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I am a land animal. The kind that don’t trust talk on another human animal being able to do much if anything for me security-wise when nature or unhinged humans take it in their loony heads to wreak havoc on me. I don’t even trust anything that takes my foot off the ground and hang them on air shuttling me from one point to another. All these to tell you that planes aren’t my preferred mode of transportation just like other modes. My leg doing the work I have unshakable faith in it doing the work better and safer than any other mode. So, like Johnny walker, I have walked to hell and back.

But then, when you are inmate in far flung nation like china, you are not heading back home on foot or ship but plane. So, I don’t have much options when I was due after many years in cage, freed to see Africa again. It’s to be airport and airport means plane. Call me height phobic or its other synonyms, I just trust my leg more than other modes of transportation. It has served me well without bumping me into anything for more than five decades.

I think it has something to do with where one is coming from or something. Environment influences thoughts and behaviors. Prison certainly have that effect on the brain of those that passed through it long enough that it shows in thoughts, desires and utterances. Planes for sure fixtures in our psyche and occupies a certain portion of it that you dream-walk, sleep-walk, about it before entering it again.

So, idle yammering in prison don’t miss that angle and what they are expected to gain from it when someone is near his due date. It’s seen as first port of call on luck for inmates before the fate saturates on you back in your nation, city wherever it’s you are heading to. So I had found myself with that kind of dreams and thought also like others before me occupying space in my brain. Airliner you are booked in acts as an omen on the things to come. Humans, the kind you see in the plane acts as an indicator on things to come, harbinger of broader fate that awaits you back home. Fate starts in plane to manifest on ex-inmates.

So, I was in that Beijing airport concourse for four hours waiting for boarding hour, booked in Ethiopia airliner that is usual fate of all African inmates in Chinese dungeon once you are not from Guangzhou where china southern might be your fate. I had had the dream of how the night will turn out over and over in my mind, running around like cocaine in it as neared my date. They kept forcing themselves on me like nothing ever did. I have been among yellow men for almost two decades, I was like every inmate in Chinese prison hoping for a change of neighbor even if for few hours. Variety is also spice of life for inmates you know? But then, dreams are what have this way of turning out from the rear or upside down from what we expected.

Boarding time, 11:45pm, four officers with me, all in plain clothes. Passengers kept creeping in, occupying every available space in the concourse, I kept observing all coming and going, all Chinese, not a single Ethiopian man or woman, no white, no brown or red, I was the only different race in that concourse that night for four hours I sat there mopping at these guys. The dreams, images that formed in my mind on how it will turn out in the airport evaporating each passing hour. They kept creeping in like ghost with their tatty duffle bags, I can’t swear one percent was carrying suitcases or quality bags that assure you are among second-class fellas. All are migrant workers for sure.

“you are not meeting those fellas you envisioned, those your supposed specials, in this flight” nature seems to be telling me. I was to know later why I wasn’t thrown easily in the plane proper; nature seems to be telling me to watch it. I was stuck with the same class of Chinese I was with for almost two decades in the plane for 17 hours from Beijing to Addis. First harbinger of thing about Chinese to come. I had been in that prison dreaming of the D-day on how it will be special day, something special, something life changing, youths passing their national service in Nigeria always dream of the camp they are heading to only to be disappointed in the same manner as I was. There was that sense of déjà vu when I boarded the plane to discover I was the only odd face among the two hundred passengers. No single Ethiopian outside the crew inside there. I would have been easily captured had they been change of class of humans with me inside there. lesson needed to be inculcated.

I recalled the French inmate that left years before me vibrating to me in the prison factory on being booked in Russian airline. He had believed like we do that all or most inside there will be Russians heading home, I am guessing that my fate was his also. 99.5% in Russian airliner heading out of china to Moscow are all Chinese, hauling their weather beaten backpack on their weather beaten jeans, squealing and vibrating nonstop like primary school kids on break. I can only imagine his disappointment. “sir, what will it be, fish or meat?” we still on uniform in the cage imagining what the reception will be like inside that molded pan from the hostesses, think of a change of environment and air. “is it soft drink or cappuccino sir?” these kinds of thoughts whirl around in the mind of the inmates on the expectations of the D-day only for that enthusiasm to be deflated on seeing same faces you left in their numbers in prison glaring at you.

I was the last passenger to board that fateful night on what I later figured was a deliberate act on the part of the officers, act meant to point me out. I wouldn’t know exactly what was laid for me inside that molded pan but it was on the negative side. I had this kind of mind that pick up vibes of that nature. Kind that point out dangers and made sure they remain in mind. I was marked man from prison and that nugget of information from body languages of many around me did not escape me once the vibration started coming.

The fatty sitting beside me and many all around me I wouldn’t say are all trained agents but they were detailed, you don’t need training to knock off ex-inmate and when it’s done chemical or spiritual-wise, training isn’t needed. I don’t believe in coincidences, so sitting arrangement and how all around me were interested were of interest to me. “Are you from where in china?” the fatty beside me started. The ears of all around me perked up, light in my radar started blinking, I know immediately that I am on another test of all that was on in prison and sat up, while pretending I wasn’t aware of what is going on. Annoying as that intrusion and threat might be, the major annoying thing is that the fatty snores. His big arm blocking the buttons I operate the screen before me and lifting that sweaty arm was something else.

I stayed that way pretending, answering and lifting for the duration the journey lasted. Answering questions most are sounding personal to me. I was ordering same sprite I have been drinking in prison for security reasons for melancholy was the officer’s bedmate on anything being used by me and my general way of life. They were seeking for where I breath from and caution in the plane was what common sense advised.

So, my alert alarm was on throughout that flight from Beijing to Addis screaming danger, danger. I used my brain in getting myself from china to Nigeria. I was marked passenger. All were observing me, interested in what I was ordering as drink and food.

“We have a fainting passenger at the back couch of the plane, if any doctor is among us, let him please come to the last couch” that came from the crew of the connecting flight from Addis to Lagos. One man by my right who had been making noise with one voluptuous lady got up heading toward the back. He reappeared in record time and the lady burst out laughing. “I told you they will turn you back” she giggled. I became interested in them. quack was written even in their laughter and how they throw biscuit around inside there. I couldn’t believe that about fifteen doctors were with me in that economy class. I suspect some are the other kind of doctors, those kinds that deals in roots and leaves.

During one meal time, one hostess from the second compartment of her trolley brought what she served me. I just know that the train might be anything to many. A kind of dating site, court room, library, writing base, open field for many things, to me, it was a kind of electric chair. I was lucky inside there for sure. I was also a little ahead of those fellas in the assignment given them on me.

Five years later, the people they handed me over to is still suffering from melancholy of my way of life, the leaders here still rack their heads on my food, drink, writing and laughter.