For some reason, my Kenya Airways (KQ) flight gate from Nairobi to Lusaka was never posted, then an hour before it was due to take off, the flight was cancelled. Oh, no! That meant I would have to go to the dreaded KQ transit desk at the Nairobi International Airport. The transit desk is like hell on earth, always full of unhappy people, and those are just the ticket agents. The passengers themselves are truly a desperate and bedraggled lot, straggling in from the ends of the earth to catch a plane to nowhere.
Even I was not prepared for what I saw on approaching the transit desk. There was a large crowd of West Africans, judging by their clothing, clustered around a few Kenya Airways agents, about 10 feet from the desk, shouting and gesturing furiously. Well, actually, they were shouting and gesturing by turns, allowing each one to get a deep breath and unleash a tirade, then catch his breath while the others took a shot. The ticket agents were valiantly trying to get them to calm down, but this had no effect on the crowd. The French speakers among them also needed to time to make insults in English.
It did not augur well for me and the people ahead of me in line that there was such an angry mob just feet away. We hoped that we would be able to book a new flight and get a hotel room for the night without going ballistic like that group was doing. Their onward flight to Dubai had been cancelled.
They were from Cameroon, a people known for their tenacity. The Cameroonians seemed to think that if they shouted long enough and loud enough, KQ would suddenly say, “My word, look, we just found a new plane to Dubai for you, and it’s ready to leave in five minutes. You’re all in business class!” As it became clear this would not happen, and that they would have to wait until the next night, they got angrier still. Finally, they decided to start an “Occupy” movement in the airport. To our amazement, they began to rearrange the turn-styles in front of the transit desk, to rope the entire transit area off.
We asked what they were doing, and the answer seemed to be, ”If we don’t fly, then nobody flies! We are taking over the transit desk!” Several of the men were large and stocky, and they blocked all access to the agents. Bewildered, and unfamiliar with the notion that if we were unhappy, we could mutiny, we remaining passengers suggested to the KQ agents that they might want to call security to intervene.
The KQ agents called, and after about 10 minutes, a security guard came. He saw the mob, and started to slink away. They would have none of it. They insisted that he come over and arrest them. He smiled. He walked up politely and was immediately surrounded by the Cameroonian crowd, who berated him soundly. A policeman also wandered into view, saw what was happening, and gave them wide berth. His expression seemed to say, “Oh my, that looks very unpleasant. Mustn’t go get myself mixed up in that!”
At this point, we remaining passengers became hopelessly embroiled in the Cameroonian cause. Their fight was our fight. Their delay was our delay. Their anger was… their anger. And they could argue! I could not follow their arguments, but judging from their expressions and gestures, it went like this:
“We are from Cameroon, and we are very angry. “
“Yes, very angry, and we can argue for a long time!”
“Therefore, you must give us a plane to Dubai tonight! Or we will continue to occupy this desk!”
Their anger was generalized from the KQ ticket agents to anyone nearby who might be listening, with the intent being either, we wish to intimidate you as well, or perhaps you‘d like to join us and argue:
“Yes, look how angry I am, my eyes are bulging!”
“Me, I am grimacing at you! Look. My mouth can twist itself in several unpleasant ways!”
“I am irritated, and I have a thick neck, from which the veins are popping out alarmingly!”
“The top of my shaven, bowling-ball shaped head is sweating with anger!”
“Watch out, I am rapidly furrowing my eyebrows at you!”
“See, I am wagging my finger at you, and my bruddah, he is gesturing wildly at the same time!”
The range of sizes and shapes of the Cameroonians, plus the fact that the women had joined in, was an impressive display of national unity, or perhaps of dysfunction. The arguments seemed to go as follows:
“I am a large Cameroonian man, with a substantial waistline, and unless you bring in a forklift to pick me up, I am standing in front of the desk and not moving!”
“I am a small Cameroonian man, but I can SHOUT VERY LOUDLY, and I never get tired of arguing, believe me!”
“We are Cameroonian women, but in spite of our fancy dresses and headscarves, we can still kick your butts!”
“We are from Cameroon, and we can talk very, very loudly, for a very long time!”
“Also, we do not get tired of arguing, even if it does not seem to be working.”
“Do you want to argue with us? Does anyone want to argue with us? Please, argue with us!”
And so it continued. The Cameroonians held their positions without serious challenge from either the police or airport security. This went on for about 45 minutes. Like the Occupy movement, the nature of their demands was unclear. The expectation that KQ would produce a plane seemed wildly unrealistic. However, if we could have read their minds, their refusal to stay in Kenya overnight might have read:
“We want to fly to Dubai tonight. We cannot overnight here. The shops there are still open!”
“Yes, we can’t stay here for nutting. We have little time to buy things before returning home.”
“If we do not bring back gifts for everybody, our relatives will insult us, more than we insult you!”
“If we cannot buy things to sell when we return, we will lose money on our trip. We’ll be ashamed!”
“Yes, we are traders; everyone in the community will laugh at us if we do not make a profit later!”
By now, we other passengers had begun to figure out a subterfuge. As KQ agents in neon vests went in and out of the transit area, we could slip them our old boarding passes, and like Aladdin, get a new lamp for old. They slid us new boarding pass on their way back out from behind the desk. The Cameroonians seemed to be aware this was going on, but had decided they could not stop us leaving. Their reaction:
“Aha, we see that you are clever. You are secretly giving the KQ agents your old boarding passes.”
“Ah, they are giving you tickets for the next flight out. Do you think we care? We do not care at all!”
“Oh, you are leaving the transit area and walking back to re-enter Kenya for a hotel voucher?”
(From a distance) “We.. see.. you .. walking.. away.. from.. us. You.. think.. have.. won... but.. no!”
“We… know… that… you… will...get… a…hot…meal…and…a…nice…shower…and…soon… go…to… bed!”
“You….think….we….will….get….discouraged….but….we….will….never….give….up….or….stop….arguing!”
“You…..think…..that…..being…..patient…..and…..polite…..is…..better…..but…..you…..are…..wrong!’
“While……you……are……wasting……time……sleeping……we……will……be……in……Dubai……shopping!”
Their loud, angry voices faded into the distance. Welcome to Cameroon. Would you like to argue?
