, the moment that Animal called Man, [1000 apologies to Baba], named Joseph Fridtzel, or something close to that, crossed my mind.

I am sure you remember him. See what the crime of one man can do to a whole country’s image. It was at Vienna I remembered we were supposed to have picked our luggage back at Linz. It was also there, relationship became sour between me and the twin. He kept blaming me for his left luggage; despite assurances given it will be found and returned to him eventually. To be fair to him, he did ask about the luggage and I told him collection will be at Denmark.

My mind was fixed on having checked mine directly to Copenhagen. I will eventually tell you how the luggage issue played out. Mizan was so insistent on lodging a complaint and looking for that luggage at the airport in Vienna that we almost missed the Austrian airline connecting flight. It was only with the help of an African lady working for the airline that I convinced him to come out of the queue and that we could lodge the same complaint on getting to Copenhagen.

We had to be together at the point of embarkation because of that paper, luckily in my custody. We landed Copenhagen, [spelt Kapenhavn at the airport] after 8pm, went on to fill the forms at the lost luggage counter and came out to meet my daughter and Mizan’s sister’s husband, [a Dutch national] waiting at the arrivals. Numbers were exchanged and we went our separate ways. We took the train to Sweden and they drove into town. The train ride to Malmo was mercifully just 20 minutes.

Out of the station, I hurriedly jumped into the Volvo taxi [almost all taxis are aptly Volvo] and barked, ‘take us to the Hilton’, the hotel arranged and pre-paid for me by a travel agent in Dubai at an unbelievably discounted rate. The Uzbek driver, on noticing I was uncomfortable from the cold said, ‘you are lucky, the temperature is good today, it was -17 degrees yesterday’. I shuddered. We drove on mashed ice right up to the hotel.

As a matter of fact, the tarred roads of the city did not show face until the third day of my stay. Luckily, I had a set of winter clothing, complete with a sheep-skin hat—the type that covers the ears and makes one look like a fully grown sacrificial ram, sent to me by a dear big brother, on learning I was going into the big chill. At the hotel, I requested for a room with a view of the sunset, in order to determine the qibla [direction say prayers], which they didn’t quite understand, because there was no sun to wake up to anyway.

All the same, I insisted for a room with that view, or an Easterly direction, which was eventually arrived at with the help of someone from the inner office. We had good dinner at the restaurant, after which Fatima took a taxi back to their house or more appropriately, hostel and I retired to my room for, what someone aptly referred to as, a sub-zero snooze.

Were I a diplomat, the day’s rigmarole would have certainly qualified as a whistle-stop through Europe. I woke up the next day to a completely white city, from the roof tops to the roads below, everywhere and everything was white, people inclusive. And the snow was still falling. People were practically walking on, or in ice.

I showered and went for what I, rather unreasonably, hoped would be a breakfast of pap and bean cakes, only to be confronted with a choice of either 3 or 7 minute eggs and lots of pastries. I shook my head and said to myself, ‘Bature da iyayi yake’. I chose the 7 minute eggs. Breakfast, or whatever that was, done; I went back to my room and opened the drapes for a view of those beautiful snow capped roofs and waited for Fatima.

And what a beautiful city I saw. Let me share with you what I saw and read about the city in my short stay. Malmo, with a population of about 300,000 people, about a third of which third are expatriates of Middle Eastern and Asian origins, is Sweden’s third largest city. It is one of the only three cities in Sweden to be called a storstad, [metropolis, with populations of 200,000 and above].

The others are Stockholm and Gothenburg. Outside these cities, the population density drops so sharply that describing the communities as such, would become somewhat of an exaggeration.

Malmo is the gateway from Sweden to the European continent. Its docklands home to new residential developments, like the Turning Torso [which I braved the cold to go see], the tallest building in Scandinavia and the second- highest residential structure in Europe [after Triumph-Palace in Moscow]. The building is like twisted, sorry, not like, it is indeed twisted and truly magnificent to look at. Other attractions of Malmo are its IT industries, the Edgeware road style multi-colored buildings, and of course, the university.

As soon as Fatima arrived, we went to buy a pair of shirts and trousers in the mallshop adjacent to the hotel, in case my missing bag wasn’t found or delivered on time. It took us almost one and a half hours to get my sizes, because the Swedes are lean and squeaky clean. They are also unsettlingly quiet, you could barely hear their conversations, no matter how good an eaves dropper you are.

We then went to the university library. I was particularly fascinated by its sheer size. I can’t remember the last time I saw those number of books, displayed on shelves, in such a large and almost endless space. In fact, I don’t think I ever saw. Don’t even begin to talk or think about sitting arrangements and furniture, you know Sweden is home to Ikea, that huge furniture empire, started as a mail-order company in 1943 by Ingvar Kamprad at the age of seventeen, now worth about 30 billion [not naira, dollars], and spanning into over 30 countries, Nigeria exclusive.

Our next stop was Entre, a mall fully equipped with shops and cinemas. By then, I was already starving, what with the cold weather and those 7 minute eggs only in my system. We went straight to the food court, with an array of restaurants to select from. I chose the Indian restaurant, appropriately named Indisk republic, not necessarily because I wanted to eat Indian food that day, but more because I saw someone pass by with a hot steamy plate of their dish. It’s funny how people leer at other people’s food, while hungrily sitting, or waiting in line at restaurants.

A close friend or relative could pass by with a steamy dish without being recognized, if you are really that hungry you know. Now, wether you end up in a canteen or an expensive  restaurant, you will find having lunch is serious business in Sweden. That lunch hour seems to involve more queuing and hanging around for a table than it does eating and relaxing. So, whenever you are in the country, always study the weekly menu on display at restaurant and canteen entrances, in order to gain on time wasted in ordering, or to avoid in-queue indecision. The Swedes also eat early, by 1pm lunch is usually over, and if you insist on ordering, can be left with the last few cold potatoes, or ‘kanzo’ [the burnt remnants at the bottom of the pot] on your plate.

Take note. To be forewarned is to be forearmed. Anyway, we ordered and collected a disk that conveniently beeps when your order is ready, to avoid going back and forth to find out, and went searching for seats. We finally found one near a large glass window. It was at that point I cautioned Fatima to avoid those kinds of exposed seats in future, because of the lone sniper that was targeting and terrorizing immigrants by shooting randomly at them through windows and at bus stops at about the time of my visit.

Phew! We could have been within his sight you know, who knows, and that, we will never know, unless this piece miraculously gets to him, [apologies to you men out there for assuming it’s one of us 1st], or her, [apologies to the ladies too], and he or she decides to sing. I kept shifting in my seat and sending Fatima on errands, to avoid becoming sitting ducks. Anyways, no worries, if you are on your way there. I understand an arrest had been made, and guess what; it turned out to be a man. My first guess was right, apologies again to the ladies for even bringing them into this. Lunch over, I went in to see a good movie, directed and starred by one of the Affleck brothers [can’t remember which one], titled The Town, and Fatima went round the shops.

On Christmas eve, I moved to the Radisson Blu, a hotel much closer to Fatima’s hostel. Not that I could have trekked it; I could have, but only if it were in summer.  In the afternoon though, Fatima lured me to trek through the whistle sounding winds to Gustav Adolf square, through the alleyways, [which weren’t familiar to me] with the bait of a good lunch in a fantastic restaurant appropriately named, Gustav Adolf. And I tell you, it was well worth the trek. In fact, I will recommend it as a must for any visitor to Malmo.

Late evening, we took a taxi to Fatima’s hostel for pre-Christmas dinner, prepared by her Latino school mates, invitation of which was conveyed to me two days earlier. At the hostel, a four storey building, I first went to see her room, which truly and typically looked like a student’s room. She then took me to see Zuhaira Kabir Sadiq, who was a room away from hers.

Before you start wondering who Zuhaira is, let me first say she doesn’t have anything to do with Zakirai, a village or town in Kano State, or our friend Kabiru Sadiq who is from there. She is a Panamanian from Panama City. She went to Malmo university to additionally equip herself for setting up a school of her own back in her native Panama. I had known about and spoken to her a couple of times long before we met, because she had been providing grand motherly counseling and guidance to my daughter. Zuhaira, an extremely nice and determined elderly woman with children and grand children, is married to an amiable musician named Kabir.

We decided to wait in her room before the Latinos got ready with their dinner, which was to be at an upper floor. It was at that time I got to know a lot about her and her country. We chatted away time, as we listened to her husbands music on u-tube. I told her about my penchant for travel, my experiences so far, and my regrets for not opening a travel agency, to which she immediately said, ‘it’s never too late. Cant you see it’s now I am planning on setting up a school?’ what a truly amazing woman.

As I write this piece now, we have a standing invitation from her and her husband to visit Panama city in June, [which they say is not negotiable], in time to catch up with a musical concert by her husband. I pray we get the money to make it. Will keep you posted.  The dinner table turned out to be quite an international mix. There were exchange students from as far away as the end of the world, [Australia] Europe and South America. The table was full. The food was good. I sampled almost everything, except the Ham. And that was the closest I had been to a large chunk of Ham.

Dinner done, I took the floor and thanked them for their wonderful hospitality, in addition to telling them about our local saying that goes thus; Bayan ci, zama tsegumi, tafiya rashin kunya. I related it to like a choice between the devil and the deep blue sea. This, which roughly translates to, ‘When you decide to stay after dinner, then you are just staying to gossip, and if you decide to leave, you are being rude’, got them roaring with laughter, and made it easier for me to quietly slip away.

On Christmas day, Fatima got a call from the airport in Kapenhavn to say my bag would be delivered later that day, and I, in turn got a call from Mizan, saying a bag was delivered to their house, but that it wasn’t his. ‘I am suspecting it could be yours, they may have switched our tags’ he continued saying. I said, ‘o.k., let’s meet at the airport to sort this out before they start coming to Sweden with your bag’.

We immediately took the train to Denmark and on arrival were taken inside the luggage section by the supervisor, Christopher, a man with the longest stride I had ever followed to date. I barely kept up with him and I told him so.  He replied and said, ‘today is Christmas, on a normal working day, when the airport is busier, I go faster than this’. I just said, Hmm, as I practically ran after him. He is what you could call a human Cheetah. We waited for the bag taken to Mizan to be returned. It turned out not to be mine, either.

Christopher called the driver going to Malmo, gave him the tag and description of my bag, and it marched. He told us to go, and that the bag would be delivered to Fatima’s address the following day before noon. And it was.  It turned out Mizans bag was switched with someone else’s right from either Addis, or Cairo, and Christopher said that was for them to take care of.  It mercifully didn’t have anything to do with Linz. I also experienced that, the switch, one time whilst traveling to Tunis via Cairo, incidentally the same now troubled Tunis and Cairo, and the mix-up couldn’t be sorted out before I left. I told you about European efficiency, didn’t I? It was only then I was relieved of the guilt felt for Mizans missing luggage and miseries. I almost spent the whole day at the airport in Kapenhavn, that I missed witnessing how the Swedes spend christmas.

On Boxing day, we bought train tickets for a trip to Germany and went to pick up a few souvenir items in Ikea, located in a large matrix hall slightly out of town, but mostly to window shop. All said and done, this trip helped in bringing me closer to my daughter, in addition to the exhilarating experience of living on ice. Hope some day, I will get to visit the Eskimos, in order to experience living in, not on, ice. Early morning on the 27th, I left most of my luggage at the store of the Radisson and booked for an additional night on the 29th, the day we were supposed to return from Germany, in order to catch our early morning train. You will get to read about this truly incredible journey across the Baltic sea in my next travelogue, insha Allah.