Flying has never been as frustrating as when I missed a flight in a commercial aircraft to Wajir town, in Wajir County from Wilson Airport in Nairobi.
My maiden trip to North Eastern region in 2017, was supposed to be exciting, but the challenges at the airport made it seem like a nightmare!
I am not a suspicious person, but found myself blaming anything and everybody for my predicament.
One was the international Non-Governmental Organisation (NGO), Danish De-Mining, our organisation, African Woman and Child (AWC) Feature Service, was partnering with in peace-building and anti- Sexual, Gender Based Violence (SGBV) campaigns in Wajir and Mandera Counties.
We also had similar programmes in six of the 47 other counties on the eve of the 2017 General Election.
They had put us on hold for close to one year on grounds that the region was still unsafe and a no-go zone for "watu wa nywele ngumu (people with kinky hair (meaning none Somalis/Cushite)!"
I wondered further whether my PHD aka Permanent Hair Damage, bold head would make me an exception in case the suspected Al Shabaab terrorist group was to strike!
The other blame game was targeting a colleague from that region, Abjata Khalif, who had failed to respond to my calls and SMS messages to give me an up to date situational report on what lay ahead in the region notorious for terrorist attacks, especially of passengers in public service vehicles and residential areas occupied by non-locals, also referred to as "watu wa (people from) down country!"
Maiden Trip to NEP
Despite my prayer before the Uber ride to Wilson Airport that morning, and another one before calling it a night, deep in my heart the fear factor was like a dormant volcano waiting to explode at the slightest excuse.
I arrived at Wilson airport almost as the fully-loaded light aircraft was speeding on the runway ready for takeoff.
It reminded me of a quote from scripture that says: "Many will see the gates of heaven, but few will enter!"
I stared into the dawn sky in frustration watching as one of my female colleagues on board called to bid me farewell. I had no option, but to appeal to the airlines’ officials to book me on the next flight to Wajir, 24 hours later at an extra fee of Shs1, 000.
That was the day it dawned on me how expensive an extra minute of sleep can cost you. It's not what time you wake up that matters to the pilot, it's when you clear with the ground crew and with security and then board the plane that matters.
I have never been more embarrassed as I faced the ground crew and my boss and colleagues in the office later feeling frustrated knowing how tight our training programme had been planned.
The female airline's supervisor looked at me in total disbelief remembering how she had assisted me a month earlier to appeal to her male mzungu (Caucasian) boss to bend the rules for me.
I gave in to fate and accepted my big mistake as I re-organised my travel plans.
I felt like a lion that has been rained on, I turned back and picked my luggage and headed to the exit where I hailed a taxi to take me back to my house, watching motorists and pedestrians going about their business in the rush hour traffic on Langata Road, Mbagathi Way and Ngong Road.
Frustration Galore
The following day, I was the first to report. I reported one and a half hours early at the airport. I was later issued a ticket and gate pass by the ground staff who welcomed me with a wide smile and a mug of hot coffee! That was my second time to be late at Wilson Airport at dawn, the first time I had gotten away with it.
The ticket for my flight had indicated that departure was 6.45am. And that all passengers were expected to report at 6am, and check in by 6.15am. But I had underestimated my timing, with the wrong impression that Wilson Airport wasn't like Jomo Kenyatta International Airport, where passengers are required to report between one and two hours early.
So I booked my Uber taxi from my house along Ngong Road in Nairobi and arrived at 6.30am. just to be told by the front office officials that they had closed and I was late and there was no way I could be helped.
By then a colleague, Jane Godia, whom we were to travel with had boarded and kept calling me on my cell phone wondering whether I was still planning to travel for the two-day trip.
As I wiped the sweat from my brow, I asserted myself demanding to be referred to the supervisor and manager, if necessary, to be given a special hearing.
But the supervisor would not hear my pleas when I approached her in desperation.
"Sorry, I cannot help you, you are late!" That's the best she could tell me with a stern face.
You Must Know People
But I was not deterred; I demanded to be referred to the manager, who thank God, was seated in an open office next to her listening to the commotion I had caused at dawn.
I budged into his office pleading like never before with a thousand apologies and justifying my plea saying I was in the company of senior police officers from National Police Service headquarters whom we were going with for the two-day training forum.
Noting that I was not about to relent, the stout manager then ordered his driver and a colleague to give me a gate pass and drive me to the entrance to the airport through the security desk, almost 1Km away.
For the next five minutes, it was like I was in a Safari Rally sports car as the driver sped to the departure lounge. Indeed, it was also like a scene from a movie as I disembarked, carried my luggage through the security desk passing through like a Very Important Person (VIP) all the way non-stop to the waiting light aircraft on the runway.
By then my name had been called severally by the airport officials until everyone in the departure lounge and plane knew me as I boarded the plane and it took off immediately.
"Honestly, what happened?" is all my colleague could tell me in total frustration.
I had no words, I just calmed myself and took a sigh of relief as I wiped the sweat all over my head and face and whispered a silent thanks-giving prayer.
"Whew! That was a close call," I consoled myself quietly as the plane took off for the three hour flight.
The three-hour flight was uneventful, with the exception of a breath-taking dawn view of Nairobi city's residential, industrial area and suburbs which was before the semi-desert scenes of Wajir town before we landed at Wajir International airport, which is in a military base.
That was my first experience being in a military zone. All passengers were herded out of the airport as the hawk eyed officers armed to the tooth watched from a safe distance.
We were driven straight to our hotel next to the airport, and felt traumatised for the two days we were booked there.
Military Zone
The view from my room overlooking the military barracks was almost like former South African President Nelson Mandela's at Robben Island, during his 27 years in detention.
It was an empty field for kilometers on end round the fully guarded electro fence surrounded by an earth road. The only senses of life was at dawn when soldiers took a dawn jog around the components chanting and drills as they were surrounded by armed colleagues .
A drive into the town in the afternoon in a taxi wasn't relaxing as there were very few men, women, children and domestic animals along the roadside. But I was impressed by the booming business, tarmac roads, the modern buildings, restaurants and hotels in the town.
Later, a judicial official offered to give me a ride around the town and to the outskirts on the lonely Wajir-Mandera road, but I had to request him to turn back after feeling unsafe as we ventured into the desert and shrubs dotting the landscape.
Daring Colleague
According to the official: "Wajir is one of the safest towns in Kenya, it's only been attacked once by Al-Shabaab. Most are in the reserve. This is because we have a military base and very many Anti –Terrorist Police officers in the area!"
Another colleague, Joyce Chimbi, who was on my second trip, was daring enough to hire a taxi and travel without armed escort, as is mandatory, some 20Km. into the interior to interview some SGBV survivors. The leading cases are Female Genital Mutilation, officially banned by the national government, but have been justified by the Somali elders as a religious/cultural rite of passage.
But the judicial official seems to have spoken too soon. The following morning as we had breakfast and prepared to depart for the airport for a return trip to Nairobi, we were shocked and traumatised to the core to see a whole contingent of fully-armed Kenya Defence Forces KDF) soldiers being driven out of the base in their armed vehicles heading North towards Kenya's border with Somalia where terrorists had launched an attack the previous day.
Security check for us was even more intense before we were allowed to access the airport and our flight to, “down country!" The sparkling airport lounge was very tense. By the time the flight entered the Nairobi airspace, I, like most passengers, heaved a sigh of relief glad to return to my comfort zone.
As we disembarked, I almost felt like emulating The Pope, by kneeling down and kissing the ground and saying: "Home sweet home," as I sighed and thanked my maker.
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