In Nigeria, when people hear you’ve travelled abroad, they look at you differently. They believe you have some cash stashed somewhere. But would you blame them? Is that not the impression most of us desire? To be placed on a glamorous pedestal beyond our current status for attention purposes and vain glory?
But I digress.
When it comes to air travel, whether local or international, Nigerians don’t just board planes for the sake of it. We board with pride and a sprinkle of nose-in-the-air judgment to outclass others. You see those in the business class cabin? They look at those of us snaking to the economy cabin like we are disturbing them just by breathing the same air they breathe.
Then there’s premium economy, aka glorified business class of the economy cabin, whose seats are slightly better than standard economy, only that their egos can be humungous.
And there’s the standard economy, the rest of us. You would expect to have some form of solidarity from your fellow comrades, as per “na we we.”; But no, there are still some in the same standard economy who would give you the vibe of “na condition make crayfish bend, I no dey your class”;.
Anyway, this is where my story begins.
It was a connecting flight day. After jumping from one shuttle bus to another, haggling with customs, and racing through AirTrains against my flight time, I was knackered and quite touchy. Yet, I mustered up all the residual strength in me to be composed.
At last, I got to board my flight back to Nigeria, found my seat, got myself comfortable and relaxed for the flight, and there, she arrived. Strutting down the aisle with heels that wobbled as if they were forced to come on the journey. It was inconsequential at first, as I couldn’t care less. Then she sat by the next aisle seat beside me, the very last row in the aircraft.
She sat and got herself comfortable in a seat that wasn’t hers.
One of the flight attendants came and politely nudged her to return to her ticketed seat. Plot twist: that ticket seat happened to be beside me. She had the middle seat while I had the aisle seat.
After several minutes, her butt seems to be stuck to the seat that is not hers because she didn’t move, despite several instructions to do so. What did she do instead? She whipped out her Bible and started reading intently, like the Bible would make her invisible. But those flight attendants were unfazed. They kept coming over and over until she had no choice. She asked that I excuse her as she slid into the middle seat, shame etched on her face. I offered a faint smile and returned to the in-flight entertainment. She tapped my arm and said:
“Do you stay in Nigeria?”;
“Yes”;, I replied cautiously.
She giggled like I had tickled her. “Oh, I don’t stay in Nigeria. I’m just on a brief visit.”;
I nodded with a smile and returned my gaze to my screen, wondering why she was sharing that with me.
Then, a few moments later, she tapped me again.
“I was Gordon Brown’s personal assistant when he was prime minister.”;
I wondered what to do with that piece of information. At this time, I was forcing my tired smile to remain polite. “Oh, I see, that’s good,”; I said and returned my gaze to the movie I was watching.
She gave me another tap.
“I’m not supposed to be seated here. I didn’t book early.
My stifled sarcastic chuckle puffed out as I acknowledged her with a nod.
For crying out loud, what on earth am I supposed to be doing with these details? Lick her boot or ask for her number? I was just too tired to notice this royalty who is humble enough to sit beside me in a standard economy seat. But she wasn’t having it. She wasn’t going to give up.
Another tap.
“I’m your senior. You’re just a baby.”;
“Okay!”; I said with an obvious plastic smile and turned back to my screen.
When I wasn’t giving her the attention she needed, she fell asleep, and that was when mealtime came. I thought to wake her for food, but who am I to wake Her Royal Highness to eat food meant for peasants and babies of the standard economy cabin?
Maybe, just maybe, she might be too sophisticated for this food. After the plates were cleared, she woke up and queried me on not waking her up for mealtime.
I told her she could always ask the flight attendant for food if she wanted. She probably doesn’t know that since she’s always at 10 Downing Street.
She got her meal, ate quietly and didn’t talk to me for the rest of the flight—the much-desired quiet I needed throughout the journey.
If there’s one thing I know, humility fits in every cabin. And while it is great to network, most time, people just want to enjoy their flight in peace. If you ever get to encounter anyone like mine, who wants you to shrink for their ego to take space, remind them that standard economy isn’t so spacious for inflated self-importance. They might as well stow it in the overhead compartment or upgrade to whichever class they think they belong.
