Flying Whips

There was a short period during my nine or ten years in West Africa when I travelled quite frequently by air to Lagos. In the time of Generals Lagos was widely regarded by travellers as the chaos capital of the world. Unsuspecting air travellers like me had to learn very quickly how to handle the 'Lagos run'.

The domestic terminal at the airport, built in a long forgotten age of genteel air travel, was small, dilapidated and filthy. The contents of the loos spilled out into the passenger hall where there was nowhere to sit down and no services whatsoever. To promote a suitable degree of muddle as befits the Nigerian psyche, all domestic flights outbound and inbound, arrived at the same time of day. Inbound, they all arrived at 9 o'clock in the morning, outbound, they departed at 4 o'clock in the afternoon. The degree of confusion caused by scheduling all inbound flights to arrive at the same time never achieved quite the same pinnacle of success as that of scheduling all the outbound flights to leave at the same time. This is where the 'Lagos run' developed.

Passengers arriving early at the terminal for the afternoon flights out, stood around in the hall on a floor that resembled a cattle kraal. Gradually, the hall filled up with new arrivals and the crush became greater and greater, forcing those at the front to crowd up against the double-doors onto the apron. Outside the doors stood a long line of guards carrying hippo-hide whips. As the crush in the hall increased, the pressure on the front doors became un-containable until eventually they burst open, spilling passengers headlong out on to the apron. Here they were met by whip wielding guards who herded them back against the doors from which they had just been ejected. The mass of humanity behind was always greater than the mass in front and quickly a human delta formed around the front doors that grew larger as more and more people were forced through the doors contained only by an ever stretching line of whips.

In the constantly growing throng occupying the delta on the apron, the psychology was really quite interesting. A three deep layer of people along the periphery of the delta, who were in the direct line of fire of the whips, faced inwards and actually assisted the guards by trying to get back out of range of the cracking whips. The next layers would have nothing of it and struggled to keep a human shield between themselves and the whips. This was not easy because the ever-growing circumference of the delta demanded that more and more people occupy the hazardous front rows. Behind the second layer came the 'know-alls'. These were the ones who did it every day and knew which plane was flying to which destination. They stood up on tiptoes shouting out to anybody who cared to listen which plane was going to Kano and which to Jos, which to Sokoto and which to Maiduguri and so on. Most of them had a different tale to tell and minor scuffles often broke out amongst the 'know-alls'. Behind the 'know-alls' the crowd inexorably grew, driven on by bus loads of new arrivals in the tiny hall behind.

At around departure time, which was decided by the 'know-alls' because there was no public address system, the thin line of whips was so spread out that the periphery of the delta began to spring the occasional leak and a bulge would appear like bubble gum suddenly appearing out of somebody's mouth. Mostly, these bubbles were contained by a concerted attack of whips and the orderly delta was restored. However, it was not long before the outer layers, facing back towards the pressing throng behind, began to sense victory and, one by one, turned to face outwards and press forward with all the rest. The end was usually swift and complete. Like an amoeba, a bulge would suddenly appear where there were insufficient whips to contain it and a mass of humanity would surge forward through the bridgehead, overwhelming the guards in front and signalling the commencement of the 'Lagos run'.

Like some mythical serpent, the head of the long column pouring out of the breach of the delta snaked from side to side across the apron, briefly touching the steps of a plane, only to veer away and head for another. Hydra-like, the serpent sent out tentacles in all directions. Many of the tentacles were cut off at the foot of the stairs by whip wielding guards, but mostly the guards were overwhelmed and the aircraft steps were taken by storm. Briefly looking back from the crush at the head of the stairs revealed a sight resembling the path of a tornado. Women, children and nuns lay scattered like rag dolls amongst the brief cases, shopping bags and newspapers. Others walked dazed around the tarmac looking for lost relatives. All over the apron, around the aircraft and amongst the surrounding vehicles, tormented passengers hunted down the guards and whipped them to pulp with their own whips when they caught them.

Dallying at the head of the stairs to watch this unbelievable sight was not advisable. Possession of a seat was all that mattered at the end of the 'Lagos run'. I had learned that you must position yourself about one third of the way back in the column on the 'Lagos run'. Those in the first third, the storm troopers, often went to the wrong planes where they heroically vanquished the guards before discovering their error. And it was those in the first third who by trial and error actually determined without doubt which plane was going where and shouted the information back to those in the rear. If you were about a third of the way back, you were spared the blood bath at the foot of the stairs and had a pretty good chance of securing a seat on a plane going in your direction. Those in the last third did not get a seat and were forced to return the next day for another round.