Of a friendship forged in foreign lands and a cold reception at home

When we landed in Rome, the expansive airport was deserted. The Covid-19 pandemic had caused international pandemonium and everyone was in hiding.

I walked across empty lobbies to the Nairobi counter. Social distancing was mandatory and there was no one to ask for direction, but there were speakers blaring information in different languages, thank God!

No African people in sight … but, wait … I saw one behind a counter and dashed there. “English?” I asked. “French.” I walked on towards my designated counter 125D. After what I thought was a long walk, I saw Counter 125D, and yes, it was closed. It was to be opened two hours to departure time.

I checked my watch and confirmed the obvious: My flight was six hours away and had to wait until 9pm. I got myself a seat at the empty waiting bay. Then two African guys approached me. “Ethiopian?” they asked. I said yes. In halting English, they told me that they were heading home to Togo via Addis Ababa.

I was grateful for the company of kindred souls. By now, I was drained, thirsty and hungry. I blacked out, only to wake up at 8.58pm! I checked around, and realised that the Togolese were gone! There was no one in sight and it was crazy cold. Desperately, I threw away the gloves and mask that the Madrid staff had given me and started panting like a lost puppy. What now? Where are my two African peas!? I was now all alone in this Italian pod! I begged my legs to have some more energy and to look for anyone … any living being, black or yellow in this citadel of emptiness!

I started walking. All the counters were closed. There were no guards. I meandered like a lost soul. Then, finally I saw a woman in uniform. She spotted me too and pointed towards some direction … not even waiting for me to ask for help. She was tired of answering questions, and sign language, I realised, was all she had left.

I had removed my glasses to listen properly to any human sound. I walked towards the pointed direction and I could only see blurred human figures. The Togolese were among the eight people I found there. There also was a slim girl who was so covered up that only her small frame and feminine boots betrayed her gender.

I moved nearer and asked: “Ethiopia?”

She nodded, then added: “Nairobi.” I exclaimed “Ngaai!” and she was so excited to hear it that she took off her mask and spoke Kiswahili with a deep Mt Kenya accent. Her name was Njoki. Then we switched to Kikuyu and I started feeling at home.

She had a story too. On arriving at the airport, she realised how hard it was to get help. So she had feigned disability and a guard had wheeled her up to the Ethiopian Airlines boarding gate!

She gave me a mask and a bottle of hand sanitiser as we checked in. She was 21 and had visited Italy for the first time. Finally, at around 11pm, we boarded the huge plane. We were only eight! It was deathly silent inside.

The beautiful cabin crew reminded me of the young ones who perished in the Ethiopian plane, a year ago. I tried to shake off the dark thoughts.

I had not eaten anything for a whole day and night but I couldn’t stand the aroma of the spiced Ethiopian bites.

I only took fruit juice, tea and some biscuits. I couldn’t sleep at all. Finally, we landed in Addis Ababa. I was now 6.50am. It was such a relief. I even mused that I’d walk to Kenya if all failed.

I had seen it all from Madrid to Rome and now Addis. All passengers were made to fill in their full details, all contact persons and places visited with an agreement that they would agree to a mandatory 14-day quarantine on their arrival to whichever destination. I had so far filled three of those.

Addis, with its many Africans, offered me much relief. A lot of familiar languages, including Kiswahili, were spoken.

Njoki was still by my side. Bole International Airport was small, dirty and disorganised, but if felt like home.

Our flight to Nairobi was three hours away. We could rest and chat. At last, we were able to relax.

In a little while, another woman approached us smiling. She was so excited to see Kenyans and having reached Ethiopia. She had flown from the UK and speaking Kiswahili was a fresh breath of air for her.

We even took some refreshments and had deep conversations narrating and sharing our predicaments. We became friends and swore that we wouldn’t part ways, no matter what. The Covid-19 situation called for unity in strength. We knew we would face the quarantine monster in Kenya.

We touched down at Jomo Kenyatta International at 11.30am.

There was so much security at the airport that it looked like a war zone. They were waiting for us. Our stories did not matter to anyone. There were instant temperature checks and those who failed were whisked away by men wearing hazmat suits. It was so sickening and frightening. We looked like pariahs and nobody cared to even give us counselling.

Tomorrow: From the airport to a quarantine camp.