An initial thread was opened in Diary section with the URL: https://www.nairaland.com/4045983/aero-journal
Many people however, complained of being unable to open the link as they say it appears to be removed or hidden. So I decided to copy from the thread an paste here. We don't know what the future holds.... This might just encourage someone out there, and who knows if it can also connect me with someone that knows someone that knows someone that matters. Please join the voyage on my aero adventure as I begin to paste from the previous thread .....
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I take God beg you.... Pls Noone should mess up this thread for me. Thank you for your anticipated outstanding corporation
This is Alpha Bravo One Eight Niner requesting for clearance to land on LZ (Landing Zone )... OVER!?

The dream started as a primary school pupil... I was barely in nursery 3 or max primary one then.
I grew up without my dad around. I was told he left Nigeria for USA when I was barely 3yrs old. The only memory of me seeing him physically, was during the Christian wake-keeping.
He was a good man though, he left Nigeria in search for greener pasture. He was in constant touch with the family, and was always a role model. I remember his voice as it still lingers in my head. I miss his voice. He passed away in 2005,I was in Js3 then.
All I needed to do was ask, and whatever I ask for from him, becomes mine: I completely comprehend pastors when they say we should trust God when asking Him for things, just like a child trusts the father. Up till the eraser and pencil, to the sharpeners and rulers I used in primary school, were all "janded" (yanky things). I need not tell you that every other thing I used were janded. If I can't get the name of what I wanted, the alternative I had was to give a detailed description. Though I never got the exact thing of what I described, but I was always getting something similar to it, and most times, I got something better. I remember after watching "Home-alone", I told him I wanted the kind of gun the boy used, and also the wireless remote control car. The next time he sent some packages home, he sent me a water gun instead, and a remote control car (wireless of cause, but not the time in the movie).
The water gun was a classy one, and had a big tank. It had a series called (pump action). Just like a short gun, you cuck the gun. You handle the gun like a short gun, but the trigger part is very stiff. The lever were you cuck the gun works about the same way. You slide the lever from the trigger side to the direction towards the nuzzle and then water is loaded into an hose within the gun. You slide the lever from the nuzzle direction towards the trigger region and the water is expelled forceful. The faster you do it, it more pressure is exerted within the hose, and the further the projectile of the expelled water, away from the gun. It could travel a distance of about 20 meters (not exaggeration) ... It was a rare collection and first of its kind. I was the envy of every child in the street

The car on its own had a wireless remote control that was like a trigger. You squeeze against the trigger and the car moves forward in a straight manner... You release your finger and the car constantly reverse with its front wheels turned to the left. The car and remote had an antenna for establishing link between each other. I had many classy toys in my "Ajepako" environment, and my introverted temperament gave me an "Ajebutter" touch.
My dad was usually calling when it is midnight in Nigerian time and waking up between the hours of 1-3am to talk to him, was almost a regular routine, as we all took turns to talk to him. I have 3 elderly siblings, and I came from a monogamous home. It's was around then that you buy airtime on MTN, and your airtime of 1000naira expires after 7days. You have a grace period of another 7days to recieve calls but you won't be able to initiate them until you recharge again irrespective of whether or not you have credit on your line before it expired. So we had to be recharging every week to ensure communication is established between us and him.
Emails were not common then, as only learned people had access to it, and the novice wouldn't like going to embarrassing themselves at the cafe. GPRS enabled devices were scarce commodities then as only the rich and very comfortable could afford it then. I remember my number got her MTN Sim for 50,000naira then, and a Nokia 3310 for 60, 000naira, all summing up to about 110,000naira. Having an handset (even if e big pass your pocket sizes was a sign of affluence then.
Though I did t grow up wit a man around in the house, yet I loved and respected my dad. When it was my turn to speak on the phone it was always stereotype. It starts with
Dad: Okikiola, how are you? How is academics going? You mum told me you are becoming naughty this days. Promise me that you wil change for good.
Me: Daddy, good morning sir. Don't mind mummy, she..... (I start my own side of the story and report my mum to him. My mum just looks at me and keeps mute). If I won the argument/ debate (for which my dad is the only judge), the next thing wil be...
Dad: Give the phone to your mummy

I then will be hearing his voice from about 3 meters from my mum, without the phone being on loud speaker, and my mum who would have been full of words, will become very quite. After about 2mins of that, the phone comes back to me.
I then get my list of "wants" that I must have compiled during the day time, from my imaginations or those inspired by the movies I watched. The list is usually endless. I am pretty sure he must have always gotten his writing materials ready before it reaches my turn, cos he never missed any request I tender, no matter its quantity. How I ended my conversation with him (99.9%) of the time was "Daddy, when wil I see you again". This is usually accompanied with a brief silence between me and him (I keep mute, and he keeps mute too such that if a pin drops from its end, it would be heard over the phone) for about 5 full minutes . The silence was always broken by his., with this exact phrase : Give the phone to your mum.
When I hear this, I know that was the end of conversation between me and his for that day, till the next day. We were never short of words always something to say.
In the absentia of phone calls or emails, posting letters was the next option. The sight post stamp with a man on a horse with an hot air balloon was always an ecstatic cynosure.
His handwriting was horrible (like that of a doctor's, in a prescription sheet), I guess his gene was so strong that all his children took after him. My mum is the only one in the family that has an handwriting. The content of this letters were usually instructions for my mum or siblings, the font size was usually getting reduced as well as the line spacing when it is getting to the lower part of the second page of the the one-sheet letter. Usually, I don't feature in his letters.
When it his turn to get written to, we all write our letters individually. Mine was always full of only request........ Daddy but me this, Daddy, please see me that.... They were usually petty the things I needed I school, and more especially things I could get on the street (e. g sharpeners, pencils, drawing books, erasers transparent rulers, etc.).not that I bragged wit them or I used them to boast or make purse in school, but for some u explainable reasons, I preferred him sending them, and he never for once complained or failed to send them. However when I send my own letters, they were usually accompanied by my pictures after going to the studio to snap them. He is always requesting for my pictures

My dad was for a reason I am yet to understand, doesn't like taking pictures, so he doesn't send his pictures home (I don't remember us requesting for them however), and I am beginning to think I got that from him, but as a child, I had no say in deciding as to whether or not I wanted to snap even though I don't like snapping pictures. All that was need was a little sting from "Dr Pepper" or "Dr Do-Good" (cane) and I will be put back in order. I sometimes dress up in my school uniform in evening as I stroll into the studio to snap (my dad loves me more in my sch uniform) with my bag strapped on and my water bottle with its strap positioned on my shoulder, and people in the street seeing me begin to give funny and curious expressions. (of cause I can't be explaining to them the motive behind it).
Now down to how the passion to be a successful and celebrated Pilot, is not disconnected from my dad's encouragement, and an influence of a chart on my propietress office door.
Her door was positioned just as the right side of the main building when you step into the main building, and seeing that chart was inevitable. Occasionally during my breaktime, I would stand in front of the closed door to take a look at the color chart that had different occupations with their names inscribed on it, and the casts dressing official to represent their occupations. I would stand motionlessly and stir until my foot ached from bearing my body's weight, or until I hear something that sounds like the door opening. (nobody wants to find out what the propeitress would do when she catches you standing aimlessly on front of her door. Oh yeah, a detail I omitted was that, she was very "skilled" with the cane. It is almost plausible to say she had the talent of flogging. A little swing of her hand with the cane suspended in the air on your tender palms which has to be in a receptive position, is usually something one doesn't forget soon. We usually avoid whatever will take us to her office, and we beg any teacher that threatens us with her, to rather flog us than taking us to her.
Back to the story...... Hunger was not enough to keep me away from stirring at the chart, it was either my aching legs, or the sight/sound of the office door opening. I would conveniently spend 26mins out of my 30mins break, in front of the chart, and this went on for a while (can't remember if it was weeks or months), but it was always a terrific sight to behold

The chart showing people in the different professions, had its cast dressed officially. Among all of them, the ones that caught my attention was that of a Soldier, Sailor, Post Man, and Pilot, though it was on a cartoon form.
I knew the desire to be a Soldier was not going to be backed up with passion and it will end up in mere fantasy because I fear loosing any of my body parts... The chance is high during war... An eye could be lost, same as a finger, toe or hand or any other body part. The part I hated most about the military is haven't served well but rendered incompetent by an event while carrying out one's duties (say amputated arm or leg), the fellow will he discharged from duty. I couldn't imaging myself forced to retire when the passion is burning deep within. As a child, understood all this after weighing the pros and cons within myself but till date, I still admire the uniform (esp the desert version of the "Etisalat" camouflage). The Nurse and Doctor were gorgeously dressed but I know medicine was not my thing. My mum was a nurse in a big federal hospital in Oyo state (University College Hospital), and I know I can't bare to see people in pains, neither can I bare the sight of blood nor bare a sorrowful atmosphere when people lose loved ones. There is also a possibility of me spending the larger part of my day and income on a patient that is not economical okay..... I am that empathetic.... I understood all this as a child. So it was a no no.
A picture with a striking pose, was that of a Post man. He was wearing a smile while giving a notepad to a family that received him by their door (as if to ask them to acknowledge the receipt of a parcel by appending their signature) with one hand, and the other hand placed on his side bag. I could not pronounce this, so I wrote it out and took it to my mum who pronounced it and gave me an highlight of the job description... Your guess is as right as it is... No Nigerian parent in the Nigerian setting will willingly allow the child be a Post Man by choice, going from door to door to deliver a parcel, when there are varieties of "fishes" in the ocean. I soon dropped this after about a week of hard choice.
I went back to the chart, and I was struck with the picture of a Sailor on his white ship deck, dressed in white, and smiling. I pronounced it as "Sell-law" when I asked my mum on the summary of how the job goes but she was lost on what I meant. So she asked me to write it out so she could see it so the next day I went to school, only then could she get the glimpse of what I meant. My mum informed me on those that sail passenger ship, cargo ship, etc. She was doing all this, with a larger emphasis on not letting me settle for this. Don't forget she was a nurse... I will illuminate you on her reason:
During morning devotion (which could stretch up to 1 and half hours before my siblings signal her that time is going), she usually relate the treated topic with incidents at her place of work (maybe how some rude children embarrassed their parents, or how some children take care of their aged parents that suffered to ensure they had the best as a child, or how a patient got healed miraculously, etc.). She used to tell us of how many rich Sailors try to treat one ailment or the other with their wealth, all in the Bid to get good health. In the sea where the temperature is very low, many of the sailors take hard drinks and alcohol.... Some go to the extent of taking methylated spirit just for them to feel warm, and the aftermath of all this doesn't set up until much later in years, just like boxers. The many of the sailors have hardened livers (from strong drinks) or issues relating to the respiratory system (esp the lungs), owing to smoking. She also empathized on staying away from the family for a larger portion of the year and spending more time at sea.
A remarkable incident was that if a sailor admitted in a private ward, with a bag of money under his bed, and gave nurses instructions to take money from there to carry out any necessary test that needs to be done to ensure his health, without them being accountable to him as long as it was aimed at making him better. She told us of story's of those that wished they were poor and had good health than being rich with pains at their body parts. A download of stories like this day in day out was enough red flag for me to quite the path, this I soon did.
I went back to the chart, and the next one that got my undivided attention was that of a Pilot

Dear diary, I sincerely apologize for my absence... Been an interplay of several factors: epileptic power supply, tedious work schedule, and more importantly..... I have not been in the mood to scribble down from my inner world. It usually comes with mood. Sometimes I feel like writing other times I feel like reading. Let's do a quick one.
I couldn't pronounce the word "Pilot".... I pronounced it as " Pee-lot". The pilot was flying a one-seater old school airplane with an open roof. It was a Tail-dragger (with conventional landing gear) that was airborne. The pilot had an helmet on his head, with a sunshade attached to it (to reduce the intensity of the sun on the eyes and then he had a pair of white gloves on. The plane was a single Engine type, and it is quite difficult to classify the wings as high, low or mid-wing cos the wings had two parts.... It had an extended part from the top part of the fuselage, and the other part of the wings spanned from the lower part of the fuselage outwards. So the upper and lower part of the wings were joined by some framework of metals, something synonymous to what we see in a mast (for telecommunications). The aircraft below is very synonymous wit the airplane on the chart just that the airplane was red in color, and it was more of cartoon
The Pilot was looking sideways (to the left) and he stuck his out his left hand making a "Thumbs up" gesture has he put on a big smile on his face, with the sunshade in his helmet mounted on his head raise up. The image stimulated some mental ecstasy and I was falling in love with the character.
One getting home and telling my mum of my new found desire, she asked me the occupation, and I couldn't pronounce it properly, so she asked me to write it out when next I went to school cos she couldn't phantom what I was trying to describe (maybe because of my pronunciation).
I wrote it out verbatim and showed my mum.. It was then she could comprehend me and she then corrected me. She gave me an highlight of the job description and instantly I imagined myself addressing a lot of passengers in the airplane with my suit on, wearing a smile of my face and my "audience" also paying rapt attention to me as I saw in the movies then.
Coincidentally, my dad had sent a package home that arrived about 2days prior to then in Nigeria, but didn't get to us cos of the schedule for the person it came through. In the package sent, was a canvas that has the picture of a pilot decoration around it

The mental environment created within me ignited my passion for the profession and it became an habitual thing to remind my mum daily of my proposed profession in the future. She gave me the psychological support a parent need to give a child. After about 2 weeks, I proceeded to inform my dad... I still remember till date the excitement in his masculine voice as he gave out a loud cheer out of excitement. He was so happy and gingered by choice of profession. I don't remember him asking for me selecting my choice but one thing of great remark that I still value till date is that, he was my greatest fan. He would tease me sometimes over the phone and say "The Pilot!". I was usually mute on my own end, and gave out a sheepish smile in response to his tease (of course I knew he wouldn't know I was smiling). I do giggle sometimes to.
Gaining more knowledge and wisdom as I advanced in age after my dad's demise, I got to realize that he (my dad) didn't have the financial capability of sending me to a flight school but I was (and still is very...) confident that if my dad were to be alive, going to flight school would never be an issue. The money was gonna be made available. When pastors give an illustration in church on how to trust God, citing the level of trust, assurance, and confidence children have for their fathers as to him giving them anything they want no matter its cost, or how their father's have their backs, and wanting us to do same with God, I completely comprehend. That is why a father can throw a little girl having intellectuals into the air and the child smiles back at the father even if it appeared the father's hands are down to himself hip region as against it been mid air to receive her.... It is the level of trust and confidence.
As time went on, I started telling my classmates of my desired profession (I was in about primary 3 then) and I remember their shocking reaction, especially the females. They scream and out of curiosity do ask, why do you want a job that one can die anytime. I don't know why I was thinking of marriage at their early age, but I used to tactically inquire from the "slay queens" in the class if they could marry pilots... Their responses were never bring smiles to my face as it was always a negative response. They said they preferred bankers, lawyers, doctors, etc that they could bee seeing their spouses everyday, or at least almost every day.
Not quite long I started hearing of the word "retired" and I was seeing jotters of people retiring from government jobs. I got curious of the word, and I inquired of my mum, what it meant. She explained to me how one gets relieved of his duty after a considerable length of service and how he starts receiving pensions and dividends, haven't served well. Then the though spun in my mind..... If people who do dangerous jobs can retire, why can't I also do the same with my body parts complete? The ginger came again and it rekindled the burning passion..
I remember how intrigued I was, each time I hear an aircraft (airplane or helicopter) fly over the house (till date I can't help but lift my head even if it is in a stylish way, whenever I hear a "bird" flying) .... I would always find an excuse to leave the sitting room and go out where I could stare into the sky to feed my inquisitive mind. I will stare into the sky this the airplane goes out of sight. Usually the aircraft gets smaller and smaller till it vanishes completely into the cloud. And in some rare occasions, it vanishes owning to the spherical shape of the earth (this is more of Geography).
There was this song we used to sing then when we see an aircraft flying, it was in Yoruba:
Aeroplane odaabo (Goodbye aeroplane)
Bami ki'ya MI eleko (Regards to my mum that deals with solidified pap-akamu- (the one sold in green leaf))
Eko meji to fun ni (the two pieces of solidified pap she gave me),
O yo mi o, o yo mi (quenched my appetite),
Bam-bam (this has no meaning... It is more like sound effect sha)
o yo mi (quenched my appetite)
I hope I tried with my translation

When the song (not sure if it can be classified as folklore sef) was to be chanted on the hearing and visual confirmation of an airborne aircraft, my voice was usually the loudest.. I would scream (more of scream than sing ) the song till my voice gets cracked. It was fun then. I remember me chanting the song one day when I saw an helicopter that was high in the sky, coming my direction. As it was approaching, it was increasing in size, and this was complimented with its noise (which is almost like music in my ears). It was flying really low and I was of the opinion that the white man flying the "bird" heard my voice and wanted to take me along with him to America (I had the mentality of any "bird" flying to be operated by a white. It didn't cross my mind to assume it could be a black). Just as the "script role" of the fantasy playing out in my head was dawning on me, I had a rethink of my life instantly (I was in primary 3 or 4 then). I was willing to rush into my house, grab a few clothes in a nylon bag (box was considered a "long thing" ), rush to the untarred road in front of the house where the helicopter would have landed, and the white pilot dresses in white shirt and black trousers positioned at the right side of the helicopter, bracing himself to the helicopter with his left hand after sliding the door to the back to open it, and beckoning to me with his right hand as if to offer me help to mount the helicopter as he accompanies the gesture with a smile. The helicopter was like a Bell 429. The fantasy had his knotted tie swerving to and fro from his neck as the overhead blade was generating wind.. It was then I asked myself:
Am I willing to leave my mum and family without any form of notice or seeking their consent or even carrying them along (GSM wasn't rampant then)?
Once I leave, will I ever be able to see and re-unite with my friends?
Several thought provoking scenario kept playing in my head.
The helicopter was fast approaching and I couldn't process all this at once, so I blocked my ears with my palms to shield them from the sound of the airborne "bird" and ran into my room out of fear. Within the squeeze of a lemon I was indoors already with my eyes closed real tight, hands pressing against my ears and my face buried into my bed... I couldn't hear anything or anyone. It was quite a frightening experience
I have not considered whether I was going to prefer Rotary Wings or Fixed wings, all I wanted was to me a pilot, to fly a "bird". I was always intrigued on how an airplane with its enormous weight (it's apparent weight and that of goods and passengers), will lift into the sky and remain suspended after taxi-ing the runway.. It was mind blowing...... More especially how it could remain in the air without any physical support. It is really enigmatic

Time was passing fast and I was soon in primary 5, preparing to Common Entrance (a intermediate exams required for primary school pupils before gaining admission into secondary school). I soon gained admission into an Anglican school in Ibadan where I was soon boarder from JSS1-SS3. The school brought children from two extremes together... Those from wealthy homes and those from the average family. I had a one year junior that travels to England as if it was his balcony that he could still to at will. Every break we got at school, he must travel. He was usually coming back with the bags nd other goods from the air plan, as well as articles from Argos nd chocolates. He then thrills us about the details of the trip ranging from the originating point in the Lagos Airport, 6o how they has to wait on the queue before landing in Heathrow, etc. But he was kind of a shallow talker.... He talks about little, on many things... Not sufficient for me.
I had a classmate that traveled to England for the very first time, and this guy will not just let us hear word. A sanguine Ibadan indigene, he loved craving for attention. He started from how they had to "shed weight" of their excess luggage in the Nigerian airport before departure in Lagos, to how scared he was during take off. He didn't exempt how funny the chicken he was served in the plane was, to and also how he threw up when the aircraft was galloping. All this details caught my fancy nd I soon became one of his very attentive listeners. He tried to describe how the feel is during touch down of the landing gears of the plane upon arrival at the destination airport nd I was seriously craving for the same experience.
Intro-Tech (Introductory Technology) became one of my favorite subjects in the junior school cos it had a bled of Physics and Technical Drawing in it as well as machines (how they operate). My Intro-Tech teacher was quite versatile and he attended to my questions in a satisfying manner each time I asked..
I was making researches on subject that matter in the secondary school level to help prepare me for my proposed profession and I discovered I was excelling in Geography and Economics without stress but will have to burn the midnight candle countless times before I managed to assume an average position in the class for other subjects. I disliked anything having to do with calculations especially if you have to derive the formula ... However I realized I was great with laws, theories and explanatory issues. My Physics teacher who occasionally doubles as a Mathematics teacher wasn't making life easier as he really enjoyed giving questions having to do wit calculations and that you have to derive your formula at almost every stage. To make matters worse, he made such questions compulsory. What I did was to "honorably" fail the calculation aspects during exam (instead of wasting time trying to put the puzzles together and not finishing before the stipulated in the exam paper ), and make up for the lost marks in theoretical aspect. That way, I was ranking among the first 10 in a class of about 75.

When topics having to do with aircrafts were discussed in class, I was usually the most active in class, asking endless questions from my inquisitive mind.
During my duration in Secondary school, I didn't use "janded" stuffs (guess I outgrew it from Primary 5),nd was using items purchased in Nigeria by my mum.
Owing to my being in the boarding house, conversations between my dad and I got restricted only to when I was home on breaks cos phones were not allowed in school. Nonetheless, the bond between my dad and I wasn't broken. He still remained my greatest fan, teasing me at the slight chance he had. My dad wanted us to Come over to USA and tried all he could but for reasons unknown, it didn't work out. I remember going to the American Embassy in my JSS2 for an interview: my mum was an Exco in Rotary club in Ibadan and Rotary club was to have their 100th year anniversary in New York., my mum had an invitation and necessary documents to back that up. My dad's younger brother had a daughter whose birthday fell around that time he sent us an invitation to that effect, my dad also had an invitation request from his place of work, and from here, we used the statement of account of one of my affluential uncles, and we had EVERY reason to be given visa but that Oyinbo consulate still denied us. Remembering the scenario at the embassy keeps reminding me of one of Seyi-Law's joke. He said in an embassy, every staff is treated wit utmost respect ranging from the cleaner models, to the security man, electrician, driver etc.... Cos one can't be too sure of who is who especially for one goin for the very first time. Also he said sometimes the consulate denies one visa if he perceives you are too qualified to travel. In his mind he will be like: wetin you wan go do for my country? You don get all document and qualification. If this one go, e no go come back again o. Oya sidon for naija make u dey hustle here

An important detail I omitted was that as a pupil in primary school, my parents ensured I never missed school excursions and as a matter of fact, it was only once I ever missed it, and it was because I had measles then.
During the birthing phase of my passion for aviation when I fell I love with the profession on the chart and the canvas saga, an excursion was organized by my school which warranted a trip from Ibadan to Lagos. We first visited a local airport in Ibadan, where no airplane was on site for about 1hr of our stay there. We were just staring at the run way. Noone addressed us or gave us any lecture or pep talk. From there, we went to the 7up Bottling company, where we were taking to different sections in the company. We was saw the machine that washed the empty bottles collected from vendors. It was a large stack of openings, and a gigantic black brush scrubbing them. We were taken to another section where we saw a massive cylinder that had the prepared product. We were told it is usually sampled by some top staff members before they start loading them up into empty bottles. From there we went to a section were a chain belt conveyed crates of empty bottles to a point where the get filled, and pass it to the next belt. The next belt passes it to the machine that inserts cock on the filled bottle, and then loads each hand bottle into empty crates. All these was very fast, and happened simultaneously on a large scale. In this part, bottles breaks habitually and splash. One broke and it's fragment broke and was flung into the air. My best friend who happened to be the Head Boy happened to be the receptor of this airborne fragment, and his fore head was made to weep as it started to bleed. We were all hurried out, and my best fried was taken to their clinic where he was attended to. I offered to accompany him being the Health Prefect, but I was told not to bother by one of the teachers.
Upon our arrival to Lagos, we visited the first storey building in Nigeria, which had the first well sunk in it also. The building also housed Bishop Samuel Ajayi Crowther (the first person to successfully translate the English Bible to Yoruba). I saw the safe in his room too: from the safe were shown different "currencies" used in Nigeria in times past.
In that same day, we went to Badagry where the slave trade center was situated. We saw different tools and binding equipments used to our ancestors. There were also models erected to try to describe how the situation was then: a link of chain used to hold a group of people together by the neck another set of chains were required for the Hans and neck.
The slaves had their lips pierced cos it was usually padlocked when they were working on sugar cane plantations so the don't eat while working. Also after work their hand were binder to the back and there were made to drinking water from a big drum by putting their mouth into it while bending. The more people drank from it the lower the water level gets. Some slave died by drowning cos they tripped over while bending to drink water with their hands tied behind them. Others close by couldn't help them cos the were tied by the hands backwards. A deep visualization of this era in my head, really made me appreciate God for not creating me in that era. It is still scares me till date.

The trip was crowned with a visit to the local wing of Muritala Mohammed Airport, LAGOS. When entered the airplane from the left side of the fuselage, close to the Cockpit. We worked through the airplane and were recieve by some pretty ladies wearing big and inviting smiles (who I now know to be air hostess). They shook us by the hands and Gabe each pupil a pack of Lucozade boost. It was my first time ever shaking a white. We exited through the tail region of the airplane. Our teacher told us (though now I know it is a lie) that while we were enroute from the entrance of the airplane to meet the hostesses, the plane was airborne and it landed. Curious me (though I had never flown in an airplane before the last was wondering why I didn't feel the airplane tilting or vibrations on the wheels, but who was I to argue with my primary school teacher, especially when it involved a male teacher who specializes in "professional" flogging. Uncle Dele, that Bros can flog for Africa. It was a Boeing aircraft I can't remember the model. It has red and while colour in its external part. The excursion was rounded up with a visit to bar beach where we just snapped pictures and within 5 minutes of getting there, we embarked on our journey back home in Ibadan.
The more I got knowledgeable, the more I fell in love with aviation and the passion to be a pilot kept on burning from within. The Junior Certificate examination which was a criterion for gaining admission into SS1 was soon approaching and I was preparing for it. The school had us write a mock exam, which I later discovered was much difficult than the main exam. We were done with the qualifying exam, and we were soon home for the 3rd term break

Haven't endured nostalgia for a full term in school , I was home for the promotional exam break that was taking like forever. Most of my primary school friends had relocated, and my school was quite some distance to my house, so basically I practically had no friend on the street (me being a boarder did t help matters). I however had an handful of pals I hung out with. 1st was my best friend (Bimbo), who stayed about 2streets away from mine. And the other two guys, were my neighbors- Barnabas and Philip. Philip was an elder brother to Barnabas and Philip was older than me, but we were all close. Philip is a very intelligent fellow, and Barnabas is a goal getter. Won't stop at getting wat he wants no matter what it takes.
On my street, was and influential and affluential personality... The present Ekiti State Governor... Gov. Ayodele Fayose. He had four sons I knew of: Nigba, Joju, Rogba, and Chukwu. Their father (SPOTLESS, as he was founded called) was a philanthropist and was a good father to his kids. Philip and Barnabas were close pals to the "Fayose"s but no matter how much he I tried to blend into the group, I never fitted in. So when the" Fayose"s were around, Barnabas and his brother spend a larger part of the day in their house, leaving me alone to myself (one pull factor they (the Fayoses) had was a Playstation 2 which was not common then). I was introverted by nature, and all this just was bracing up my introversion. I spent most tomes playing all by myself with my toys (epileptic power supply was no stranger to me then).
Speaking with my dad on the phone was restricted to mid night in Nigerian time, and it was an habitual routine of asking how my day went, was I wanted, how school was, etc. The conversation was usually ending with a question from me which went thus "Daddy, when will I see you again?". This question was usually succeeded by a full 3 minutes silent from both my and my dad, before my dad breaks the silence wit the phrase 'Give the phone to your mum'. Then, my mum was using Mtn some for who h u but airtime of 1500 the expired after 7days whether or not you use it. You then wil get a grace period of another 7 days to receive calls before you are barred from receiving and initiating phone calls. So at least once on 14day, you Must recharge your line if you want it functioning.
On this fateful day, my mum (who was a nurse then in University College Hospital, Ibadan) was preparing for morning shift and said she didn't feel like going to work with her phone (Nokia 3310 ). She said she was going to drop it at home for that day (she was usually with her phone prior to this day). She set off for work and barely an hour after she left, dad's call came in. It was very surprising. He requested to speak with mum but we told him she wasn't available cos she had gone to work. He opted to call her back, and he hung up without discussing anything wit my siblings or me. After about an hrs, he called again and we told him she was still unavailable. He called about 5 times that day, and after a while he said he was going to call the next day when it is more certain the commune. On hearing this, I grabbed a pen and a book to write down my unending list of wants with the optimism of telling him the next day, what's he should send to me when next time he is sending a package home

I slept late that day. I was really raking my brain to ensure no details was omitted... They were all meticulously documented. Eventually, nature had a bigger "shares" in the happens of the day, so I had to succumb to his decision of sending me to dreamland.
I woke up the next day, said my morning prayers, and finished my house hires within the squeeze of a lemon. Then, the though part of the day begun, when I had to wait patiently for my dad's call. The day was running, without a call from dad and I was getting impatient.
Out of the blues, the phone rang, and my first brother (Taiwo.... I had a set of twins before me) answered the phone. I sprang into the sitting room from the bed room to grab my endless list in anticipation to speak with dad, but the whole saga was abruptly cut short. Within 3mins, my brother was done wit the call and when my sister and his twin asked for update about the phone conversation her had just seconds ago, he had a puzzled look. He said the person was a lady, and be claims to be one of my relatives (we no fit Sabi ourselves finish.. My paternal grandpa was a sharp shooter. This is not an exaggeration.... He had 36 children from 6 different wives), calling to pass a message of condolence. When she discovered the surprise or let me say the naive state my brother exhibited, she inquired to know if she was on to Taiwo. When my brother affirmed this, she said she was on to the wrong Taiwo, and apologized shortly before she dropped the call. We all took this with a pinch of salt.
All of a sudden, my dad's immediate younger brother who resides in Ogun state called us and inquired of my mum's whereabout. He told us he was on his way to Ibadan, after we told him she had gone to work. Now, we start getting worried cos this is a man that doesn't comes to out place without a significant reason... He is a busy man. All these took place around 2pm
It was 4pm about the time my mum closes from work, but she doesn't get home until around 5:30pm owing to road traffic, but we were surprised to see my mum walking through the balcony of the house after mounting the stairs. The next thing we noticed was that she was crying, and my uncle was working behind her. My uncle is really a strong man and so had no tears in his face by a very sad look as he walked behind. Just before my mum stepped into the house, she said in a shaking voice "And he just died like that". That was sufficient information to be conveyed to us, before we were about to decode all that had happened. My mum broke down, and I soon joined. I couldn't help the fountain of hot tears flowing through my checks upon the thought of me loosing my dad who doubled as my greatest pal, and biggest fan. Though I had no memory of seeing him in person, the pain was a sharp sting in the heart. I imagined the future, and soon realized his absentia to witness all the success and achievements I am to attain. I soon imagined my wedding day (even as a boy in JSS3 then) and imagined him being happy on that day to ship his last born wedding but the realization that he won't witness it added gall to the embittered heart.
I retired to my bed and the pillow was soon soaked with tears. Mucus had blocked my nostrils, and I was soon breathing with my mouth, as my body was vibrating like a generator that is low on fuel.
I was away from the sitting room, so I didn't have an a idea of what my uncle must have discussed either my mum and siblings. By the time I came out of the room, it was about 6-7pm, and it was then I discovered I had been calling since. My dream to become a successful and celebrated pilot began to shake

We all lost appetite that day. My siblings didn't cry, but you could see this very bitter look on their faces. Before we could say "Jack", some "Amebo"s on the street had known, and they started paying visit. My uncle didn't know anyone on the street sage the Fayoses and even at that, he had not relayed the information to them. We on our own end, didn't shout or scream in the house, and anyone sharing a will with us won't even know what happened but how the Aprokos knew, still remains a mystery to me till date.
Night time approached, and we all couldn't sleep as we all laid on the floor in the sitting, falling the ceiling with out eyes open, and Noone said a word even till around 1am. The sound of a dropped pin would have been heard across the sitting room. One by one we all slept off.
The day broke for the arrival of a new day and Bimbo and his mum were soon at my place. Bimbo lost his dad about a year before then (my dad's demise) and I remember how I used to spend a larger part of the day wit him, keeping his company (though then I had no idea what I was doing, but I just believed my presence was going to be a support to him), guess he felt he should return the favour. His mum and mine got engage (it was safe to say she was an "experienced" widow), and the Bimbo was with me. Not long after then, some of Bimbo's siblings (he is the last born just like me, but has about 8 siblings) came over and they were engaged with mine, cos they are within the same age bracket.
Bimbo's presence was of great support to me, and it was hoping me get over the loss. He would come early in the morning and leave late at night up til the funeral arrangement. Popsy passed on August 30th, 2005. I remember my mum being on the phone especially wit my dad's younger brother in USA, and shedding tears and soon I joined her in crying even without hearing the conversation. The sight of her crying was enough trigger for mine. There was a funny day during our early morning devotion when she paused briefly while reading the devotional to cry, she was soon joined by me, and then my siblings joined in one after the other. After about 30 min of us crying without anyone consoling anyone, we all got up one by one without concluding the devotion. It was a day filled wit sadness and bitterness.
My dad's funeral soon arrived Nigeria, and one of my dad's step brother (Uncle Yemi.... We called him Osbond) accompanied my dad's immediate younger brother (uncle Dele) to the airport in Lagos, in company of my brothers to receive my dad's remains. My sister didn't go, and I was left out cos of an incident that happened about 2yrs prior to then. I watched "Diamond Ring C, a Nigerian movie where some people raided a tomb after the corpse was buried and stole all the jewelries buried with the female corpse and then the ghost came hunting them. The ghost came at night and how it happened was that the curtains were blowing , lightning and thunders were clashing and glasses in the house where breaking. Shortly after the movie I watched my music neighbour, an elderly man though, getting buried from my window. Night are and it was about to rain heavily but never did. All I saw in the movie earlier in the day was now like a real live thing and glass picture frames in the house started to break. I was really scare and hardly could anyone sleep at home that day. So if as not allowed to see corpse since that day. Even on Bimbo's dad's commitment to mother Earth, I was not released from home till my siblings were certain ashes would have been dropped for ashes. I was made to go home after the hitch service first before I went to his house.
Back to the story, I was not allowed to join in the trip to collect my dad's remains. When my brother returned in the evening, they narrated how the cleared the remains, and how one of the Pall bearers jumped up with fear when he was told he was seating on a casket. They told us how he was deposited in the mortuary, and how the embalming done one him was neat. According to my brothers, it was as if he was sleeping. This made me hunger more to see him

Friends and foes soon started to pay visit, and I got to meet family members I had never seen before, for the first fime: some I only knew by name others, I had absolutely no idea they existed. I had to start avoid going out to get anything cos when walking on the stretch toy see grown ups talking and when I walked pass them, they either keep mute or they all disband their "assembly" and that usually keep me battling with holding back my tears. Some will even stare at me till I walk out of sight. School was still on break, so I had no issues with school. A date was picked for the funeral and then Christian wake keeping was picked for October 5, and team commitment to Mother Earth was scheduled for the next day.
October 5 approached and the corpse was brought to the house for laying in state. The unsettling siren from the Pall Bearers' vehicle couple with the music from the band, got the whole street residents out of their domiciles. After the much "drama by the Pall Bearers who ensure they displayed several acrobatics stunts in a bid to attract potential clients, the boot of the vehicle was opened and the casket was brought out. My mum's younger sister couldn't hold back her grief, she just burst into tears as she gave out a loud cry and called out my dad's name. My mum was still upstairs all this while, but my siblings and I were downstairs for the reception of the remains. Grown-ups around rally round my grieving aunt and ushered her away. Pikin them no cry, dem no scatter body, na you con dey do anyhow, oya con Park well.
The laying in state commenced and I went to change into me ceremonial wear. The casket used was a fanciful one: after the top was opened, there was a roller used to raise the body away from the casket, to bring the body to full display.
We all came downstairs and the Christian Wake keeping was soon over, but I had not gone to see popsy then. After everyone had disbanded, my siblings and one of my big cousins were gisting with the Pall Bearers who were all seated under the canopy with the remains and they were gisting us about funny experiences they have had during the cause of their job. They have no aorta of fear as they said they can comfortably sleep beside a corpse. One of them keep in describing how astonished he was as to how much dad appeared to be sleeping. I was still scared if approaching hung the remains cos of the various scary Yoruba movies I had watched. Bimbo noticed I had not gone to say "hi" no dad, so he diplomatically escorted me to him, and gave me every support (emotional and psychological) that I needed. I got close and was mesmerized with his view in a dark suit and bow tie. He had white gloves on, and a shoe. There was no cotton wool in his nostrils, ears or mouth (my brother later told me it wasn't necessary cos he was well embalmed from USA before his arrival)

Bimbo was geographically closer to my dad than I was. He didn't display any sign of fear and that gave me more confidence. I stood close to him, but very scared that he could grab my hands and the thought of that rendered me helpless cos I had no idea of what to do if such happened. I remember my mum coming to see dad after everyone had gone and she was a bird cover between my dad's head and the pillow. She asked one of the Pall Bearers to get it off, and I was doing that roughly. She shouted at him "Ma se oko mi l'ese o" (don't hurt my husband). We all laughed. The guy also smiled and tendered care in his actions.
The next day soon unveiled and we journey to Ilishan Remo in Ogun state were dad was laid to final rest. The laying to rest was an experience I can never forget. The most painful part was when he was being lowered into the tomb and each of us had to pour sand. We all couldn't hold it, we burst into uncontrolled tears. My dad's younger brother in USA (Uncle Babalola, but we fondly called him "Uncle 'Lola") lost it completely. We was literally pulled back so he doesn't jump into the tomb. I was just holding my mum's hands and she was holding tight to mine. Another painful part was when the leader of the Pall Bearers suggested that the casket be badly dented so greedy folks don't come to exhume the corpse to resell the casket after its theft, cos it was really a fanciful type. After a brief dialogue with some grown ups in the family, each Pall Bearer grabbed sticks and started pounding the sunk casket, from the top of the ground. It was badly dented beyond repairs. The sight of the whole scenario brought more tears to our eyes. We wished they could be gentle with it.
The whole ceremony was over and we retired to the family house in Ogun state, where I saw Osbond's mum for the very first time. We used to talk on phone but never saw. She welcomed us with a big smile and showered us with great hospitality. One thing I so much respect about the whole ceremony was the large turn out of people, that had not seen him for years. He was the 14th child in position among the 36 children, but first from his mum's side, but the turn out from church members, family members, and friends was huge. And they all gave good testimonies about him. Many promised us several things, but I later discovered they were mere words without actions. Till date there are only 3 of my dad's friend that are still close to the family and we can go to for help if the need arises. I however respect my uncles and aunts cos they all rallied around us. They footed a larger part of the bill of the ceremony.
The school break was over soon and I was back in school. Not everyone in school new of my dad's demise and I wanted it kept that way, for reasons I can't even explain

Time went on, and I soon began to miss my dad as the reality started to dawn more on me that I will never hear his voice again. I would pay rapt attention to my friends who were day students when they narrated their escapades with their dads a day before. I would wake up at night around 12am, and cry my eyes out til around 5am before I sleep briefly before the morning bell was rung. A few ladies that were observant would ask why my eyes was swollen and I would say I overslept, or I didn't have enough sleep, and the curiosity dies. I was usually getting "gists" from my friends from affluential homes about their trip to UK and the only part I was interested in was during the stay in the aircraft : when they boarded the airplane, and when they disembarked. The tales gallop in the air was usually catching my fancy, and I was always longing to have my first experience. The fun part was having a sanguine narrate his ordeal and how he instantly evaluated his life and asked God for forgiveness. These tales fueled my already burning passion to be a pilot.
Junior Secondary School Certificate Examinations (JSSCE) results were out, and it was based on that the school management (with the help of the Guidance and Counsellor, and some experienced teachers) determined those that will be in the Science class, Commercial class or Art class. The very brilliant ones were considered for Science, the neither too brilliant not dull were considered for Art, and the "Olodo"s were considered for Commercial class. The very brilliant ones that were not in the Science class were in the ones they were, by their personal choice, and the G&C (Guidance and Counsellor) was convinced they were on the right path). Judging with this, I knew it wasn't accurate cos Science class was the only lace I could fit in. Commercial class had to do with a lot of statistics (Financial Account, Business Studies, etc), and I found such calculation boring. Art class required you reading a lot of boring book, and the worst part of it was the was the test or exams came (I stumbled on past questions of my predecessors: a sentence is quote from a book randomly and you see questions like; who said this? To whom? What warranted it? What transpired after this? What is it's grammatical structure? What is it's idiomatic expression? Etc I loved to read in such that I could paraphrase what every I read in my own words, it having to "cram".
Shortly before the results were pasted, each of us had a Counselling session wit our G&C who asked us individually on a one-on-one basis for our desired future professionals, why we wanted it, how feasible it was, etc. When it got to my turn, I remember the conviction on Mrs Shokunbi's face after I gave her a glimpse of my burning "flame", and she nodded in affirmation after twitching her eyeballs to the top-left corner on her glasses to process all I told her

The results were pasted, and my grades were not too great (I had tried my best anyway). A teacher was about to send me to the commercial class when I lost it.... I discussed it with my hostel matron, who discussed with NY mum, who then called the G&C, and then I was called for another session. She asked why I was keen on Science class and inquired further if it was because some of my close friends were there. I told her my friends' presence there was totally unconnected wit my desire there, and that it was more because of Geography (those that thought me in the Junior class where very skilled teachers that taught one easy and simple ways to remember though topics). Mrs Shokunbi maintained that I could be in the Commercial class and still take Geography, but I declined her proposal. After much considerations and deliberations, she and the school management discussed with my mum and agreed to place me on a probation for a term, before it will be decided if I would remain or leave the Science class. I gave it all my shot was determined to stay there.
Times passed, and my love kept on waxing stronger for the aviation career, and I tried to acquire anything I felt could enhance my proposed career. I took Technical Drawing, Physics, etc. I discovered among all the subjects I took back then, I thrived more in Geography and Economics. I could pass these two subjects without reading them during exam time... They acquired knowledge during lectures in the class room was sufficient for me. Well, this was not unconnected to the fact that the teachers handling the subjects were exceptionally good. In these subjects, I could rank among the first 3 in the whole class, but I couldn't boast of the same in other subjects. I occasionally would wake up at night and cry my lungs out till day break, and each time felt fresh as of it were recently I lost my dad.
School organized an excursion, and we were taken to the slave trade Centre in Badagry, LAGOS and also the first story building in Nigeria. Aso were where shown the spot Gospel was first preached in Nigeria, and all these awoken my childhood memory. We also paid a visit to the Palace 9of the Akran of Badagry (he had 3 grandchildren who were in my school, that made us really welcomed), from which each h of us parted with coconut (they had it in abundance there).
Senior secondary school was over, and it was time to proceed to the university. Chemistry was my most dreaded subject. At the initial stage when my teacher (a very brilliant lady wit a B. Sc in Petroleum Engineering) introduced organic chemistry and were were been taught Nomenclature, I was loving the subject (the likes Alkene, Alkane, Alkyl, and Alkanol family)... It was "sweeting" me then. I started giving up when it got to Redox equation (oxidation and reduction equation).
I finally gave up when even my teacher got confused herself. I just failed that aspect of chemistry in exams honorably, and made up for my loss in other aspects of chemistry. When it came to titration too, my values were Always different from my classmates' own no matter how careful I was. I was great with the calculations and formulae though. So what I used to do was carry out my practicals for my teacher to see (sometimes swallowing of the fluid from the pippette and burette (I hope I got the spelling) was inevitable), then I check my friends book for the value, before I continue with my calculations. I almost ran away from Chemistry class when we got to the aspect of carbohydrates..... That topic was wide and weird, it took God's grace to scale through. My Physics teacher was great and made sure quoting the right formula when given a question to solve, carried at least half of the total mark for that question, so quoting of formulae soon became my thing. I had no issues with Biology, so I was doing okay in the Science class.
I soon gained admission into Olabisi Onabanjo to read "Geography and Regional Planning" and I was happy I did. But the course had two branches: the programme had a branch under faculty of Science and another one under the faculty of Social and Management Science, so I was to chose one of them. It was not difficult choosing the one under FSMS as long as I won't have to take Chemistry classes.

My apology for not updating this thread is beginning to get habitual..... One I do not intend. Let us make a quick one.
I thrived in Economics and Geography while in secondary, and 100l in the university was almost a continuity of secondary school. Some of my colleagues borrowed some Economic coursed as faculty electives and when I saw the past questions after exam time, I wished I borrowed the courses too, but also I was beginning to wonder of it was a right choice picking Geography instead of Economics for B. Sc, but still I kept my 'game' up. 2nd semester approached in 100l and I was considering borrowing some Economic courses for elective, but I ran out of luck cos the only one I saw available had a course title "Econometrics". It was like my the topic I ran away from in Further Maths during my secondary school days, caught up with me. Those crazy Trigonometry identity was not something I fancy so I honorably dropped the course (I had a choice cos it was a faculty elective). It was at this juncture I was really grateful to my stars that I picked Geography instead of Economics.
I was soon adjusting to the university setting, and I wasn't really suffering from nostalgia, cos my being in boarding house from Jss1 to Ss3 really prepared me mentally and psychologically. My mum did the calling most of the time and accused me of not calling home except when I was low on my monthly allowance, to which I was usually apologizing.
Different topics were taught under courses by different lecturers, employing distinct teaching techniques. Some would require you give him answers to his exam questions verbatim as it was given in the class room without expressing them in your own words for you to successfully secure a "A5", others required you use your own words to answer the question (I employed synonyms here) as giving your answers verbatim won't guarantee a "smiling" grade. Some other lecturers required you make researches on topics taught in class cos they tend to ask "extra" in exam papers, and also expect you to supply "extra" answers. The key to ensuring one's grade remains airborne was to know what each lecturer whats, and giving him. Some of it required asking from "Stalites" one how each lecturer like their questions answered, and of course, getting past questions of 7 consecutive years for each course helps to give a glimpse of pattern of questions for each lecturer.
I was getting engrossed in my quest to finish well and finish strong, and I was trying not to think of the Aviation career 'cause of the financial implication. I couldn't think of it without remembering my dad, and it was usually keeping me depressed. I joined the work force on churns a "behavioral adaption" to that to ensure I don't appear as a sadist. I was on the Technical Unit, and it really took my time cos the church had one activity or the other throughout the week and my only "off" day from church was on Wednesday. My hall was a few stone rock rolls to the church so I was usually available. Would open the church early with the Ushers and Choristers (to ensure the Generator was in other, so also the light and sound), and also would close late (to power off the lights and Generator cos some people wait behind after the service to see the pastor), sometimes till around 9pm after leaving the house around 7am for school. All this kept my energy channeled from worrying, to putting it into something productive. Each day after retiring to the room, I was always reminding myself....... You have to read your books, to keep the brain fresh, cos a worker on church MUST not be found academically wanton. I ensured burning midnight candles was an habitual thing no matter how tired I was, even if it required 3hours to assimilate one page in my book.
The thread continued for a while, till I met some new lecturers in the department. I was later informed by stalites that they (the lecturers) were actually on the school before my admission but were laid off when then school was downsizing it's staff (for reasons best known to them) as so were re-absorbed when the need to strengthen staff strength arose.

Amongst these "recruits", was a lecturer that has lost his right arm. We got close as the semester went on and we got talking and got quite personal. One thing led to the other, and I shared my dream of being a pilot to him, without forgetting to stress out my challenge.... Funds....
When he heard my reason for having a shaking dream, he encouraged me and told me no to fear, but juts hope. He told me about himself, that he had dreamed to be an Ocean Diver sincerely childhood, but him losing his right arm as an undergrad posed some impediment to him. However, he stress that it had not totally stopped him cos he trained (as at then) Ocean Divers and that brought fulfillment to him to a great extent. I felt charged and that fuelled my burning passion to be a successful and celebrated pilot.
300l soon approached and a field trip was organized. Among the places we were taken to, was a local Airport on Ibadan. We had representatives from the 3 main agencies in a Nigeria. Airport, address us: Federal Airport Authority of Nigeria (FAAN), NO met) Nigerian Meteorological Agency (NIMET) and Nigerian Airspace Management Agency (NAMA). Each representative briefed us of their job description and their requirements and the Air Traffic Controller (ATC) representing NAMA, created a whim in me right from when he stress out that to be an ATC, the individual most learn to fly an aircraft (so as to understand the position of a pilot, thus helping to guide the pilot better) so a Private Pilot License (PPL) is imperative. Hearing the chattering between pilots flying into the Airspace and the ATC over the radio was giving me goose bumps. Several departments where brought to out "know" (though in charge of communication, flight planning,medical team, fire unit, security, etc) but my eats were shut to them all. I was just focused on the ATC. I was thrilled when the ATC said they under go 3yrs on-the-job training after the completion of their training. I was forced to go online to learn the Aviation alphabets (Alpha Bravo Charlie...) cos I used to "see" them in movies but I "saw" the ATC using it for the very first time and it was sounding like a enamored poem appealing my amorousness. I was on a complete state of ecstasy. Of course you sure can guess which sector of my field report would have gotten prominent attention. I totally did not need my scribbled note or recording to file the report, as my brain was in absolute harmony with my fingers.
I still remember that day sef (the day we embarked on the field trip): Iremember intrigued I was with various gadgets in the control Tower and how an individual (the ATC) can maintain eye contact with all over them to monitor any change, and still maintain audio connection with the pilot over the radio. And yes, phones are not allowed in the Control Tower... It you have to be with it, then it should be off or in airplane mode (not even vibration). It helps the ATC stuff alert for any "incoming" sound. I couldnt hold my curiosity anymore and asked the ATC about the Cockpit on an airplane (since he had a PPL): I asked how the pilot knows what button to press per time considering the endless number of buttons there (in the Cockpit roof and "dashboard" . The ATC gave out a loud and funny laughter before answering briefly that "you will be trained before you can fly an aircraft, so you will know what to press and when". It didn't really make much sense to me then, but coming across a thread on Nairaland here and someone asked similar question, a pilot responded and his response was superb. His response was "just imagine your TV remote... You have many buttons there, but you only pressed the exact button for the precise action you desire at a time". It was easier to comprehend then

Considering I have no means of "clearing the tuition fee in a flight school, I started making researches online on how people in my shoes were able to ply their routes. I didn't exactly come across a detailed response but may blogs having success stories had it that they got sponsored. It was not an interactive type so I wasn't chanced to ask how they came across the sponsorship in the first place. The closest I got was a lady on Nland here that said she got a sponsorship with no ties (she is not obligated to her sponsor after the completion of her programme) and that she would be commencing her programme a month from then. I created my Nairaland account instantly and sent her a PM. Til date, it has not been replied cos she has not been online with that account since then.... Was so pained. Keeping the hope alive, I kept an open mind and still tried Google.
Within the twinkling of an eye, my B. Sc programme was over and I finished as the youngest in my department during my set to secure a second class upper division and the first undergraduate to write an Original Essay using Geographic Information System and Remote Sensing in the department. My research topic was "Analysis of Urban Landuse-Landcover Change Detection using Geographic Information System and Remote Sensing Techniques Between 1984 and 2013: a case study of Ibadan Metropolis. My industrial training in a GIS firm in Ibadan was a blessing in disguise for me and a lot of lecturers in my department picked interest in the topic. It also costed me in of data (esp the satellite image rise and trips to my control points to verify the georeferenced coordinates of the satellite imageries). The external supervisor that graded my work was also intrigued (all glory to God). I completed my programme I 2014.
NYSC soon knocked that same year (2014) and I was posted to Ilorin in Kwara state. I remembered at about the "entrance" to Ilorin, I observed an airport there and that sight just couldn't get off my head right from my days in the orientation camp. During my trip back home after the initial registration for the short break, and back to my PPA (Place of Primary Assignment) , I still beheld this inviting aerodrome. It kept me more determined to find way of "handling" the financial implication of the flight school. Months went by, and I was unable to meet the right people that can help out. I was posted to a an Army barrack there, which was quite a distance to town. So anything that brought me out of the barrack, usually was always worth the trip. I soon discovered there are 2 flight schools on Nigeria, one in Zambia, and the other in Ilorin (International Aviation College, Ilorin- IAC). I decided that after one of my monthly clearance for my allowee, I was going to pay a visit to the flight school there. So in my Kharki outfit, I headed for the flight school after my monthly clearance.
I was welcomed sit a big smile by the men at the gate, who teased me with the popular Corper greeting ('Corper weee', to which I responded 'waaaa'). I gave a concise glimpse of what generated my trip, and I was directed to the reception where I met the receptionist. His name was Mr Timilehin). He welcomed me and made me feel at home. I told him I had made some research on the school and couldn't comprehend some terminologies on the site(CPL, PPL IR , MER, NR, etc). He sat offered me a seat and took his time to explain everything to me. I felt fulfilled, and spend about an hr watching a short ceremonial video of a graduating set. On my was back to Sabi Cabtonment, I alighted in front of the airport when it dawned on me that the airport and flight school literally shared boundaries. I decided to go to the Control Tower like I was taken to, in Ibadan.
Passing though the airport main gate even to the gate guarding the control tower was a trip with Noone accosting me. I mounted the spiral stairs leading to the Control Tower and the ATC was so furious to see me. His first statement was "who allowed you here?" ,

He was lookin at the direction of the door, as if to conjure a security personnel to get me bundled out. He had this terrifying frown on his face as he looked me straight in the eye. "What do you want here" he asked. I was in a state of higgledy-piggledy cos I wasn't expecting such a rude and unwelcoming solution. I was trying to avoid uttering mumbo-jumbo in my topsy-turvy state but at the same time I need to give the infuriated ATC a satisfying reply and it needed to be done fast, but I discovered I was stammering and my speech was getting discorded. I gave myself a mental picture of what was going on and it dawned on me that my raggle-taggle wasn't helping matters as the man was getting infuriated with each attempt I made to make a reasonable statement. I took a pause and took two deep sighs before I brought out my Corper ID card, to support the kharki I was putting on, which gave me the boldness to introduce myself as a serving Corp member (as if it was necessary).
The man haven't realize that he was been quite extreme with his actions, took an audible sigh and inquired in a friendly manner "What can I do for you young man?". I maintain a stern eye contact without gazing on anything thing apart from the black dot in his eye balls. My heart was pacing and I could feel every jerk from my heartbeat through my chest. My hands were sweating profusely but I kept rubbing it against my kharki trouser to absorb the sweat which was soon beginning to reflect around my neck in the very cold control tower. The atmosphere was now conducive for a gentle-manly kind of conversation and we get the momentum of the conversion at its peak.
I introduced myself and told him about my discipline (Geography and Regional Planning), and my passion for the aviation world. I told him about my excursion to the airport during my primary school days and in my final year as an undergraduate. I then notified him about my choice to thread in the aviation path in pursuit of my burning passion, and he was getting more interested in the conversation. I was making gestures as I was trying to give him a glimpse of what is on the inside of me during which I paused occasionally when I heard some chattering over the radio on the control tower (cos we were told that silence is required in the control tower to keep the ATC concentrated). I say an airborne Airforce airplane making a left turn from afar, and aligning itself to the runway as it was approaching. It was getting bigger as it was approaching. It had propellers on its engines and had the body structure of an Hercules airplane, only that this was quite smaller.
We were getting engrossed in the conversation when I digressed to call his attention to it that a plan was about to hit the tarmac (he was sitting, but I had been I my feet all along). He gave a care-free reply as he shrugged his shoulders to say "I know", without taking his eye balls off me. He was expecting me to continue the conversation but I didn't, so he went further to say "the Airforce is training some pilot, so they have been on these for about 1 hr now". I was kind of happy to hear that cos it meant I get a chance to observe the plane take off and land at intervals if only I was patient.

I asked him about ATC, and requirements to become one, and he informed me. I asked if it was true he was going to undergo a 3-years on-the-job training for which he affirmed. He got interested in me and I got his phone number. He was trying to hurry me off cos he said an Airforce personnel was usually attached to him, and the man had gone for jumat (being friday) and that I won't like the way I will be treated if the man meets me there. I thanked him for his time and departed as I dismounted from the elevated control tower through the spiral stairs. The ATC made me realize I was able to come in through the gate unchallenged because I was in my kharki outfit, and they have some serving Corp members attached to the airport. This knowledge gave me confidence and I decided to "test other waters" before departing to the barrack. I went the ground floor where flight plan is usually prepared, and there I was received by a serving Corp member. We got talking and he took me to a part close to the run way, where I could get a very good look at the runway.
I was fascinated by the smoke emitted from the landing gears as they 'kiss the runway. The screeching sound which was gentle, was also music in my ears. I then took time to observe the airplane as it moved across the runway before taking off again. The speed wasn't as fast as I expected for it to attain before taking off. To me, I was like the speed of a keke-napep from afar, so the whole mass of the aircraft ascending into the air was thrilling me. I spent more that 30mins pleasuring my eyes with the sight of the aircraft landing and taking off before I decided to call it a day and head back to the Barack before the sun sets.
Retiring to my bed, I was reconnaissancing on the day's activity and I was wishing my dream could come into reality ASAP. I was also picturing myself flying an airplane and people standing close by to observe my flight. The passion was fuelled again, and I grabbed my phone and was searching Facebook for how I can take care of my financial commitment for the programme, since Google was not helping matters.

Occasionally, I Googled IAC, Ilorin, and fed my eyes with the tuition fees, and I kept on asking myself..... How will a retired widowed nurse afford this? But a small voice kept on replying "It is going to be possible, just a matter of time. Don't lose hope". It was around that period a scriptural reference kept on appearing to me from different angles (pastor preached with it, I was seeing it on stickers, was hearing it on radios, magazines, and so on). It was Habakkuk 2:2-3. It read thus "2 And the Lord answered me, and said, Write the vision, and make it plain upon tables, that he may run that readeth it. 3 For the vision is yet for an appointed time, but at the end it shall speak, and not lie: though it tarry, wait for it; because it will surely come, it will not tarry".this gave me hope and courage and I kept the hope alive.
It was almost becoming a norm for me to visit IAC after my monthly clearance my local government secretariat, and I was quite familiar to my Timilehin (the receptionist there). I got his contact and then would call him occasionally to ask any issue that needed clarification.
Still combing the net for possible sponsor, I cam across a blog by a Pilot, who also doubles as a blogger. His name was Essien Ofonime (I will try to post the URL to his blog when I am chanced). He is on Nairaland now though). How wrote about how he sold some properties to aid his tuition fees, and other businesses he had to venture into, and it got me really thinking. His blog really inspired me and I spent days perusing several related topics there. I was perusing on a fateful day when I came across a write up on his decision while choosing between Rotary Wings (RW) (like helicopters), and Fixed Wings (FW) like (Airplanes). He 'spoke' about his mentor (I think in Ghana) that guided him with some thought provoking words, before he decided to settle for RW. Pilot Ofonime has experience wit FWs. His contact is on his blog, so I got his contact and we soon started to communicate via whatsapp.
After introducing myself to him on whatsapp and telling him how I got his contact before I tabled my issue to him, he was very delighted to chat with me. It became an habitual thing for us to catch up on each other almost very evening, and I asked series of questions ranging from why he chose RW, to how his passion to fly got ignited. He would take his time to explain whatever question I asked. For others, he seldomly said I was not going to understand cause I was not "in" yet as a pilot and when I insisted he goes ahead to explain, I was usually lost in the aviation jargons, and we just laughed over it. He never for once gave me an attitude and if he was busy anytime I chatted him up, he notified me politely and requested we adjourned the conversation.
My rapport with pilot Ofonime was beneficial and I requested he kept his ears to the ground on my behalf so he can notify me whenever he ears of any opening that might be beneficial to me. Each time we conversed, it made me long more to become a pilot ASAP so I could help an enthusiast too. When asking Pilot Ofonime on what to consider when choosing between RW and FW, he told me that the decision was ultimately left to me, but I should NEVER choose one over the other cause of the pay (which I have been taking note of ever since), and that I should find out what interests me more about it.
I made some comparisons between the two, and say that each has its strengths and weaknesses as well as limitations. RW for example rely more on visuals, and are very great wit accessibility as they can navigate "funny" terrains. They are great for medical transportation between cities, as well as emergency services, and oil workers working offshore. FW on the other hand is a better option for long distance trips and for speed. I made a lot of comparisons and I opted for FW over RW (eventhough RW pays more and costs more) . Why That is let for me alone to know. If I feel like divulging the information later on, I will. But if I see an option for RW sponsorship, I will take it up.
Along the line, I met another pilot on Nairaland here, that was into FW, his name was Suleman (or was it Sulaimon). We were constantly in contact too via whatsapp except when he was out of the country (he was an international pilot), and he didnt disclose what airline he worked for. My phone developed an issue and I lost his contact, it still hurts me till date. I could not remember his moniker cos we didn't communicate via whatsapp... And as at when I sent him a PM I sent several, but few replied which I followed up. I didn't take note of the moniker

I remembered Mr Timilehin telling me about PPL (Private Pilot License) which is usually though wit a single engine aircraft, and people that have such licensed can't fly in a commercial scale with it. You can only use it for sport, or fly loved ones. CPL (Commercial Pilot License) was used for a commercial level as its holders can make money out of it, and it is the type required by airlines during employment, (coupled with other qualifications such as NR, IR, and ME). NR being Night Rating enables a pilot to fly at night, while IR which is Instrument Rating helps the pilot with navigation with his instruments and this is more useful when the pilot can't see much around him (say he is solo up there or above the could, or when he is about to land. You just name any reasonable reason, instrument rating helps you read your equipment well). Multi Engine rating (ME) on the other hand helps the pilot fly an air at with more than on engine (be it 2,3,4,6,whatever... ME is required). Most commercial passenger airplanes use more that one engine, so it is imperative that an airline pilot gets all this qualifications cos aviation world gives high priority to safety in any form. Before take off, some checks are usually down, and there is usually more that sufficient fuel I the aircraft to ensure the plane is never out of fuel. And I think the ATC then said airplanes usually have extra fuel reserves to keep the the airplane airborne for aleast 3omins after calculating the required fuel necessary to take it from its originating point, to its destination point.
With this fundamental knowledge, the abbreviations where quite familiar to me, and I could comprehend them when I saw them online. But each time they come into view, the fee was usually the limiting factor.
Not too long during my search one day, I can across an aviation enthusiast who was within my age bracket (though he was a little my junior). His name was Mark. We exchanged contact and kept encouraging each other. Barely one month after that, he notified me about an opening for sponsorship but told me he couldn't participate cos he didn't meet the requirements. He told me about the person that notified him about it, and the person happened to be an aviation enthusiast too, but quite elderly. I sent the man a friend request and he was quite welcoming as we got chatting few minutes after accepting my friend request.
A challenging part here was that Mark told me not to tell the man I got to know about him through him (Mark), and it is quite my norm to tell strangers how I got their contact during my introduction so they don't get any funny feeling about me, being the way things are in the country. I was seriously hoping the man won't ask how I got his contact, and I was happy he never did during the while dialogue. I informed him about my desire and shortly after then, he told me about the institution organizing the sponsorship and I was very happy I met the requirements. I called him to get a detail description the formalities and started to prepare for its application

In name of the organization handle the sponsorship was "Institute of Empowerment and Strategy". I made a few research but couldn't find much info on them I called the number on their website and the person that attended to me told me they were new, and I my curiosity was satisfied sort of. I inquired about the application process, and I was told I was to pay a token for registration fee and the form, all amounting to 3000naira. I decided to give it a shot since it was a token.
The requirements included; admission letter, academic documents, letter of attestation from 2 people, and the signed form. I was curious as to the selection process employed by the organization to ensure those that need the sponsorship gets it, and I was not too bored when I saw admission letter..... Meaning they cut down on stress of choosing candidates, and just limited it to the institutions they wished to go to.
I needed an admission letter in IAC, so I had to undergo screening.the whole screening was fun. It started with a written exam, before we proceeded to a psychometric test during which I was made to operate a simulator. It was fun, except that I couldn't steer the airplane on ground cos the pedals were feeling funny beneath my feet. I had spent the last 2days before that day on the different components of an airplane, so I knew what each part controlled. The instructor flew the single engine aircraft and handed over the controls to me while it was still airborne. The instructor had briefed us shortly before the test that as a pilot, you should be able to take instructions and also safety is given utmost concern in the aviation world. The instructor told me to pitch up and down which I did smoothly, and then today me turn the airplane to the left and continue in that course. He was then making a call that lasted for about 3mins and tried to convince me that he wasn't paying attention..... But I occasionally caught his staring at my screen. I figured out he wanted to see if I could take instructions. He came after a while and told me I could go. I felt like a real pilot after the test, cos it was fun, esp the virtual sound of the rolling propeller.
Within a few hours, I was interview by a small panel that bombarded me with series of questions related to aviation. I was asked for the models of airplanes I Kew, and I was busy bombarding them with different military and passenger airplanes I knew, and one of the instructors had a sheepish smile on his face. He knew I had made some research, but was not precise on what I was saying... All the wanted was for me to have an idea, which I convinced them. It as asked if I had a means of paying the tuition fees, and I gladly said yes, cos I backed on IES.
Admission letter was out and I got on. With joy in my heart, I contacted IES head office in Abuja into whose account I paid the 3k from my meagre 19,800 allowee that was barely enough for me. That month was kind of tough for me cos of the series of expenses incurred during this sponsorship parol. There was a close corper friend I had in my PPA, and told her about the institute, and she decided to give it a shot too cis she was preoccessing her MSc in UK. I love to brag about her cis she had a first class in Micro Biology.
I had to get an attestation letter from my pastor in the church I was attending close to my PPA, and also one from a military personnel, cos I felt a military and spiritual touch would go a long way in the security of the proposed sponsorship. I also had to travel to school to get my transcript. My brother assisted with the transcript fee, and augmented my T-fare, but yet, it was tough cash wise. My friends had forwarded her application to the Abuja office cos she had her transcript, ambut it took me almost 2wks after her.
I had my documents ready, and was at the last stage where I had to send the documents to a particular office stated in the application form, and I needed to use a courier service. DHL and it costed almost 10,000n. After all the expenses, my pocket was really dry. I called my contact in the office there, and he affirmed the receipt of the documents, and told me it was filled correctly after I requested he went through it. This was around August in 2015. I must confess, DHL was quite fast. It got to its final destination on less than 21hrs from Ilorin.
My source told me a meeting was to be held to select candidates to benefit from the sponsorship around the ending of August and I was very happy my application request got there before then. I was called in him refunded we soon became pals

August approached, and my pal told me the meeting was postponed cos of the devaluation of Naira then which increased its exchange rate with dollars. I didn't freight cos I was told it was shifted to early September. I was having a mental preparation in my heart on how I will move my stuffs from the barracks to the aviation school after my NYSC service year, but I was not alarmed in anyway cos I had an aunt in Ilorin. September approached and I was told again it was shifted to Sept ending. NYSC was to end on Nov 4, so I felt the whole thing was going to play out seamlessly.
I was supporting my hopes with prayers, and hoping for the best. Should before NYSC was completed, IAC called to informed me of the postponement of its resumption date which was supposed to be around November, cos of high exchange rate with dollars. I was happy once again for this favorable change.
Cut the long story short, there were serious of postponement both from IAC and IES, till IAC resumes around Feb in 2016, but IES was yet to give a positive update. I kept on waiting and waiting but no information from them. I kept on calling the office till I was almost a nuisance to the customer care line. They knew my number already and I could hear giggles whenever any lady picked my call, so I had to limit my all to the make pal I met there. Sometimes I requested to pick his call when a lady attended to my call, and also chose to call back whenever they say he is not available. Overtime, I started calling him on his personal line and were getting on fine. Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, and I was yet to hear from IES. I didn't pick a job either cos I was worried about having to resign my job for IAC when IES responded, cos I was very optimistic I would be contacted soon. A year went by, still no response. And I decided to try alternatives. I tried LinkedIn this time and tried to connect with some pilots. Many of them working in Arik air, and Aero contractors

I must confess, many of the pilot I sent messages were Very rude, and I was beginning to think it was from me, perhaps something was wrong with what I sent. So I copied the exact message and sent to Pilot Ofonime to proof read so I could make amendments where necessary but he assure me that there was nothing wrong with the composed write up, and said the issue was from the individuals I sent it to. I basically explained my dream, and how I secured to the flight school despite losing my dad and my mum being a retired and widowed nurse, and requested for suggestions on how they could help out. I was getting some rude responses like "F-off, go F yourself," etc. One even went ahead to say "I've got bills to pay, I can't spend money in a total stranger". I was beginning to wonder what the issue was.
However, I sent the exact message to some other people that gave very sane and encouraging responses. Many said they were sponsored by their local government areas, and advised me to know someone that knows someone that knows someone that mattered, cos it all had to do with connections...but I know Noone but God. I kept the optimism spirit alive, and decided to try out my state government as adviced by one of the pilots.
I knew noone in the present government so I decided to check out the state's website when I came across some sites that said Ogun state was one of the top 5 states offering sponsorship. I was disappointed though when I push a call through to all the numbers of the different commissioners into the website. Many of them were perplexed cos they said they had left their offices at least 3yrs to when I called them, and didn't expect their profile to remain in the state's website, after I introduced myself and told them wat I was seeking. I must confess, they were all offering listening hears and we wishing they could help.
I asked for the application process for State sponsorship but they couldn't answer that cos they said it changes from regine to regime. When I requested from a man hoe it was during his time, he said it was a maximum of 5million per individual during his time, and the fees needed for my aviation career was about triple of that. I was a little disappointed. Nonetheless, I kept I searching.
I sent emails to most airlines in Nigeria, but no positive response came back. It was almost one year and I was stil not working or pursuing masters cos I was hoping IES would respond soon, but it didn't happen. I was beginning to feel irresponsible, and I lost a romantic relationship I had been building for 3years. Anyway, I have no regrets about that, cos if it didn't happen then, I was a time bomb aimed for the future.
Military was not an option cos I was passed the age. I tried talking to some of my paternal uncles that were both affluential and influential, but they were bring up different cock and boo stories. Then it dawned on me that noone was willing to help

After about 10months of idleness and hoping IES would come to my rescue but still hadn't, I started applying for job openings cos the boredom was really killing. I soon got a job as a customer care representative (CCR) in a popular Telecommunication firm, but the hope of being a pilot was still alive. This was in 2016
Hours turned into days days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, yet I didn't give up hope. I discovered after a while that my log in details on IES website were not getting authenticated again, and I started to panic. I pushed a call through to the friend I made in the Abuja branch and I was told to calm down, and that it was not something to be alarmed of. No positive news was coming from IES, so I tried to spread my tentacle, by informing colleagues at work who I felt could know somebody that knows somebody that knows somebody that matter, but it wasn't yielding fruition.
I joined several Aviation groups one whatsapp and 'watch' how international pilots interact. Videos posted occasionally was mind blowing: some aviation videos brought hot tears to my cheeks, others brought mixed feelings. I participated actively on a thread o Nairaland too here (https://www.nairaland.com/3120882/ask-pilot), where real pilots attended to our enquiries maturely, no matter how funny they may appear.
A particular day, I woke up sharp into the day and got very restless cos the passion was really eating me up from within. I dug up one of the contacts of the Board Executives of IES from the Internet and soon got the contact for Prof U he. I pushed a call through and introduced myself briefly, before enquiring the application status for my sponsorship. I wanted to trash that out first before inquiring about how candidates can give back to the organization after their achievements, but his friendly disposition pampered on the on going dialogue was beginning to go sour, and I was wondering if it had to do with something I said wrong. He currently the conversation abruptly and said I would be contacted if it got to my turn, as he claimed it was in a "first come- first serve " basis. My plea to escalate the fact that I had applied since 2015 fell on deaf ears. I thanked him for his time before he dropped the call with haste.

[quote author=okikiosibodu post=65963777]please check your mail, thanks