₦airaland Forum

We make our way into a large seating space and ladies and gentlemen; I catch my first sight of the UK. This is the UK. I can now say I have touched ground. Village people have finally failed. I will now decide those who can have that privilege to reach me. The London breeze hits me as we saunter to the counter. As Usual my companion has decided to act like the big sis that she is. She has told me she would be purchasing my tickets for me – She is just something else.

We join a queue of humans and soon approach the counter. “Can I have a one-way ticket please to Bradford Coach Station” I hear my fantastic companion asking. I can’t remember the cost, but she whips out her debit card to pay for it after which she hands the ticket to me. She motions me to a shop within that arena to pick out something to eat. She settles for biscuits and apple juice for me and water for herself. We head back to the seating arena where she then again leads me to the screens ahead that display departure time and coach numbers and loading bay area. She takes time to explain how it works to me, takes me outside to see the loading area and then collects my Nigerian number (WhatsApp) and promises to call me when she gets to Reading. She tells me she is taking the train.

We wish each other well, exchange byes while I settle in to eat my first breakfast in London. Within 30 mins, I see that my coach has arrived and is loading at Bay 10. I quickly push my trolley there and I’m greeted by this big “ekenedili Chukwu bus” or the popular double decker as we call them in Nigeria. The driver quickly confirms my ticket, loads my baggage into the baggage compartment in the coach and motions me to go in. I ascend the stairs to be greeted by a scanty number of persons aboard this spacious, roomy and cosy coach. I’m definitely in for a nice time to Bradford, I think.

The only problem now is locating my seat. I can’t seem to find it on my National Express ticket.

See you in series 7

We retrieve our bags shortly and begin the journey to the central bus station Terminal 3 at LHR. It is instructive to note at this juncture that Nigeria is indeed in need of humans as residents, not the “people” currently living there. There is the need for Nigeria to have a scheme that imports from time to time humans into the country to show us (“people”) how humans live. Of course, my companion and I needed to make use of trolleys and we did because there was enough, and we didn’t pay a penny. What’s worse, I can’t even recall seeing any airport officials trying to harass people or causing a scene. We go through the nothing to declare alley and off to CBS. In hindsight, I can just see the chaos at MMIA baggage reclaim area and the multitude of people standing sentry across the airport looking for whom to devour. I can just picture the multitude of people standing both within and outside the airport terminal shouting “recharge card”, “Oshodi”, “taxi for hire”, “change your dollar/pounds sterling here”, “Cele mile 2 (now that’s me overreaching)” etc. but you catch the drift?

As we make our way through the different underground tunnels and the lift up to the ground level, I see order and organisation. Everywhere is well lit: there are airport officials well-dressed and ready to assist with directions and guidance. The escalators are working, everything is in place! The whole environment is neat and tidy, the air is clean and crisp, I’m amazed that humans somewhere can have this level of organisation. I briefly cast my mind back to the village people and smile. It dawns on me that since they won’t be able to fly that long distance, they will have a hard time monitoring me. I think about the possibility of them collaborating with the village people here in the UK and quickly dismiss that thought – “light” and darkness cannot mix.

Some hindsight
If there is anything I have learned thus far from my travel to living in the UK, it is that Nigerians actually have a tender heart and communal spirit. The only problem are the few Nigerians who have NEGATIVELY exploited such opportunities, burned those bridges and forced these good Nigerians to close their hearts and also become “evangelists” of avoiding Nigerians abroad. I mean I have been accommodated (for 3 weeks in a room they cleared out for me alone) by Nigerians simply because we work in the same establishment (I had to force them to take the rent cost for that period and even threatened reporting them to some senior Nigerians who worked in same company with us). I have been fed by Nigerians simply because we attended the same church (my pastor’s house was my kitchen for a long time – at least 2 meals a day). I have received massive discounts at shops simply because the teller or attending personnel was a Nigerian. In fact, I have been offered (in the literal sense) decent Nigerian ladies from wealthy homes and British simply because folks around felt I was a decent bloke and a professional. My wifey really needs to be giving me daily massages because I was pressured with fantastic and really decent ladies – and great professionals too. Unfortunately, I must concede that a greater proportion of Nigerian males in the UK are hustlers than comfortable. Don’t get me wrong but what fraction of Nigerian males have an annual income equal to or exceeding £75K (not family/combined o, income for just the male)? And for those who earn this amount, what is the opportunity cost? How much of that income comes from investment and how much comes from paid employment?

Back to the past
I see that my companion is yet to get her baggage and so we make our way to the front as we await our bags. I explain to her that her mock session with me was replicated and further inform her that it was strange I wasn’t asked about accommodation or how much I had for my initial expenses here in the UK. My companion then asks me if I submitted a bank statement when applying for my visa. I reply in the negative and she then explains the implication to me. She makes me understand that my sponsor/employer as an A-rated sponsor had ticked my maintenance section (which I clearly remember) thus absolving me of any responsibility in meeting my initial needs – boarding, feeding etc for the first month. I smile and it hits me that indeed my companion isn’t only beautiful and well packaged but also cerebral. Her husband indeed is a lucky man.

I can still remember that having asked my questions, the interview chair – a lady started using statements like “Mr Benga, you see when you start working for us, a discretionary expense account would be created for you to enable you access training and development programs that you think are essential for your growth. This will be different from our own established CPD program.” At another time, I recall her saying “When you join us…” and “As a new member of staff…” I assumed these were normal statements they said to every interviewee just to sound polite and not quickly deflate our hopes.

I’m now down the escalator and greeted by a sea of heads and an array of conveyor belts with these heads gathered around the conveyor belts in sections. I quickly remember that my fantastic companion had earlier informed me to check the display screen for the conveyor belt that would be handling baggage from our flight. I quickly see its no 4 and make my way there. As I approach the section, my companion rushes (I’m actually surprised) to me and smiles broadly as she asks me “how did it go?” I note her happiness and youthful glee to see me and it dawns on me that if she were not married, she would definitely have given me a hug – me I wouldn’t even mind now. I mean I need that warmth.

That’s it! Folks, that is it and I’m officially in the UK. Village people have failed woefully, all the promises I made to God just before the interview have unfortunately been forgotten (humans). I proceed calmly through the barrier and navigate my way to the baggage reclaim area. As the escalator moves me down, I’m deep in thoughts trying to understand the implication of what’s just happened.

Let me break it down for you folks. I’ve never been abroad before – I’ve said that now for the umpteenth time. I just simply accessed the usual site – jobs.ac.uk and looked for roles that were suited for me and applied randomly. I mean this was me just trying to please my bae who had suddenly acquired this idea that there was a need for us to relocate abroad. Sincerely I wasn’t expecting anything. I mean we all know how the job market has always been in Nigeria. Despite having all the required qualifications, one still needed most times an insider or powerful influencer to skew the process in our favour. Merit has never been a strong word for most recruitments in Nigeria – both public and private (yes) sectors. So you can imagine my trepidation when I get an email request from my current employer asking to schedule an interview session with me – me? For What? All the way from the abroad?

I can remember the day quite vividly. There was a panel of 5 folks from the company – all white! Of course, my default thinking was – not again! The session lasted quite a bit – 60 mins in total including a 10 mins presentation after which I asked about 3 questions and was told that they would get back to me in the coming weeks – they got back to me that evening. I’m trying to understand why they employed me in the first place. Are they trying to insinuate that across the UK and EU and even India and other parts of Asia there were no better qualified candidates than myself? Are they trying to say that my performance at the interview session was really impressive – because to me it wasn’t. I mean I know that my confidence level was top notch on that day simply because I had a well-paying job. I remember disagreeing with 2 of the members on the interview panel over a procedure and even correcting some questions asked as they were quite broad and needed more details to elicit the right response. Yeah, I’m good on my job but not that good compared to some other folks.

You think you have faced tough interviews? Well, the brief chat with an immigration officer at UK borders will most times provide a 10x – 100x confidence downgrade for most first-time travellers. This is your first international travel and first ‘potential’ foreign work and first trip to a civilised/first nation. This isn’t South Africa or India or Dubai or China (no offense meant at all). This is the UK. The home of EPL and Buckingham Palace and Old Trafford, Anfield Stadium, Emirates Stadium, Stamford Bridge among others. This is the country that colonised Nigeria amongst others and has influenced our lives forever! Ladies and gentlemen, this is The United Kingdom.

I can’t quite figure it out but on this particular day and on this particular occasion, there arose within me overwhelming confidence that till today, I’m still in awe as to its origin. When the border force agent greeted me calmly and asked for my passport and landing card, the mien and calm nature of his voice was so soothing that rather than being aggressive, apprehensive and patronising, I just settled down to have a lively conversation. Unfortunately, this present government with BoJo & Priti Patel and the previous (Maybot) have been nothing but anti-immigrant. Be prepared to meet a lot of robots at UK airports.

With calm hands, I retrieve my passport which has my completed landing card inside and hand them over to the border officer. A quick read through, a scan of my passport biodata page and a flip to the page containing the visa vignette, Mr nice guy looks at me smiles and places passport on a scanning machine. Does that again for the visa vignette page and requests for my decision letter from the Home Office. I retrieve this from my clear bag and hand it over to Mr Nice guy. A brief read through and then I hear Mr Nice guy ask me “Mr Begna, how long you stayin’ in the UK?” I almost smile and then remember how my flight companion reacted during our mock interview session. “3 years” I respond calmly. “Mr Benga, do you have any prohibited items I should be aware off?” I respond in the negative and Mr Nice guy asks me to place my left index finger on the fingerprint scanner in front of me. I do and I’m instructed to do same for my right hand and then it happens – a huge “gbam” from Mr Nice guy stamping my passport, he dates it and signs, hands over my passport to me and wishes me a nice stay.

I’m still trying to convince wifey to work for me with up to 1.5x salary increase to even recoup more money to the home. I am tired of acting as a sounding board to her every now and then. “My manager has issues.” How is that my business. “How does my supervisor think I can cope with this added responsibility?” How does that business me? “Who sends emails after closing hours?” Snoring…… She’s as usual being wifey. She go dey alright.

Now off to the past
You see, I have attended series of interviews in my young life. In fact, I can claim that I have seen it all. I have been interviewed by sadists, frustrated people, confused people, arrogant people, brilliant people, intelligent people (oh there’s a huge difference between brilliance and intelligence), disinterested people, enthusiastic people, happy people, friendly people, unassuming people etc. I have been interviewed by males, females, and a mix of both. I have been interviewed by mid-age people and folks younger than me and those way older than me. I have almost seen it all.

If there is anything that interviews remind me of, it is that your level of confidence is usually inversely influenced most times by how desperate you need to scale that interview. Think about a situation where without an income in the next couple of weeks you may become homeless and how desperate you would act when an interview opens up that period. Of course, interviewers know how hopeless and helpless our situations are (they do sense these things from our composure and tone) and they extract the best possible deal for their companies especially in Nigeria where labour laws are not enforced.

Series 6 (First Heathrow border force interview experience for the Tier 2 immigrant)

A brief deviation to the future
I must sincerely apologise for my brief hiatus in posting updates for the last 2/3 weeks. Let’s blame ‘life’ today. As a young immigrant who is very much interested in building a huge level of financial security, I have in recent times been working overtime to diversify my income stream. Having done a thorough assessment of my health (owing to the enormous strain I subjected myself to during my academic studies), I have made up my mind to quit paid employment in 2 years’ time and focus full time on entrepreneurship. To this end, I’m investing in proven start-ups in Nigeria and spending enormous time doing accounting and documentation. I will be returning to my passion - academics to fund my research with my money (not grants!) within the next 4-5 years God willing.

Nigeria is indeed tough for business, but the returns are astronomical. If the banks aren’t frustrating you with AML/KYC checks, it is either the revenue service guys (well now I know that revenue services shouldn’t really be friendly people) or CBN with its diabolic FOREX policies. Having dependable and reliable folks back home has been a life saver. In the midst of all these, one is still very grateful especially when you start seeing returns on your investments. In fact, RoIs in Nigeria (especially in agriculture) compensate for CPI (13%), FOREX (25%) and operational charges (5%) and still guarantee you above 15% per annum. That is certainly unattainable anywhere else. So yeah, that’s become my priority nowadays and hopefully will feature in later segments of this series. I do hope you as a reader are making concrete plans to be financially stable. Reminds me of an excerpt from “New York” (Jay Z ft Alicia Keys) – “…concrete jungle where dreams are made of…”

Ah, I forgot to tell you about the so-called landing card. You see, if there is anything UK people like, it is called documentation. So, before they stopped using them, whenever you travelled into the UK as a non-citizen, you filled out what is called a landing card. The landing card is a small hard paper questionnaire that inquires about your basic details – Name, DOB, Nationality, sex, marital status (can’t remember), address, flight number, port of departure and then asks if you are carrying items that are prohibited – dairy, meat and fish products. Mostly, it is also another way of registering your movement and also establishing that you do not have contraband goods. These were provided inflight and of course they were filled. I gradually make my way to the front of the queue as my companion is next to be called and has promised to wait at the foot of the escalator for me (God bless this woman).

“Next!” That’s for my companion, and as she moves to a free gate, the official regulating the queue motions me to move to a new gate that has just been opened and has a male in his mid 30’s gesturing for the next arrival. I slowly make my way to the gate silently praying that my enemies must not be allowed to have the last laugh. I quickly acknowledge all my sins within that short time and ask God for forgiveness. There is nothing I didn’t promise God then – pastor, evangelist and missionary! You suddenly become aware of the seriousness of the matter at hand. You see the border police armed with small weapons and notice you are in a make or break situation.

One thing most Nigerians fail to realise is that there is hardly any reason why a person coming into the UK for studies, work or vacation legally and who has filled in the application correctly will be denied entry into the UK. The hard part was getting that visa. However, back home in Nigeria and based on the experiences of persons and our culture of fear and servitude, we impress it upon ourselves that we could still be deported. Unfortunately, if there is anything the white guys can smell from a distance, it is fear and they capitalise on it. Just answer the basic questions asked and proceed with your journey. The use of border agents is simply to screen illegal immigrants or those who have forged entry documents and want to come in legally. Of course, there are instances when people can be denied entry (mostly those on visiting visas or students with false or conflicting intentions), but workers – except you have breached immigration rules.

Well, I approach the gate to a “hello and good morning. Can I have your passport and landing card please?”

See you in Series 6 (in a week’s time).

Your companion is now very comfortable with you and informs you that besides coming for the conference/workshop, she also comes regularly to the UK to buy “goods” for her boutique where she sells children wares. She tells you how she takes advantage of her sister being in the UK to get products cheaply when they are on sale which she then ships back to Nigeria to sell at some handsome profit. She says although she and her family are quite comfortable, settling in the abroad will be her ultimate joy as that will enable her and her husband provide their kids with a platform and environment to excel in life without being unnecessarily burdened.

Yes, it’s almost decision time and your companion informs you that you should remain calm and answer only the questions asked. She goes ahead to do a quick mock session for you. “Where are you coming from?” “Nigeria”, you respond. “What will you be doing in the UK?” “I’ll be working for xyz LTD as a DBA.” “How long will you be staying in the UK?” “3 years” you answer smiling. Your companion quickly frowns telling you to dismiss that smile from your face. “Can I have your landing card?” “Here it is” you present it to your companion. “What about your visa decision letter?” you reach into your bag and get that out. “Can I see your TB certificate, please?” You pull that put of your folder (my clear bag) and hand it to her. That is all she says and yeah the hour has now come.

Considering that you both have a long queue owing to about 6 flights arriving before yours, you whip out your phone to see what’s going on. As you bring out your phone, your eyes catch a sign that surprises you. It says ‘mobile phones are allowed but no taking pictures’. You sigh and cast your mind back to Nigeria. You see, you just can’t help it. Considering that’s the only country you have and been to, it automatically forms a basis for comparison for you. As you bring out your phone to see what’s up, it hits you – gbam! You discover there and then that you didn’t prepare for roaming. Back home in Nigeria, someone had erroneously informed you that on arrival, you were going to be presented with a sim card with £1 credit. In fact, another person had told you that he was aware that onboard flights, there are usually free sim cards with £1 credit. As it turns out, you are confronted with a different reality (we can’t say they lied, abi we no get respect again ni?).

Of course, you ‘used’ MTN back home and so you get that unrelenting barrage of text messages from them that you can roam at cheap costs (thieves!). Well, you were so busy preparing for other things that you failed to do a proper research and get reliable intel (me self). You begin to wander what other things you have been told by those folks back home that you have believed. Your mind tells you to search for free WiFi but then you remember that you have some “step-down” videos from that site that must not be mentioned and you get scared that the UK intelligence may hack into your phone, see those porn videos and deny you entry. You are determined not to give village people a chance. You think of deleting those videos and wonder how you forgot to delete them before leaving Nigeria. You begin to imagine how many other important things you may have forgotten. Village people must really be working overtime you think.

Your companion has popped out her phone and made a couple of calls. You have imagined that she must have been roaming. You quickly inquire from her and she tells you she has a contract plan with O2 which her sister pays for her monthly and so whenever she is in the UK which is almost every other quarter, she gets to enjoy the benefits of the sim. Well, there is still some 20 minutes before you guys get to see a border official and time for small gist.

As the line progresses, you notice that some arrivals are taken to a cut-out space beside the queue. You stretch your neck to see a section with seats neatly arranged and barricaded. The border officials take some people there and proceed to a place outside their seats perhaps to do further investigation. You raise that issue with your companion who briefs you that usually such occurs when there is suspicion that someone is not having genuine reasons to be coming into the UK or there are major discrepancies between what you filled in your application form and what you are saying or there is suspicion that your visa entry stamps have been forged or you are using someone else’s identity or other reasons.

You notice that families and group of friends who applied together perhaps to attend same conference or study at same place or visit together can approach the same border official. Usually, such groups are quickly processed you are told. You recall the many tales you had been told of how Nigerians who were friendly on the plane try to avoid themselves in the airport and you query your companion on why she feels comfortable with you considering that this is your first time flying to the abroad. She laughs and goes further to inform you that Nigerians do such not because of the attitude of Nigerians but the difficult process of obtaining the visas. She continues that she has benefitted from friendly Nigerians and foreigners both here in the UK and in other countries in North America, Europe and Asia who were magnanimous enough to assist her through immigrations protocol, baggage claim and locating her destination. She tells you that she feels obliged to offer the same courtesy to you and that your conversations in the flight were a motivating factor considering that back home in Nigeria you weren’t doing badly and you are now coming to the UK to work legitimately. She tells you to also remember to offer the same courtesy to others in the future – “motigbo”, you respond.

Yeah, I’m in Heathrow Airport and I begin to take in the sights. This is one big hall that looks like an industrial complex. With all the overhead maze of pipes and neon signs and lighting, cameras and bold signs that tell you you are approaching the UK BORDER FORCE, you get intimidated. Across this large hall are UK border officials dressed and looking serious. You are amazed not just by the sheer size of this Airport but the organisation and orderliness.

You cast your mind back to MMIA and you recall the chaos you saw before departing, you remember all the drama that played out in MMIA, the officials you ‘sorted’ before you could be allowed to check-in your baggage with palm oil and those local condiments. You remember how hot and stuffy the airport was and how noisy the place was. Here you look for such tell-tale signs and can find none.

You take your gaze back to the UK BORDER OFFICIALS as they scrutinise every arrival. You imagine all the kind of questions one would be asked and the different “what if scenarios”. You observe that different arrivals spend different times with officials and that different officials spend different times with arrivals. You carefully observe that there is one particular official who spends more time scrutinising arrivals and silently mutter a prayer that your paths shouldn’t cross.

For the two earlier passports, I noticed that it was only the data page that was checked and sometimes they asked for a NIS stamp or a Nigerian passport or the sheet of paper/phone printout for the folks having the blue coloured passport. On the other hand, those with the green passport presented it either alone or with a card (BRP I will later know it is called). The scrutiny for those with the green passport was more than the others. While they smiled and chatted with the folks with the EU/UK/USA passports, they seemed serious, doubtful, apprehensive and sceptical about those having the Nigerian passport. This here was the beginning of my understanding of what separation means and its application in real life.

Anyone can fly first/business class, but not anyone can use the e-gates as I will shortly come to understand. My companion understanding my confusion took us back a few steps to read the sign I had ignored. The picture attached below better describes it.

There is no worse classification in life than “others”. I mean who is “others”? What does it even me? You taking something or a people and lumping them into one big pot called “others” isn’t just unfair, it is also demeaning.

Well back to the airport, not fully grasping what it means I carefully follow my companion as we take the route that concerns us. As we progress along, I see that even if I had attempted to press along with my earlier choice, ‘angels’ at the gate would have prevented that considering that there are such ‘angels’ placed strategically most especially within that axis.

Well it’s taken us some time, but we have now navigated a huge maze to join hundreds of other ‘unfortunates’ waiting to see a border official before it is decided if we would make heaven or not. These ‘unfortunates’ include non-European/British/American/Canadian/etc passport holders, ILR (indefinite leave to remain) holders, Africans etc. Also, among these ‘unfortunates’ are citizens (of countries allowed to use the e-gates) who have been flagged so they must see a UK Border official.

Series 5 (First Heathrow experience for the Tier 2 immigrant)

In secondary school (SSS 1 I would think), we studied separation techniques. One thing that has been from time immemorial is separation. Even in our everyday life, we have come to see it in different forms. “Gent’s only”, “female only”, “no children allowed” etc. Girls have separation techniques which they use in classifying their male admirers – “maga”, “mumu”, “film guy”, “scholar”, “Jane’s crush” etc. Guys have similar techniques – “Chioma Unizik”, “Nike Rhema”, “Sade Shoprite” etc. Don’t bother asking what they mean as the originator alone has the decode key.

One unsuspecting mistake which a person can make at an international and busy airport like Heathrow is not to be fast at reading signs and assimilating the implications quickly. You see, as the journey into the airport terminal began, I had unconsciously forgotten that all passengers weren’t the same. Just the same way we were categorised into sections while boarding, so also, we are categorised into sections during immigration protocols.

Yes, now I remember. You see during my pre-boarding checks at MMIA while I was at the queue waiting to have my passport and boarding pass checked and also have the final security check/frisking, I noticed something. As the queue progressed, not all of us presented the same passport. I noticed some people presenting what looked like a burgundy coloured passport (definitely EU/UK). Others presented a blue coloured passport with a sheet of paper or showed the official something on their phone (American passport definitely) while the majority of us presented our green coloured passports.

henryhemon:
What message are you passing? Go and learn about the constitutional role of the Senate unfortunately we don't study about the constitutional roles of organs of govt than the usual separation of power quotes.

The senators interpret the laws and you a clown on nairaland is the one that tell the senators their duties? If you don't type on treads you know nothing about, it's better to shut it.

I had to quote you to correct the error you were propagating earlier. If indeed you studied separation of powers in secondary School, then you would know that:

Legislature (National Assembly) : Make Laws
Executive (FEC, Police, etc.): Execute Laws
Judiciary (Customary, Magistrate, High, Industrial etc.): Interpret Laws and the Constitution.

It is not the duty of the National Assembly to make and interpret laws. That is the job of the judiciary.

Unfortunately I have no idea about Bonny Island but will suggest you get an inverter installed like someone up advised. You will be better off having affordable accommodation and using solar PV and inverter and Lithium ion batteries (except you are insistent on Bonny Island).

Let me also say that I don't know you but people like you are the ones who go on to change society positively. If that's your passion, please give it your all and stay on it.

I wish you the best.

I wish Nigerian Youths have your kind of determination and set their hearts on something they are passionate about. I wish...

All this while, you have kept pace with your companion while still taking in the sight of the airport. Of course, you are a first-time traveller, so Heathrow will look amazing and dazzling. For the first time, you understand how symbols, markings and signage can be very explicit in helping you navigate an area. You cast your mind back to Nigeria and wonder where we missed it. You ponder about the politeness of the airport officials and the orderliness and neatness of the airport and contrast it with your experience at MMIA – nothing to write home about. You see organisation at its peak. Your companion informs you that you both will have to go through immigrations before heading to the reclaim baggage area. You nod in agreement as you continue to take in more sights. You cast your gaze outside to see more aircrafts and the “beauty” of Heathrow Airport. You assure yourself that even if you get deported at this point, you have done well for yourself.

You get to a slope and navigate right while your companion navigates left. She quickly calls out to you to join her in the right lane. You renegotiate your direction still amazed considering that you can see “blacks” like you are going right.

“But why aren’t we going through that side”, you ask.

See you in series 5 (hopefully in a week's time).

As you take your place in the queue with your companion, your mind flashes back to the countless films of flights you have watched and the numerous times you had seen a plane fly overhead. Today, you have made history not just for yourself, but also for your close family. You have that deep feeling of excitement that can’t be described considering that there are no words to express how you feel. You trudge along with others and as you progress out of the aircraft you go through the first/business class section. You see the spacious setting and the comfort (you remind yourself to inquire about the cost of a first/business class ticket later on).

For the first time, you take a detailed look of the aircraft. This big metal box has been instrumental in flying you non-stop in a red eye flight to London Heathrow from Lagos Nigeria. You made it; here you are in the UK. You Gbenga are made. You approach the exit doors and notice a section of other privileged flyers beyond the exit door and sight what definitely is the outline of the cockpit. Inside life!

As you approach the exit, you are greeted by the hostesses and flight captain who are all smiling and wishing you a happy trip. More chips to your shoulders and then it hits you. All this while, you have been in a regulated and confined space and unknown to you, your body has adjusted. However, considering that in London, ground temperature is 6 degrees with some bit of wind, the space between the aircraft and the passenger boarding bridge has allowed the chilly wind to give you a welcome blast. Instinctively, you recoil. As you move past that area, it becomes a lot warmer and you cautiously make your way out into the airport.

5.05am London time (this time of the year, the UK and Nigeria are in the same time zone), your flight lands on the tarmac in Heathrow Airport and taxis to your exit point. You look out of your window again and see sights that shock you. The first thing that catches your attention is how well lit the airport exterior is. You remember MMIA and the stories of cows and birds and stowaways preventing flights from taking off – Cows preventing flights can only happen in Nigeria! Next, you notice organisation! You see ground staff and a lot of equipment you’ve never even seen before. You look back into the aircraft to see people getting restless – it seems a new spirit has just possessed the aircraft.

As the plane comes to a stop, seat belt signs go off and everyone starts being noisy. Overhead cabin doors pop open as folks attempt to get their bags out. It dawns on you that there was no major drama on the flight. You turn to your companion who has gotten her bag from the overhead compartment and is doing a light makeover (women are just something else). You see a queue forming along the aisle as you struggle to get your bag out from the overhead compartment. Your mind flashes back to those folks in the first/business class section and you realise the first real life application of FIFO – first in, first out.

You don’t realise how long you guys have been chatting until you hear the hostess ask, “we’ve omelette or bacon” You follow her lead for omelette and request for tea. You open your meal package to realise that it is a worst disaster than the dinner you had previously. Your companion smiles knowingly while you settle for the tea. During your chit chat with your companion, she has informed you that she will be heading out to Reading after claiming her baggage as she has family there (her younger sister who is married with their kids) and would assist you with locating the Central Bus Station and getting your tickets. You claim another victory.

You hear the pilot come over the speakers telling you that approach will soon be made and to get settled in for landing. The air hostesses collect your unfinished meals as well as ensure you are buckled in. You sigh and relax as you savour in the experiences of your flight. Whether village people like it or yes, you have just scored a major goal. You look out through the window and notice the outline of London. You don’t want to look too excited but then the sight out of the window is heavenly. You imagine how London will look like. You imagine the skyscrapers and the scenery. You are already in awe of London, the capital of the UK. Of course, by now, you have familiarised yourself with the differences between London, England, Great Britain and the UK.

“Fasten your seat belts please.” You awake to that sound and the vibration of the aircraft. Finally, village people are having their comeuppance you think. You look around you to see most of the flyers sleeping coolly. “It’s just turbulence” your companion offers, and you glance towards her with scare and some relief. As the flight stabilises, you rest back and gradually take in the scene around you. The lights are dim, and the flight is very quiet. You take a brief glance at your watch and notice it is just 4 hours into your flight.

You carefully observe the air hostesses going about handing people drinks and you wonder if these guys no dey sleep ni. You’ve had some sleep and your head is a little relaxed. Perhaps it’s time for some chit chat with your companion. You take a glance again towards her and notice she is wide awake. “So, what do you do in Nigeria?” you ask. “She turns her face towards you and responds, “oh, I’m a banker”. “Nice, what bank you query?” “Zenith Bank” she responds. “No way”, you respond, and she knowingly smiles at you, “I’m the branch manager of xyz branch.” “Wow”, that’s what you can mutter for now as you digest the news that you have an “oga” beside you. You make further small talks as she inquires about your job, how you applied, salary range and future plans. Into the discussion, you realise that she is married with kids (you make a mental not to trespass as she is a “no go area”). She further informs you that you are indeed lucky and tells you that she and her husband are also exploring similar option for Canada. You realise as your discussion continues that she is quite frank with you and is acting more like your senior sister. She admonishes you to make the best of the opportunity and avoid “white girls”. She tells you not to forget God o and avoid bad company.

By now you have worked your way through your chicken meal and currently downing your red wine. You discover that you aren’t that excited or interested in chatting with your companion as you want to sleep. You remember that she has been doing all the talking and you quickly get to being “responsible”. “So, do you work in the UK?” you ask, aware that she is on a business trip. “No, I’m representing my company at a conference.” “That’s great”, you respond. “How long will you be staying?”, you ask. “2 weeks”, she responds. You tell her to enjoy herself and hand in your tray to the hostesses who are cleaning up.

You inform her that you want to grab some sleep, she smiles at you while you lean over to the window to sleep. As you sleep, you have that deep-seated peace in your mind. For the first time in a long time, you realise that you have just had a mature conversation with a beautiful lady and the end result was not s*x. It’s 2.5 hours into a 6 hours flight. You try to imagine what your bae will be doing at this hour of the night. You assume she will be missing you – probably crying. You smile with a wide grin as you remember the all-night session you had with her before your departure. You remember all you have gone through with her and how you want to marry her and have a family with her. You think about her plenty issues and you feel elated knowing that your place in her heart is well guaranteed. Na she dey rush you now, you chuckle. You gradually drift into sleep dreaming of that time masquerades were pursuing you and your friends around Gbagada.

By now you are done with the fruit and on to the chicken wrap. You open it to be greeted by a sight that you cannot explain. You see, having spent countless time at joints across Lagos Nigeria devouring chicken and rice (notice the order), you already have a standard definition of what chicken should be. Unfortunately, your attempt at probing the meal further with your fork is unsuccessful. Your companion notices your frustration and comes to the rescue – “don’t worry, we could ask the air hostess for an extra. It’s usually small like this” she further adds. You smile and decline (remembering Akpos in 30 days in Atlanta). “It’s ok” you conclude.

As you go through your chicken meal, your companion continues the questioning. “Sorry for the troubles, but what work will you be doing in the UK?” “Oh, I will be working as a DBA – that’s a database administrator for xyz LTD.” “Waoh, you are an IT guy” she responds. “So were you working in similar role in Nigeria?” she asks. You notice that this question was a professional one as it appears neutral on surface evaluation. A deeper evaluation of the question would be – “where you working in Nigeria or is this your first employment?” You catch the drift and smile, “actually, I was working similar role in Zenith Bank as a senior manager” you respond. The silence that follows gives you cause to smile.

As you struggle to sort out yourself, the beau next to you is kind enough to point out your tray table and helps you get it in place while you place your tray on it. You thank her but this time with less enthusiasm. You just want to eat and sleep. You have heard of airline food but this time around, you are in for a shocker. You ordered chicken right, well chicken you have.

The air hostess has moved past your row and your neighbour wants to make small chat. “Good evening, I’m Biola” she says. You smile (at last), “hello, I’m Gbenga, nice to meet you and thanks for helping me with the table tray”, you respond. You see, ladies generally like to “shekini”. Your neighbour has done her analysis and assumed you to be a first-time flyer and most likely a student (or a visitor). “Going for a visit?” She asks, “No, I’m resuming work” you respond as you try to understand the content of your tray. You notice a momentary pause and you don’t bother to glance in her direction.

While you struggle to know in what order you should consume the contents on your tray, your neighbour is doing some mental calculation. This is way before 2021 so the typical minimum salary for a Tier 2 migrant is £30K. More chips to your shoulder and more rep. She notices your frustration and offers you a way out. “Maybe you would want to start with the fruits?” “Sure thanks”, you respond. You delve into the fruit bowl following her lead while she continues to load you with more questions. “So are you going to be based in London”, she asks, “No, Bradford”, you respond. “Waoh, that’s some distance from London”, she responds. “Yeah, I’ll take the National Express”, you reply (inwardly you smile and thank God for @Justwise for creating the thread on Travel and @Seun for starting Nairaland). “Oh, ok”, she responds, and you smile further as she didn’t even ask why you aren’t catching a flight from Heathrow to Leeds Bradford Airport and taking a bus onwards.

Series 4 (Flight experience for the Tier 2 immigrant)

You see, 6 hours shouldn’t be long especially if you have great movies like 24, House MD, How I met Your Mother, Boston Legal, Money Heist etc. and something to “kpanu” on. I mean time flies by like the snap of your fingers and voila, 6 hours gone! That’s like 6 episodes (or 7) of 24. Unfortunately for you, in this flight, it will be long. As you slumber along, the flight has attained cruising altitude and the fasten seat belt sign has been turned off which means that the air hostesses can begin making arrangements to have meals served.

You awake in stages – it takes a while for your brain to boot and for your eyes to acclimatise. You realise that the beau beside you is both tapping you gently of course and asking you a question on behalf of the air hostess serving your section. “They’ve got chicken and pasta, which do you prefer?” Your brain by default answers “chicken please.” You are unaware that your manners have started changing unconsciously (you are now using “please”. Your bae back in Nigeria will be shocked). You are handed your tray and asked, “wine, juice or beer?” “Wine please.” Please again! The hostess responds, “we’ve got Merlot and Pinot Noir?” You mumble “merlot” because it is easier to pronounce and voila it lands on your tray. Remembering “Akpos” in 30 days in Atlanta, you request for water and apple juice (all in addition to your Merlot). The hostess smiles and hands them to you politely (in your mind, you are making a grave assumption that the flight food is worth it).

You try to recall how you would leave from the airport (Heathrow) to Bradford, Considering that you won’t be picked up from the airport by anyone, Nairalanders have graciously informed you that at the Central Bus Station, ask the cashiers that you want to buy a National Express ticket to Bradford. Of course, you have everything well documented.

You remember that someone on Nairaland talked about Lebara/Lycamobile and you make mental note to investigate that further when you arrive. Your stomach bites and you recall that you haven’t had a meal in 6 hours. The bite is more painful when you recall people in the first/business class section being given pre-flight nibbles. You shake your head and silently curse poverty (as you remind yourself to investigate the cost of a first/business class ticket when you arrive).

You take a careful glance towards your “companion” and smile. As you think about her, thoughts about your bae flash your mind. You remember her and smile. You hear the plane engines roaring and the plane running along the runway. As the plane takes into the skies, you silently drift into slumber. Afterall, you cannot come, and go and kill yourself.

“Hi, are you having dinner?”

See you in series 4

There is now some relative calm within the plane as everyone is seated and buckled. The air hostesses are doing final rounds and the pilot is talking over the speakers. You look out of your window into vast darkness and sigh – when will this country called Nigeria get it right. You feel chilly but grateful for the extra jacket and stockings you have on. You say a silent prayer for safe flight as the aircraft taxis to the runway.

While you may have a “fantastic companion”, you soon realise that you feel tired. The toll of you being at the airport 6 hours before your departure begins to take its toll on you. You are apprehensive about everything. This is a new adventure for you. You will be alone – no parent or helper or support, just you alone (and God you surmise). You try to recall your packing to ensure that every document was packed. Of course, you have your certificates in your carry-on bag as well as your decision letter from the Home Office informing you of the successful application and where you would be picking up your biometric residence permit (BRP).

You try to recall how you would leave from the airport (Heathrow) to Bradford, Considering that you won’t be picked up from the airport by anyone, Nairalanders have graciously informed you that at the Central Bus Station, ask the cashiers that you want to buy a National Express ticket to Bradford. Of course, you have everything well documented.

You get jolted by a feminine voice. “Excuse me, I think that’s my seat.” You raise your head to see a delectable lady with proper curves making her way to the middle seat besides you. Damn, who say’s miracle doesn’t exist. Your conscience tells you to remember bae, you deaden that voice and offer a very broad smile. At least, I will have the right company for the next 6 hrs (village people smile. At least they are going somewhere).

As you adjust yourself, you quickly assess your new companion and realise from her phone conversations that she is a regular. You become more careful as you must not fall your hand. You hear her talking about spending 2 weeks and returning back to Nigeria and what she will be doing and you quickly do some calculations. You conclude that worst-case scenario, your case isn’t that bad.

While you settle in and take in the environment, you see the hostesses moving frantically across the aisles helping people out and also closing cabin doors. You observe that your leg room is small, and you remember the folks you passed earlier on and how much leg room they had. You sigh and remind yourself to check out the cost of a first/business class ticket when you arrive the UK. You see that there is an entertainment box in front of you and notice that the folk at the extreme is fixing his seat belt. You observe and replicate his action successfully – first aircraft victory.

As you carefully scan the economy class, you try to distinguish between the economy class section and “Oyingbo” market considering the noise and exchange of pleasantries of – “ba wo ni”, “shey dada”, “Alafia” etc. You overhear loud phone conversations as people elatedly tell those behind that they have now boarded. You remember your contingents and whip out your phone. You call your bae and give her the good news. She is almost in tears, but you promise her that everything will be alright and that you will not break her heart. You actually mean it and promise to call her when you land in the UK. Next, you inform your family head (who you know will help disseminate the information to the community) and then that your trusted friend. You scroll through your contacts with nostalgia and reminisce about life briefly.

You must notice that aircraft arrangement is meant to “frustrate” those in economy class. You see, this is even a single cabin aircraft and not the jumbo jets (2 floors). In standard airports, those in the upper floor have their separate passenger boarding bridge. By allowing you to see a taste of what those guys in the first/business class section are enjoying, the airline is instigating in you bitterness which they hope will lead you to make the “right” choice next time.

You immediately realise your foolishness at attempting to find your level among those people and move towards locating your seat. So you get lucky as you identify that underneath the cabins there are numbers and they progress along as you go. The only problem is that your number is an extreme number which begs the question – am I window or aisle? You want to make a bit of progress but catch that nursing mother trying to get settled in her seat and strap her daughter on her (inside life). You see that grandma and grandpa trying to put their duffel bags into the overhead cabins with little success. You realise that you passed that student with the headset in the business class section. You scan your “base” to see if there are hostesses going around and serving some drinks but alas, no one is in sight.

You finally arrive at your row number and begin to ask “jamb” questions. “Sorry, I think this is my seat” (you confront the person sitting in the aisle seat). “No, I don’t think so, as I’m aisle. Perhaps you have it the other way round” the accused quips. You feign ignorance and surprise by looking pretentiously into your boarding pass and respond hypocritically “Oh, my apologies, I’m window. I’m very sorry.” You load your bags overhead and make your way to the window seat. “Ah, ope o you quietly mutter.” This is going to be a nice ride. As you scan through the window, you make a mental note to remember next time that the symbol next to your seat number meant yours was a window seat – after all, you want to avoid future embarrassment.

Time for dinner and while they were being served, the host’s wife during one of her trips to the kitchen noticed the clothes dripping water over the fireplace. In anger she screamed “who is the slave who hung clothes over the fireplace?” The king turned to the slave and shrugged – I told you that you would divulge your identity by your actions.

Back to the plane, and we are now making our way to our seat. You see others looking into their boarding passes and looking under cabins and you follow suit. As you progress down the valley of the commons, you take note of the first settled flyers. They are in spacious seats, enough leg room and having a bit of a drink. You see hostesses running around asking what they would care for and you mentally assume similar treatment awaits you. You try to look into your boarding pass assuming that your seat lies somewhere around there only to discover that all the seats are occupied so you move along.

As you exit that zone, it hits you almost instinctively because your brain immediately acquires new information and quickly contrasts both scenes and concludes immediately that there is going to be a problem. While you saw calm, cool and collected individuals having a sip from glasses of a bit of some red wine or juice, you are instantly greeted by a sea of heads and chaos as you enter the economy zone.