The flight was scheduled for 2pm, but my restless anticipation had me awake and double-checking my packed belongings by 5am. I became my African parents in that moment.
I couldn’t determine what was more difficult: keeping the news of my departure, the arduous task of packing, the waves of nostalgia crashing over me, or the heart-wrenching breakup with Amaka. As I carefully tucked my ticket, passport, and essential documents into the inner pocket of my jacket, I found myself taking a rollcall of the bags and things I should be with for the umpteenth time in the past 15 minutes. It did little to calm my nerves; in fact, I was already bracing myself for another count. So, this is how it all ends. The heavy sigh that followed escaped from the deepest corners of my soul.
“I’m sorry”
“You’re not,”
Amaka responded, her voice laced with a painful understanding.
She was right. I wasn’t sorry. In the end, we both knew it would come to this. I had to embark on this journey, even if she couldn’t grasp its necessity. We had spent two years and seven months together, but the allure of a life as a doctor, unappreciated in this place, beckoned me to do more — for her, for myself, for us. We had always clashed over this aspiration, and perhaps we should have ended things earlier, but parting ways now proved infinitely more agonizing.
I watched as tears slowly trailed down Amaka’s cheeks, her final attempt to persuade me to stay. I left without uttering a proper goodbye; perhaps it was for the best. I guess.
“True love is when someone picks you up from or drops you at the airport, not everyone would go through that considering there are taxis for that now,”
“Let me be the one to pick you up from the airport. Maybe then your folks will change their perception of us Arochukwu people,” I replied, with an air of cockiness.
“But I’m already in Lagos, you fish,” Imelda responded, half laughing and trying to match the air of cockiness, with that laughter that was characteristic of her person. It was unforgettable to say the least.
“Just so you know, you’re the one hindering our chances of ending up together.”
“I’ll do better”,she winked
Imelda and I had been friends for so long that I couldn’t remember when it all began but one thing I recall, it all began because of her audacity. Another thing that stood out about her, she was a traveler, a free spirit, and I both envied and admired her for it. She truly lived life, and that was undeniably beautiful.
“I’ll try the picking up from airport thing again”
“or I would, who knows?”, Imelda replied
Imelda.
I hadn’t disclosed my departure to any of my other friends and colleagues. It wasn’t because I feared they were the “village people” working against my progress, but rather because I wasn’t prepared to be overwhelmed by the bittersweet flood of memories we shared let alone how they responded to the news. It would be too much for me to bear. Only Imelda knew, aside from my family, of course. She had left before me, yet we managed to keep in touch. I stared at my lifeless phone for a moment, dreading this final task that had to be done. Within the span of five minutes, I sent out a couple of messages to a few.
“Oh, alright, safe journey.”
“Congratulations, brother. We could have had one last celebration, but it’s fine.”
“Why are you telling me this just now? What do you expect me to say? Safe journey?”
The responses I received stirred up a cocktail of emotions, each in its own measure. The rest of the cab ride to the airport was spent re-reading those messages and gazing at Lagos, knowing it was my last farewell.
“nostos,” meaning “return home,” and “algos,” meaning “pain” or “ache.” When combined, they form “nostalgia,” which originally referred to a medical condition characterized by intense homesickness or a longing for one’s homeland”
Noon arrived. The check-in process went relatively smoothly, leaving me with ample time to drown in my own thoughts, meticulously observing every corner of the waiting area. Why couldn’t this country welcome people like me? Why did I have to leave in order to earn enough to provide for those I held dear? Amaka’s tear-filled eyes flashed through my mind, and I fought back the tears threatening to spill over. Anger coursed through me — anger at Amaka, at this country, at some of my friends, at life, at God, at myself.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are now ready to begin boarding for flight 245, Delta Airlines to John F. Kennedy International Airport, New York. Passengers, please proceed to gate 5 for boarding.”
That was my ride. I stole one last glimpse into the contents of my inner coat pocket. This was it. Despite having always been a loner, I needed someone by my side now more than ever. Wishful thinking, I suppose. It was time to depart; the line at gate 5 was growing longer.
“I’ll do you one better than just picking you up. Let’s travel together,” the voice came from behind. It was familiar, and heartwarming. Just what I needed.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the one to pick me up when I land?” I managed to quip before embracing her tightly.
“I wanted to be here, to ensure you didn’t get cold feet about our wedding arrangements,” she whispered.
“I have the palm wine in my other bag,” I replied in hushed tones.
Her smile lit up the world. Deciding to come back just to follow me was definitely more than just picking up or dropping off at the airport.
I looked around one last time before stepping onto the plane. I was going to miss this place.
