by Liz Woods
THREE
The Lagos airport terminal was dated and hectic, compared to the modern palaces of steel and glass that I had known airports to be so far. Crowds swarmed around baggage carousels, while intimidating armed police watched over. An escort met us at the baggage collection point and directed us to a minivan with just enough room inside for the crew and an armed guard. I was glad to be inside the bus. This princess from the West was out of her comfort zone and thankful for the car that kept me in a bubble as we passed through the African megalopolis. As the rookie, I was the only one who seemed surprised to be sharing the bus ride with a local with a gun strapped around his neck. But this was how the company wanted things done in Africa, and I was thankful that any potential attacker would have to fight through a barrage of bullets. We probably could have passed through the city every day for a hundred years without the need for an armed guard, but the company was taking no chances. After all, security is as much a feeling as something quantifiable. My face was glued to the window as we passed modern buildings and slums that seemed to alternate in an almost regular pattern. Mobile phone and computer billboards sat alongside yellow vans and beggars. We passed a sprawling open-air rubbish tip, spotted with local scavengers hunched over looking for anything useful. As we accelerated onto an expressway, my eyes turned from one vehicle to another that would have made any cop from my hometown implode with shock. Pickup trucks with their trays loaded with smiling passengers cut in front of us. A motorcyclist, typing a text message whizzed by. Another with a child perched in a basket on the front kept pace with our van Children sat on the concrete barrier dividing the two lanes, waving at the traffic. Two of them appeared to be in a dance-off with each other, so close to the traffic I feared they would be hit at any moment. My childhood spent climbing high trees and jumping in the deep end of the pool, suddenly seemed tame and pathetic, compared to these fearless wonders.
Passing through a dark tunnel, my attention was drawn from the eye-popping world outside, back into the minivan. It was the first moment I noticed my head to toe tension. I loosened the grip on my handbag, unclenched my toes, sat back and let my shoulders release the anxiety that no one else was showing. One of the other girls was asleep. Another was on her phone. Simon and Tanya were chatting in the seats toward the front. Simon was giggling intermittently about something. I was the only one fazed by our ordeal.
The minivan arrived at a check-point in front of the hotel. An armed guard, opened all the doors, glanced at the captain in front and the remaining crew. The smiles that were shot back at him did little to crack the face of the serious soldier type. He nodded and closed the doors. We moved on toward the hotel entrance. The hotel was an opulent refuge of comfort for westerners in what some might consider a foreboding and scary part of the world. Behind the gates and steel fences, the building was fronted by an elaborate water fountain and manicured lawn that was otherwise out of place in the developing city. After another quick airport style security check of our bags and our person, we were inside the palace. The company forbade us from leaving the hotel premises during our time in Nigeria. The palace was our prison until we flew out the next night. I was glad to be an inmate.
I would have preferred to spend the entire layover on my own– calling friends, indulging in room service and maybe visiting the day spa– but I obliged the invitation to join the others in the hotel bar that evening. On the way to the bar I passed through a long corridor of marble and ornate woodcarvings. I shook my head in the disbelief that I was being paid to stay in a place like this. I looked out at the ground level pool through the large windowpanes running down one side of the grand corridor. Men and women of my parents’ age sat around on deck chairs reading or talking. They had probably worked their whole lives to stay at a place like this. I had cheated the system.
The hotel bar resembled the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles, rather than the seedy dump I had pictured when I had heard about the compulsory hotel bar visit in Lagos. It was stunning, and not in the gaudy way that our aircraft were decked out. The walls were mahogany with gold lamp fixtures. The carpet looked too good to serve as the floor of a drinking venue. The tables were solid and must have been hand carved. The seat backs were plush and upholstered in light green velvet. The lighting was dimmed enough to soften the ambience, but not enough to give a common bar sleaziness. A black, glossy grand piano sat in the corner, with a European looking man playing, with no apparent appreciation from his audience. Across the room sat a United Nations of faces. Men and women, probably expats and business people sat around in the expensive chairs sipping cocktails and wine. They all seemed to exude an air of importance. They were the rich and powerful of global society. Something important must have must have brought them to the exclusive sanctuary in the Nigerian capital.
A wave from a corner of the room caught my eye. It was Maria, the Italian girl who helped me take the air sample. Her hands gesticulated wildly until I waved back.
“Hi everyone,” I said, suddenly feeling underdressed as I looked at my beautifully attired colleagues in designer clothes, jewelry and full make up.
"Have a seat with us. You know, we were just talking about you." Maria said in a cheeky, yet friendly tone, finishing with a wink.
Tanya shot Maria a look that slapped the smile straight from her face.
"Hello Elizabeth." Said Tanya.
I sat myself alongside Simon, Maria and Tanya and two others that I barely recognised from the flight. Out of the uniform and with their hair in any style they desired, I suddenly hoped I hadn’t passed them in the hall without recognising them.
"Did you manage to get a nap this afternoon, hun." Simon asked, trying to move the conversation along after the awkward incident with Maria's loose lips.
"Ah, yes. I squeezed in a couple of hours. Felling much better now." I smiled. He smiled and then looked at his fingernails.
Oh God, why did I come down here?
I hoped a fire would start and the sprinkler system would go off. I wished I would get the dreaded food poisoning that had hit that Mumbai flight so that I could excuse myself. I rarely drank, but that night the booze would be my new best friend. The crew were starting with shots of 12 year old Scotch.
“I'll have a double." I said as the finely dressed Nigerian waiter took our orders.
I sat wishing I knew what Maria was thinking and why she was so terrified of Tanya. Every once in a while, more crew would join the table, and we eventually joined together three smaller tables into a long beer hall like bench. I hadn't eaten much that day and I felt the effects of mixing drinks immediately, feeling a little more at ease. We were louder by the minute. Tanya didn't slip up for a moment. She appeared to have an amazing ability to hold her liquor. Her demeanour didn't change. She was a control freak in all things including her own blood intoxication. Simon, on the other hand, grew louder and more animated as the night went on. He dominated the conversation. His stories needed to be told more urgently. If anyone had a funny story, his were funnier. If anyone had a conundrum or anecdote about a difficult social situation, he had the answer. And he was certain to make sure that Tanya noticed his heroics.
With every shot, and every cocktail, the controlled chic facade of the crew crumbled a little more. We were soon joined at our makeshift table arrangement by two men dressed in suits who had been eyeing our group from the bar for an hour or so. One looked thirty the other a little older, and both spoke with a regal London accent. They loosened their ties sloppily around their necks and it became obvious they were keen for a drink with our well-dressed, attractive circle. They pulled over some extra chairs and blended easily into the multiple conversations that were underway.
“We work for a British oil company, we’re trying to get the polies here to let us dig a little more,” said the younger of the two.
“But you’ll ruin the place,” said Maria.
“What do you think you’re aeroplanes run on, lovey? Positive thoughts?” He chuckled.
M
aria laughed and raised her hands, in defeat.
As we hobnobbed with masters of the universe, I caught a glance out one of the windows that led onto an exterior courtyard. It was dark. Wondering, how late it was I squinted at an austere looking clock across the room and tried with difficulty to remember the time zone difference, and work out just how long we had been sloshing down the booze. About four hours, was as close a guess as I could get.
Simon was deep in conversation with Jurdan. Tall and solid with dark, wavy hair, I’d seen Jurdan working hard in the economy galley and talking to passengers when he could have simply closed the galley curtain and taken a break. The looks on Simon and Jurdan's faces grew ever more serious. From the snippets I could hear, they were in a heated discussion on Basque nationalism, a sensitive subject to the native Basque Jurdan.
“It’s not even a country and they're all terrorists, Jurdan!" Simon said forcefully.
"You know nothing about this struggle! We are not terrorists you jerk!" Jurdan's voice was fierce and charged with emotion. This was obviously a matter close to Jurdan's heart and meant a whole lot more to him than Simon. But Simon of course, ever the know-it-all, persisted. He just couldn't let it go. Not even to avoid a fight with Jurdan. Tanya didn't intervene in the scuffle, and hadn't seemed displeased with their aggression. It was as if she was happy to see them tear each other to pieces.
"Wohhh, chill out!" Simon raised his palm to Jurdan.
They were getting louder, and I could soon hear everything with ease.
"Go to hell, Simon! You jerk! Go to hell!" His accent was suddenly more noticeable. "You know nothing about our families err.. sacrifices and our fight, and what we have fighted for. Go to hell, you plastic doll!"
Simon’s face dropped. Tanya turned her attention from the oil-man to the commotion. Was this a typical layover, I asked myself. I was suddenly glad to have a wave of Dutch courage wash over me and I interjected in the painfully awkward and potentially hostile confrontation unfolding. I moved my chair forward towards Jurdan.
"So, Jurdan," I said, careful to emphasise the back of the mouth 'hhh' and roll the 'r.' "What is the prettiest part of Basque Country?" I reached over the table and touched his arm. He looked at me with his welled up green eyes, and he was back in Basque country, thinking of his homeland. He smiled. He was a million miles from Simon and their drunken argument. The question was simply the first thing that came to my head and possibly stopped Jurdan from giving Simon a black eye for the return flight. From the corner of my eye, Tanya watched my interaction with Jurdan. Her eyes had narrowed, looking me over. For a brief moment I worried that I had upset her, and I hoped I had done the right thing.
"Well, my dear Eliz-ii-beth…" Jurdan was smiling and grabbed my hand for brief moment before letting go, as if about to propose. "There are so many pretty places. We have the beautiful Bay of Biscay. We have the beautiful San Sebastian. And we have the Navarre, where in the mountains, the horses run wild." He loved his country, even if Simon didn't think it deserved to be called such. He spoke to me about his native region for the next ten minutes, telling me where I should visit, and of relatives who would be glad to have me as their guest. I was glad to be in a real conversation with one of the crew, instead of false niceties or rapid fire interrogation. Jurdan continued his narration of the wonders of Basque country. I was part of the crew now. More drinks arrived.
How did I get here again?
That's right.
You're a flight attendant now.
You are drunk.
At a luxury hotel.
In Africa.
An hour later, the table had again expanded, having attracted all the guests who were there for a hard night on the booze. Tanya was talking to the older oilman, Leaning towards him, their hands locked together. Simon was talking, trying to seduce Aaron, a fetching young blonde crew member with strong hands and a big smile. Jurdan was now so drunk that he was staring at the walls, occasionally laughing too himself. Maria and I chatted about clothes–her favourite designers and where she buys–and other safe topics to pass the bizarre night away. She seemed more confident and less nervous now that Tanya's attention was focused on the well-dressed, rich man.
"My Lizzie… Hey…" It was Jurdan, leaning back in his chair barely able to keep his head up. He was slurring his words and his accent grew stronger.
"Thank you for cheering me up. Thank you for making me hhhappy."
"You're welcome. I'm happy that you are happy."
"Thank you. You’re so kind,. Leezii. You are my little lee-zard."
I laughed, trying to recognise what he was saying through his thick, drunk accent.
"My friendly little lee-zard."
"Oh, haha, lizard!"
"But, its not a bad thing. The lee-zards are my favourite animal. They make me so hhhapy." His speech was slow and jubilant. I knew he wouldn’t feel as good tomorrow.
"From now on you are my Lee-zard."
Inviting the rich men to our table suddenly made sense when the bill arrived. The smartly dressed barmen placed the bill folder on the table in front of Tanya and the oilman. The barman’s feigned smile did little to hide how tired he was. His night had been long, and now he was happy to see the crowd of Western hyenas soon leave. Tanya opened the black leather folder and looked at the bill. She looked at her prey, the oilman, now drunk, and unlikely to be exercising good judgment. Their eyes met, and she nodded her head. He reached his spare hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a silver coloured card. That’s how easy it was for her. A simple look and a complete stranger would pay for a night’s indulgence for an entire crew. When Tanya rose to her feet, everyone else rose. We all headed to the elevators to end the night. Tanya stepped off with the man who bankrolled our boozy night. Simon headed off with Aaron. Poor Jurdan had to be held up straight in the elevator. He was in clear need of a hand to help him to his room. I was ignored when I asked for help from my fellow drunks to get him back safely. He and I staggered down the hall together, eventually finding a door that would open. Once the door slammed shut, I ran down the other end of the hall just in time to make it into my room. The timing was perfect. Just in time to spend the next hour hugging the toilet bowl.
While I was holding back my hair and dreading the next stomach spasm, I hoped layovers would not get any crazier. That was how Lagos overnights were. Every trip had a unique character, dictated by the location of the hotel, the type of people who visited the port, and of course the crew who would stay there. Lagos was sex and booze. Bali was the beach, booze and pills. London was clubs and anything you could snort.
Sadly, that was the first and last night I ever had to get to know Jurdan. A few months later he fell from a balcony in Las Vegas. It was the mysterious sort of death that befitted him, and of course the type that only happens in wild places.
The flight back, nobody spoke about the night in the bar. I gathered it was off limits: a kind of code of secrecy that crew must follow to sustain their reputations and the company image. The only mention of it came from Simon in the galley as he fumbled with his crew bag.
“Tanya was very impressed by how you handled Jurdan last night. She thinks you’re quite the chameleon.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know how to act, girl.” He was blunt.
“Right. Fair enough.” I hadn’t slept much before the flight and was quickly tiring of Simon’s style.
“And that might just serve you well here at the airline,” he said “a cool calm attitude and the ability to hide what you are really thinking. You know, hiding what your true intentions are. It’s a gift that may pay off for you.” He was shoving what looked like Euros or British Pounds into his bag.
“Wow, they must be paying you well.” I said, our eyes meeting.
“Babe. What if I told you this could be yours too.”
“I’m sorry..?”
“It’s from some fat loser up there in Business. He’s passed out.”
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“You’ve got to be kidding me! Really?” Something told me he was serious.
“Not my fault the pig drank too much. Anyway, you gotta do what you need to do in this job. It’s what you make of it.” He zipped up a small compartment in his crew bag and put his hand into his pocket, revealing a silver watch.
“I mean, do you really think I’d be doing this job just for fun? We gotta get a little something extra. It’s not like we’re earning frequent flyer miles.”
“But won’t that guy notice his valuables are gone?” I asked
“Not likely. He won’t notice until he’s at home, unpacking. Then he’ll wonder if he lost his watch on the way to the airport, or at the airport, or somewhere on the plane. In the lavatory maybe… He’s so sloshed, he won’t remember where he lost it. And the last person he’ll suspect is me. I’ve got the uniform on, babe.”
I looked on as he buried the watch under the contents of his bag. He looked up.
“You’re not gonna tell on me are you?”
“No.”
“Good.” He slammed the top of the bag down. “Because everyone needs allies here.
“Yeh, we all need friends hey..?”
“No honey, I said allies. This is Elhalia. There are no friends here. Just pretty faces, like yours.”
Tanya walked into the galley and cast a look at Simon. He turned to her and nodded his head as she kept walking through to the next cabin. He turned back to me.
“You’ve done well on this trip. I’ll give your manager good feedback.”
“Thanks.”
“You need good feedback. It will help you get what you want here. Every crew member has a ranking based mainly on the feedback of their ‘In flight Trainer’ and cabin leaders. The higher your ranking, the nicer destinations you get. The longer the layovers, that sort of thing. Just play the game.”
“That’s good to hear. As I was saying earlier, I’m not here to have battles with anyone.”
“Good girl.”