I first noticed the lady and her two kids at the security point in Terminal 4. I had forgotten to remove my ipad from a bag that I passed through the machine so it had been sent to the left instead of coming straight down the conveyor. Little things can sometimes irritate me, maybe more than they should. One of such irritants is seeing the trays containing my stuff coming through the x-ray machine and then one being diverted for extra checks. It immediately annoys me. What did I forget in there? Will I have to abandon it? Hope these guys are not going to waste my time? These questions briefly agitate me. I immediately look to see how many trays had been diverted before mine and there were 3, all fully laden.
It was the lady with the 2 children. She had about 5 bags of different shapes and sizes and each one seemed to contain at least one item that had to be checked. Nothing illegal. Just fluids, creams, food, and all sorts that meant I had to stand there for almost 15 minutes while the officers went through all her stuff. Even when they were done, she continued to hold me up while repacking until the officers moved her and her bags over to some other area. I wasn’t upset with her though, because she had the grace to smile at me in apology, and her 2 kids were quite cute.
Our flight to Paris had been delayed for one hour because of the ‘late arrival of operating aircraft’. Yes, my ‘may Nigeria not happen to you’ gang, these things also happen ‘in the abroad’ or is ‘saner climes’ your nomenclature of preference when you want to run down your country and portray it as some banana Republic where only bad things happen. Anyway, we finally boarded, and lo and behold, we were sat on the same row. The lady and I occupied adjoining aisle seats while the children were on the other side of her. We exchanged pleasantries again and as I brought out a book to occupy me during the hour-long flight, she asked me if I could feel the aircraft swaying, or was it just her? I assured her it wasn’t just her. I could feel the slight sway as well, but she had nothing to worry about. Clearance would never be given for take-off unless it was safe to do so. She asked how I knew this, and I told her I was a Safety Consultant. I could tell she was only marginally mollified.
As the pilot ran through the announcements and asked us to prepare for some turbulence, she looked over at me and I could see she was getting increasingly agitated. Her lips moved in silent prayers and I smiled reassuringly at her. We ran over a slight bump as we positioned for take-off, and she let out a loud shout of ‘Jehovah’! That immediately put me on notice that the flight was going to be a rather interesting one. Her eyes misted up as she struggled, unsuccessfully it would turn out, to retain some of her dignity. She glanced at the kids on her right. The boy was engrossed in a video game, totally oblivious of his mother’s plight, while the girl, who was older, smiled knowingly. This was obviously not Mummy’s first time down this path.
The plane wobbled slightly as it was buffeted by the wind. She began calling on Jesus to send the angels to bear the plane on their wings. Very loudly, while hitting the headrest of the seat in front of her. The passenger in that seat was actually the only angel around as far as I could tell. She remained calm and sympathetic throughout despite the obvious discomfort she was being put through. I thought of how some people, even people of the same faith with the distressed lady, would have reacted if it had been a Nigerian-bound plane full of Nigerians. Luckily, there were just about 4 or 5 of us on the plane and I was the closest to her. Nobody on the entire plane showed any obvious displeasure as she started screaming. Nobody brought out their phones to make a video. They either stoically looked ahead or only turned around to offer words of comfort. That is the essence of humanity – empathy.
The plane picked up speed on the runway and she raised her volume to another Ievel. I started speaking to her. I reassured her we would be alright. She asked if I was sure. She had her children with her. ‘God, but why?’ she asked, looking up at the ceiling of the plane for some answer from God. I told her I was thankful the children were there. That the minute I saw them on the plane, I knew we would arrive Paris safely. They were my insurance because God would never allow anything happen to them so I was covered by the grace that was upon them. She said to me: ‘Pastor, thank you’. All the while, I was holding on to one of her hands. I saw she kept hitting the seat in front as she prayed. The nose of the plane rose into the sky, and the cabin vibrated. She let out an ear-piercing scream so I quickly grabbed her other hand before she did herself and the poor lady in front of her some injury.
I’m not sure if it was the way I held both her hands in mine that made her think I wanted to pray or she just assumed that was what was coming next since she had decided I was a Pastor. She inclined her head towards me, and I started recalling all the words I had spent several years learning and repeating in what seemed like another life now. She kept repeating amen even though I wasn’t sure she heard a word I was saying. I kept at it for almost 10 minutes, breaking into a repetitive babble whenever I couldn’t recollect words quickly enough, but it kept her calm and the plane largely quiet. Eventually, we reached cruising altitude, leaving the turbulence behind. She let go of my hands, smiling embarrassedly while I tried to massage some circulation back into my digits.
The descent into Charles de Gaulle airport was much gentler and so was she. She still reached out and grabbed my hand as she prayed audibly for the angels that had flown the plane from Heathrow to complete their assignment. We landed and as we picked up our stuff to deplane, she reached out and squeezed my hand again. ‘Thank you, Pastor. You were God sent’! I smiled. ‘You are welcome, Madam. It happens to the best of us. By the way, I am not a Pastor. I am not even a Christian’. With that, I grabbed hold of my luggage and made my way out of the plane, successfully resisting the urge to look back to see if she had finally closed her mouth.
- Bakare is a columnist with YES INTERNATIONAL! Magazine