Naira, Naira: last stop, Benin City

The first stop is at the busy Lagos’ Murtala Muhammed International Airport, filled to the brim, with scores of people, resembling the world’s 21st-century diversity. Of course, it’s an airport, with winding queues. There were a few more ‘jet-ins’ at that time of the day, people talking at the top of their voices, in unbearable heat, sweating through their hair down to their toes, and everybody fanning themselves using their passports or papers that will get them into the land of Naira. As we entered the congested room, we could not hold it in anymore. “Sorry, sis! We need the bathroom”, we said to a woman with a jaw-length hairstyle, straight strands and coloured in hues of red. She took us through the crowd of people with occasional nods to her colleagues, who looked questioningly at her as she guided us through.   

Before we returned to the crowd, she gave us a proposition. She asked if we would like to go to the front of the line and, in exchange, just give her something nice. Our first encounter with “something small-small”. With sweat dripping down our own toes, we agreed and seamlessly made our way through the crowd, down the concrete steps and into an empty line. With our yellow cards in hand, filled out in our smallest handwriting, we took turns visiting the inspection officer who asked if we had something sweet for him too – even in South African Rand is fine. We were slowly becoming familiar with an unspoken social expectation of us, as foreigners, to exchange favours for favours.     

‘Sit down!’ was the order of the day in the office where they issued the ‘visas on arrival’. One of us was unfortunate to have to go through that process. To that instruction, people, young and old, ‘sat’ like chickens that had been rained on. It’s the heat—the loud instructions- the up and down of people. Of the multitude of people in there, some were confused about what forms to submit, and some looking for places to print or make copies of documents. On the other side, Yusra waited with a bit of apprehension for her bags to descend from the conveyer belt and scrolled through numerous unfamiliar wifi options to let the rest of our Ibali team know that Faith was momentarily held back. Finally, a kind worker offered his own login details in exchange for something nice – at the time, just a lot of gratitude and a smile could be mustered. An hour went by, and the terminal became empty when finally, we were both on the other end and able to leave.  

Exiting the busy airport, two hours later than we would have liked, we made the grand entrance to the home of millions of motherland beautiful faces was finally a milestone we have now reached, parking the thought of a long Ibali week ahead, we gazed at the very clear skies, trying to figure out how our bodies could adjust from the cool air in the  Ethiopian airways to the penetrating heat of the ever so busy Lagos. Walking towards the airport, looking for a pink dress (which our friend was wearing) among the crowd, we strolled past a group of men carrying batches of cash… Naira, Naira.  We only had our bank cards – no USD. No Rands.  How could we buy the Naira with our bank cards? We wish we had known beforehand that tangible cash was a preference and bank cards did not have much use.  

We found our friend, Jane, in her pink dress, waiting for us like a single flower growing, brightly and softly, out of the concrete. Again, many people flurried towards us, asking if we wanted Naira or a taxi, but with our pink flower, we entered the parking area and got into the taxi she had arranged for us. As we drove through Lagos, the landscape was populated with lots of people walking, getting in and out of taxis, selling ice-cold water to thirsty commuters (including us) and stalls of food, mangos, electronics, cooking utensils, clothing and more. The freeway/highway had solid barricades in the middle, and U-turns were part of navigating the roads. Road lanes? Just a guideline. An almost collision? Just a concern for someone unfamiliar with the driving etiquette of Lagos roads. We finally made it to Jane’s place, which sat in an apartment block behind a heavy gate. A security guard was tucked in a small booth that was relatively dark and probably cool. Yusra took a nap to make the hours until iftar (the time to break her fast during sunset prayer) go by faster, while Jane and Faith sat in the lounge and, later on, visited the pharmacy. As the night came, the athaan (Muslim call to prayer from the mosque) could be heard in the distance. “Finally!” Yusra could eat. A big plate of rice, fish and sauce was welcomed and so delicious. To our delight, the mangos were exquisite! Peel and all! Next stop, Benin City.  

We took a taxi the next morning and drove through the technical college and the University of Lagos. The statues were intriguing because they did not have that colonial “feel”. Instead, they felt like local representations of people and experiences without colonial interference.  We drove past beautiful dresses and shirts and pointed out the ones we really wanted. We got to the airport and made our way to the gate. Again, “something sweet” greeted us. As we lined up to board the plane, two different groups of people on separate flights were loaded onto the same buses. Confused, we looked at each other and decided to go with the flow. “Flight to Benin City get off here please!” This was an amusing realisation that we were getting dropped off at our plane while the other people were getting off at theirs. We greeted Lagos and got onto Air Peace, the first and last time, the airline delivered on their promise to leave and arrive on time. Every flight after that created numerous issues for us, including a delayed flight home.  

We won’t make our experiences with Air Peace spoil the beauty of our experience. Nigeria is a beautiful country with great food and beautiful people who always wear warm and smiley faces, always willing to help and answer questions. You will certainly feel genuine care, concern, and welcome. Embrace it, most mean it!