5 Years Ago Today: My Escape from Muslim Nothern Nigeria

2004 was a year of unrest in Kano, Nigeria. The largely Muslim city-kingdom was infested with Islamic and Christian fighters bent on killing each other (lawlessness continues in Kano today. If you have the stomach for it, read about  Kano’s problem with the ritualistic sacrifice of children). It was in this unwelcoming environment that I found myself stuck.

No money. No plane ticket. No friends or guides.

How did I get here?

It all started with a mistake in Amsterdam. Tired from jet-lag and poor sleep and an all-night flight from the US, I left my notebook on the plane. Normally this wouldn’t have been a problem, but I also don’t normally keep my tickets in my notebook either.

Realizing this too late, I found myself already on my connecting flight to Nigeria with no return ticket home.

Two months earlier, when my travel agent was booking the flight, it looked like there was no way to get me out of the country in time to meet my family for vacation in Missouri. And then we saw a KLM flight from Kano. “Let’s take it,” I said without any knowledge of the recent violence and chaos there. All I did know, was that it was Muslim controlled and that I loved adventure.

Upon arrival in Lagos, a city with an unofficial population of 22 million, I immediately tried to sort out the problem.

While the Crown team I was traveling with was battling jet-lag, I made the 3.5 hour journey across the city to the KLM office. They proceeded to put my information into the system, while informing me that it would be okay. When I made it to the airport in Kano, I would simply need to have them look in the computer system for my name, show them my passport and “voila!” they would hand me a ticket!

That sounded easy enough. I decided to go ahead with my plans to leave from Kano.

The two weeks in Nigeria were incredibly frustrating, with most of our time spent waiting for people in traffic, or being in traffic ourselves. When the trip came to an end, the team and I parted ways. They back to the US and me to Kano.

Right before leaving the airport, my friend Segun gave me a slip of paper with a name on it. He told me it was an old friend of his, James, that did something or other at the Kano Airport. I was grateful but also knew I probably wouldn’t have time to meet him.

Then I was off to Kano. Not only was I the only white guy on the plane, I’m pretty sure I was one of very few people who wasn’t wearing a taqiyah.

After a two-hour flight we arrived at the domestic airport.

If you’ve traveled much in the developing world, you know that most major cities have two airports: The international airports that adhere to global standards for safety, and the domestic airports that, well, don’t.

My most vivid experience with the “safety” of domestic airports in Nigeria goes back to a flight I took in 2002 from Lagos to Port Harcourt. The carry-on luggage x-ray machine was broken, so they had a guy with a metal-detecting wand standing in the middle of the tarmac, desperately trying to catch people and wand them down before they walked up the stairs and onto the very out-of-place-looking Boeing 737 surrounded by Nigerian jungle. Several people just walked around the guy with the wand, I was not so lucky. The guy “wanded” my backpack, the wand beeped furiously. He wanded my camera case, beeeeep. He wanded my cell phone and palm pilot. Beep. Beep. Then he waved me through without checking anything!

Many of my friends know that I rarely travel with check-in luggage. What most don’t know is that it is largely because of what was about to happen in Kano.

With the plane on the ground, I followed the rest of the passengers into an old barn, that turned out to be the “baggage claim”. The passengers were standing around speaking in Hausa – the local language – and I was just trying to figure out how to claim my luggage and make it safely to the international airport…the airport that could be right next door or on the other side of the city. The goal was to accomplish the above without making a ruckus or looking out of place (okay, okay, trying to not look any more out of place than being the only English-speaking white guy in the building).

All of a sudden there was a mad rush toward a door in the back of the barn. Though my instincts would normally tell me to run with the crowd, I wasn’t at all sure this crowd was “normal”. However the run was short, and brought us to the back of the large barn where people were shouting and handing generous amounts of money through what looked like iron prison bars!

As I got closer I saw what all the commotion was about. The luggage was on the other side of the iron doors.

My luggage.

Were people bidding for the luggage they wanted? Was this the time or place to stand up and prevent my luggage from being sold off to whoever paid for it? Did I need to pay a ransom for my bag? I had almost no money, and I still had to pay a taxi fare to the international airport. Curious more than anything else, I decided to stand back and watch.

One by one, they brought out luggage, the paid for luggage, to the highest bidder. Watching and waiting, no one emerged with my bag. My thoughts turned around.

“What? So my my bag’s not good enough for anyone?” I laughed silently. After all the paying customers had left, they opened up the iron bars and let the rest of us grab our luggage. Apparently, you can pay for the right to get your luggage first. Because of my inability to understand the language, I still don’t really know what was going on there.

I walked out of the airport, luggage in tow, praying for mercy, hoping to find some way to get to the other airport. After being accosted by several taxi drivers, I finally found one that spoke English. His name was Abdullah, and he wanted 4000 Naira ($30 at the time) for his services. I had 800 Naira (just over $5). We talked for 15 minutes about his family and my family and the US, and what I was doing in Nigeria before he finally realized that I really did only have 800 Naira.

Even then it was only after I threatened to walk to the airport that he finally agreed to take me. I like to think that, because we had spent some time talking, he liked me and wanted to save me from the danger of the unstable streets. It more probably was because 800 Naira was still two to three times the amount he would get from taking a local that short distance.

After finishing the ride, our conversation, and my money by handing Abdullah the last of it, I walked up to the check-in counter for KLM. There seemed to be a lot of commotion. I asked the lady behind the counter what was up.

“The computers are totally down,” she said. “We are going to have to check everyone in by paper ticket.”

“But is there anything you can do for me?” I asked. “I’m in the computer, they told me to just tell you that and you would give me a ticket.”

“Unless you have a paper ticket, there is no way you will be allowed on this flight.”

And so I was stuck.

No money. No plane ticket. No friends or guides.

I went and sat down in a chair to think. I realized I had little options, and was thinking about walking back to the domestic airport in hope of finding Abdullah.

Then I heard my name. It was so out of place, my mind told me to ignore it.

But there it was again, louder. It was coming from an airport employee of some kind, janitor perhaps? He was asking if I knew James so and so. I couldn’t understand the last name. I said no, but was curious.

Then I remembered. There was that piece of paper Segun had given me right before I left Lagos!

Pulling it out of my pocket I confirmed the name with the janitor. He told me to come with him…

We walked outside of the airport and down the street a little ways, I was growing concerned. Just how well did Segun know this guy? Where was he taking me?

Finally we made a right turn into a building somewhat connected with the airport. I walked in right under a sign that read “Kano Airport Baggage Services” and was immediately greeted by a hug from my new friend James. It turns out he was the Director of Baggage Services. I’d never been happier to meet a mutual friend in my life!

I told him about the problem I was having and he said he thought we should try and fix it.

I didn’t disagree.

He walked me to the KLM ticket office and told them that I was on the KLM flight that evening, but simply didn’t have my paper ticket. They told him that there was no way I could get on the flight, and that if they overrode orders, they could be liable for thousands of dollars and get fired. He told them that he could vouch for me, and guaranteed that my name would show up whenever the computers started working again.

He put his name, job, reputation and money on the line for me. Did I mention I had just met him for the first time 5 minutes before this?

The head of the ticket office said something about how he was not supposed to do this, but if his friend James would vouch for me, I must be telling the truth.

And he printed out my tickets. Just like that.

After I had my tickets in hand James invited me back to his office where he promptly gave me an Orange Fanta and a Snickers candy bar. After thanking him profusely, I boarded the plane and escaped from Kano, Nigeria.

This story reminds me of the power of relationships…especially in the developing world. They are worth more than gold. I had spent time with Segun for a few days; I earned his trust. Segun conveyed that trust to his friend James. James then used the trust he had earned with his friend in the KLM ticket office to get my ticket. For a guy that nobody in Kano had ever met.

I’m sure many things come to mind when people think of Kano, Nigeria…mostly bad things. I will always remember how it feels to see a friendly face in a land of strangers. And the power of relationships.