Issue #23/78, November 18 - December 2, 1999  

by Nkem

Some people who went to see friends and families off at Moscow's Interna-tional Airport on Tuesday, the 2nd were not allowed to enjoy the warm interiors of the airport by some uniformed Po-lice posted at the entrance. Reason: Directive from above that 'admittance' is only through showing your flight ticket. However, since the number of those who come to see people off triple that of those who actually travel, the early morning cold met a couple frustrated folks outside to deal with. This writer, who came with three people to see a friend off, was among those who were asked to endure the cold for close to an hour. Just as we were about turning back, a group of four Europeans came and passed through the doors without showing even as much as a match stick. "When are people with my shade of skin and passport allowed to pass through these doors?" I asked the officer. "From 7.00 am." He informed me without much interest. This was takeoff time for the plane I came to see off. Then it hit me! Could this have anything to do with the fortnightly flight to Nigeria? The same flight which I once overheard an airport official refer to as 'pay-day'? When my country folks are ready to part with a bundle to get their goods across to Nigeria, from where it reaches other parts of the African continent? The same flight that carries more CDs, wrist watches and earrings in suitcases than passengers? Of course, it does, because when I looked around all the people outside talked and looked like me. Well, almost. And, almost everyone came to see either people or goods off. I stood outside and looked through the transparent window pane to see my friend pass through customs and disappear behind the immigration barrier without saying goodbye, without a hug, without even--well, you know all the things people say and do when they're about to leave you behind. I missed all that, and truly felt like going 'black' on somebody's rear. Those who could not stand the humiliation or the cold must have left because all of a sudden we were all alone, the three of us, outside the great building, envying those on the other side of the glass pane. I could clearly see at least two guys whom I was sure were not travelling. After about 56 minutes, Yinkus, the friend I came with decided to talk with the uniformed 'bouncer'. "We know what you guys come here to do," the officer said. Gee, this guy must be psychic! "You carry your suitcases, send your goods and make your money." Boy, when did that become a crime punishable by cold. "We don't want anymore Chemadan-chik." He finished, feeling somewhat satisfied with himself. It took Yinkus a couple of minutes to convince him that we were not in the Chemadan business. When he finally asked us to go in my pride wanted me to keep patronizing the cold, but I decided not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me offended. So I went in and spoke to some guys, veterans of the crime I was being punished for. They told me plain and simple. "You just didn't speak the right language. You should have asked, skolka?"