I had just dragged my second luggage off the conveyor belt at Murtala Muhammed and I had already began to sweat profusely. It was a lot of work. But it wasn’t just that though, it was also the fact that the air conditioners were not conditioning any part of my body at all. In addition, there were so many people in the lobby. It wasn’t just my flight that had landed but two others (one of them a trans-Atlantic flight) and all of us were expected to share one conveyor belt. With over two hundred and fifty people on my flight, and on the trans-Atlantic flight, respectively, and possibly also another hundred on the West-African flight, the lobby quickly became a hot mess. Thankfully, my boxes came out quite early which was a strange change from what it used to be. I’d usually wait another hour and a half after going through immigration, just for my boxes to come through.
But yeah, my boxes were out, and soon I would be too. I was already getting sick with the body odour coming from the people around. Give me another seven to ten minutes and the contents described as ‘aeroplane food’ would spring out of my mouth like a fountain and shower the triggering factors standing around me.
Walking with the two purple boxes on a cart I had rented (I still don’t understand why we have to pay for trolleys in this country..) I walked through the arrivals hall waiting for the heat that would slap my face the moment I walked out of the terminal building. Oh, but it already hit me when I stepped off the plane. You know that itchy feeling you get beneath your skin, and you’re ready to rip off your clothes and grace the airport with your abroad-tanned skin. Could be winter tanned, sun tanned but definitely not Nigerian sun tanned. The Nigerian sun and of course the heat, was on a whole different level. Now walking out of the terminal, and the sliding doors opened up, it slapped me. It really really slapped me. I was ready to take it all off right there and then. Every single piece of fabric on my body. And oh, the sun! For once can we land when its raining heavily so I can be graced with the cool breeze from the Atlantic ocean? I had already started missing the British weather I’d just left. At least, there was always a 10% chance of rain and that promise was enough for me.
But yes, it was hot. Taxi drivers were screaming at me. Random men were whistling and flirting in Yoruba while trying to grab my luggage cart. But boy oh boy, I had missed this feeling.
I just got back and I was home.