The room we were given at the Airport West Hotel was much nicer than the one from our previous stay. It seemed odd to me that they wanted payment in full before we started our stay, but this saved us time in the morning in getting over to the airport. After a quick breakfast we and another couple boarded the hotel shuttle for the short trip to the airport. We were dropped off at the front of the airport and walked up to the front door, rolling our suitcases. We put placed our bags on the scanner, walked through the metal detector and were then frisked by the Ghanaian equivalent of the TSA. Everyone coming through also was subjected to a ‘pat-down’ so we know that we were not singled out for this treatment. It took a while to find the AWA (Africa World Airways) check-in area. But after asking for help, an airport employee directed us to the small area of the counter that handles AWA flight check-in.

After receiving our boarding passes we went to the immigration station and had our passport checked for departure. Then we were directed upstairs where we picked up the control form that must be surrendered before you leave the country. We filled it out, turned it in at the next desk and walked on to the gate. We had a little over an hour so we walked a few circles in the limited area we had, bought a soft drink to get something fizzy on the stomach, then went to the gate area to wait. When boarding time came, we surrendered our boarding pass and walked down the stair to the tarmac and boarded the bus that took us out to the plane. It was a nice, fairly new Embrair aircraft with one seat on one side of the aisle and two on the other. It was a quick 50-minute flight to Lagos.  The flight path took us out over the Gulf of Guinea flying fairly close to the shorelines of Ghana, Togo, Benin, and then over land once in Nigerian airspace. Lagos from the air is a massive city – some estimate up to 25 million people live here. While at times referred to as ‘The New York of Africa’ it appears most residents live in pretty austere conditions of poverty.

We landed on time and expected to be met at the gate by our ‘expediter.’ His job is to take us through customs on the fast track, walk us to a car and take us over to the Domestic Airport. We need to go to the Domestic Airport is because almost all flights within Nigeria do not originate at the International Airport, but at the Domestic airport. So we have to get there to catch a flight to where the Feast is being held in Benin City. Without an expediter we would have to go out on the street, find the right bus (or hire a taxi) to take us the fifteen minute drive to the other airport.

The International airport is quite a massive facility, but much of it seems to be unused and is disrepair. We are led on a walk from the plane to terminal building, but the door to enter is locked and the employee leading us does not have a key. She yells in an unknown tongue to another employee out on the tarmac, who radios in to the building. After a few minutes the door opens from the inside and we enter. We walk up the stairs, down a very long hallway eventually coming out at a customs control area. We get in the long line with no sight of our expediter anywhere. I’m beginning to think we were taken advantage of and will have to find our own way to the other airport.

We fill out the immigration form while standing in line. We walk through each of the steps, then are directed out to baggage claim.  Still no expediter. We pick up our bags from the turnstile and a man approaches dressed in a pink dress shirt and black trousers. He smiles and holds up his cell phone with our picture displayed in it – our ‘not-so-expediting-expediter’ has shown up after all! We had sent the company our picture before leaving for Africa so they could easily identify us when we arrived. Even though he missed one-third of his responsibility thus far, we were glad to see him. We followed him to an exchange station, changed a bit of US dollars to Nigerian Naira and headed outside. We were led to a small shaded bus-stop like booth and asked to wait there for our ride. There were half a dozen police officers here who all had an official responsibility which I could not discern. But their weapons clearly put them in charge of the traffic coming by. Our expediter asked us to wait and he would go and change clothes. He disappeared into a small shack and came out with his police uniform on and joined the crew that was working the area. 

Several of the policemen had ritual 'decorative' scars on their faces. Had we not been brought there by an officer it would have been a bit intimidating. One officer in particular – whom I’ll refer to as “Scarface” had three long scars on each side of his face that started near his cheekbone and ran down to the corner of his mouth. The second and third one started about half an inch from each other at the top, but all three met near the corner of his mouth. He had similar, shorter scars that ended near the corner of his eyes. Frankly, he looked frightening. But all I could think of was the suffering this man had gone through as a child when he received these knife cuts that were left open so these scars would form. A beautiful child’s face disfigured in this manner is barbaric and tragic.

About 15 minutes later our ride arrived in a very nice SUV – a car far too nice for the area. The driver was very pleasant, took our bags and motioned us to go ahead and get into the car. As we began walking from the hut to the car we had to go around Scarface. He said, “Blessing for a police officer?” It irritated me that this man would do nothing and then expect us to give him money. I simply shook my head and said, “Thank you.” I wanted him to think I didn't understand and that I was thanking him for his blessing. He repeated this phrase as we passed him and I repeated mine. We got into the car and that was the end of it as he did not pursue it any further. We chatted with our driver a bit over to the Domestic Airport and were dropped off at the curb in front of the terminal. We had three hours before our flight so we had plenty of time for the transfer.

We walked up to the door, placed all our bags onto the scanner removed our shoes and walked through a metal detector to the typical pat-down. We retrieved our things and found that someone’s water bottle had been squeezed and had gotten Pam’s backpack all wet – but thankfully only the exterior. In the terminal was a mass of people and a lot of yelling. Nigerians seem to be a louder and more forceful lot – at least this is our first impression of those in the airport.