Place: Atlanta Airport
Date: 30/05/2019
Time: 02.00Hrs
Immigration Officer (IO): Passport Please!
Adams: (With a wide smile at seeing a black immigration officer. The jazz was working already as promised by that Baba. If not so, how had he ended up in front of a fellow black man? His confidence soared) Haba Bros, na so you harsh? At least try greet pesin nah! Howya doing, Bro (in an accent that resembled a hybrid of cockney and Ishan)!
IO: (Looking him straight in the eye, without so much as a smile) What did you just call me, Mr. (looking down at the passport again) Adams Sulaiman?
There was something about the way the man called his name that made Adams suddenly have a strong urge to use the bathroom. His brain went off on a wild frolic for a minute. In a totally unconnected train of thought, he wondered if the officer was related by blood to Mudiaga, his friend from Primary 5 whom he had not seen in almost 20 years. Mudiaga was known for torturing small rodents even as a 10year old. Something about the eyes. He had wicked eyes. Adams’ head was spinning. He really shouldn’t have taken so much free whiskey on the plane. He thought of the 3 small bottles he had been able to get off the trolley and hide in his bag when the hostess wasn’t looking. He wished he could ‘rush’ one right now. It would give him some courage.
Adams: I didn’t call you anything Sah. I just greet you. (He didn’t realise it but by this time he had reverted to his native Ishan accent). Don’t be annoyed Sah!
IO: So Sulaiman, (flipping through the pages of Adams’ passport at a dizzying speed) you have been to Iran, Libya, Sudan, and most recently, Philippines. Tell me the truth, what country are you really from?
By this time the air conditioning in the Atlanta airport had broken down. At least that was what Adams thought as sweat started dripping down his neck and a wet patch appeared under his arms. He wished he could take off his hoodie which he had worn because somebody had said it would make him look more like an American. He really needed to use the bathroom but he was afraid of this fellow’s reaction if he told him “Bros I wan go piss.”
Adams: I’m a Nigerian. Shebi you are holding my passport in your hand nah!
IO: Are you sure you are not from Somalia? You look like a Somalian. What did you go to do in Iran, Sudan and the Philippines?
Adams: Ahh! Oga, I am a footballer. I go for trials in all those countries. This is how I look because of training. As a sportsman nah, you know. They call me Black Messi It is not starvation that make me look like Somalian. My agent is waiting for me outside. I have a scholarship to play football in one High school.
IO: Damn!! High school? How old are you, man? (He quickly looks at the passport again. DOB 25/12/2012). You gonna be 17 on Christmas Day? You kidding me?
Adams: Yes Oga. I mean No. I am not ‘kidneying’ you. Yes that I am a Christian. Das why my middle name na Chris! My Papa actually name me Christmas but I change am when I enter Secondary School to Christofagus as people dey laugh me too much for primary school. Yes, I be 16. I be member of Golden Eaglets for last year Under-17 World Cup.
IO: So, you expect me to believe that you, a Muslim, was actually named after a Christian holiday? Are you yanking my chain?
Adams: (Looking blankly at the I.O. His brain was having a really difficult time processing information. This thing wasn’t going as planned.) Yanking your shain? Which shain nah? My brother, I don’t understand. I am a Christian. My father is a preacher. My mother is women leader in our shursh. Muslim kwa? Why are you thinking I am a Muslim?
IO: Effing stop calling me your brother. With a name like Sulaiman, you can only be a Muslim!!! Please step aside! You need to come with me for further questioning.
Adams: Ah!! I see. Wait let me show you something. (He reached into his backpack)
IO: (In the loudest human voice Adams had ever heard in his life) Hands on your head NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Adams looked up and stared down the barrel of the very large gun the IO was pointing at him. He dropped the bag, holding the bible and rosary he had reached in to get. It was at this point Adam lost the fight with his bladder that had started since the IO first looked him straight in the eye. The urine flowing down his legs was warm and comforting. Strangely, he felt no shame. How does a man feel shame at the point of death? Somewhere in his addled brain, he hoped he wouldn’t crap himself though,+ as he felt a rumble in his stomach. Not that he cared very much at that point. He looked around the wide hall to see everyone lying flat on the ground. Only he and the immigration officer were still standing!m
IO: DOWN ON YOUR KNEES!!!!
Adams looked round to see four other guns all pointing towards him. He lost the contest with his rectum and let out a loud fart. In the silence that had enveloped the airport at this time, it sounded like a gun shot. He fainted. As he lost consciousness, the last thought that crossed his mind was: Oh God of my fathers! And I tell dis agent say na Vietnam I want go o!!!!!
– Bakare is a public commentator and analyst