Accidentally American – a quarter century odyssey

The Longest Day – PART 1
Sudden Flight

I had to leave hastily. The tip off left me no choice.
Maybe I can say this now as time has passed. I recognized him in the congregation as one of my captors although he wasn’t in uniform.
“Duragi has escaped,” was all he said. It was all he needed to say. My fellow “state house prisoner” whom I had left behind in prison when I was freed last year had finally decided to “free” himself. This wasn’t good news. For me at least.

I fled Abuja for Lagos aboard an incognito flight. Then crossed the border to Benin. Crossed to Togo but by then the border to Ghana was closed.
“I can smuggle you into Ghana but you won’t have a stamp on your passport if you’re planning to fly out from there, “ a man at the motor park offered.
Sadly I had to spend the night in Lome, Togo – a French speaking country where I couldn’t understand what was going on after my “guide” checked me into a hotel and went home for the night.
My first night on exile was unexpected. Actually my exile was unexpected. This was the beginning of the end of my life as I knew it…

The Longest Day Pt 2
In the wind

I woke up on what was to be my first full day in exile – in a strange country that I had never planned on being in.
My “guide” came and fetched me from my hotel, checked out and took me to the motor park in Lome for my onward trip to Accra Ghana as the borders were now open.
Afterwards, he asked me for a tip. I then told him how he had ripped me off the night before. I’d given him money to get me a meal at the hotel. He told me one price but I later went back to crosscheck and found he had inflated it.
It was a simple integrity check to know if he was truly helping or trying to dupe a stranded traveler – or both!
He hung his head in shame having been found out.
And so my first day in Togo, I had been slightly scammed.
Our taxi took off. The driver said he didn’t have change for me but would give me later.
We arrived Accra and I dashed to the airport to try and get on a flight out. As I made to pay the Accra taxi for the ride, I realized my Togo taxi never did give me my change. Two scams back to back…
At Accra airport, British Airways told me since I’d missed my flight the previous night, I would have to contact my travel agents to rebook me for the next available flight – in two todays.
I was stuck unexpectedly – in another country – again on my first full day in exile!

The Longest Day Pt 3
Hiber-nation

The checkin counter closed and the reality hit that I wouldn’t make the flight out that night to London.
Just then at Accra airport I remembered a conversation I had had on the eve of my escape from Nigeria with a friend who also happened to be visiting Lagos.
He’d said his uncle was with the UN in Accra.
I traced his house and introduced myself. I didn’t mention that I was a human rights lawyer fleeing my country. I hadn’t told my friend either. I figured the less people knew the better for them and me.
The kind professor took me in and hosted me for an idyllic weekend of deep conversations and exquisite cuisine from his idiosyncratic chef.
Till today, I marvel at the “coincidence” that a friend I ran into in Lagos – a mega metropolis of millions of people – just happened to mention that he had a relative in Accra who was able to put me up in my hour of need.
Some years ago I requested his uncle’s email and sent him a note of appreciation. He’s died of recent. I hope he got it…
I spent the next two days of my exile in limbo awaiting the next BA flight but in relative comfort, safety and serenity.

The Longest Day Pt 4
Black hole

On the appointed day, I left my comfy lodging at the UN compound for the airport. I boarded successfully with my one-way ticket to London about midnight.
We landed Heathrow around 5:30am and I joined the immigration line. Just as it got to my turn there was a changeover of immigration officers.
The new officer looked at my passport and began asking questions.
Why was I here?
I had a post graduate program to attend.
But it started last week?
I missed my flight and was delayed.
She said she’d have to check with the institution if I wasn’t too late for school.
I was moved to secondary inspection. There two officers thoroughly ransacked my luggage even squeezing out my toothpaste from the tube. It was then I knew the situation was serious.
The officer returned and informed me the school said I hadn’t paid a deposit on time so my admission had lapsed and so she couldn’t let me in.
I told her, well, she couldn’t send me back without creating an international incident as I was a human rights lawyer who had just fled a brutal regime.
The officer said she would call the High Commission in Abuja to verify my claims when they opened.
Some time later, she returned.
“You’ve got friends in high places. I understand you were recommended for a visa by our high commissioner.”
The hours dragged on and I was in legal limbo. I wasn’t in Ghana and I wasn’t in England. I was in an inter dimensional black hole of sorts.
Logistically, they couldn’t send me back because I only had a one-way ticket.
Politically, they couldn’t send me back because they had confirmed my status as fleeing a brutal regime.
Later that evening, the officer came to me.
“I can’t send you back but I can’t let you in either. Tell me, what do I do?”
It was a magical moment when my captor was seeking guidance from me on how to determine my fate.
“Well if you won’t let me in, why not send me on to another country that actually believes and practices democracy and human rights?”
“What country?” She asked.
“America”
“Do you have a visa?”
“Yes.”
She jumped up excitedly and dashed to consult with her superiors.
She came back shortly brimming with joy.
“We’d be happy to see you on your way to America.”
She searched for flights and found out only two flights were left to US from a different airport at 5pm and 6pm. Both to New York.
I had to buy a ticket immediately. Long story for another day.
Finally they got me a vehicle and we raced to stansted airport to catch the last flight to New York. America.

The Longest Day Pt 5.
Accidentally American

I landed in New York’s JFK airport that night. Unplanned. Unexpected. Exhausted.
I had first traversed three countries in 24 hours then now done three continents in one day.
The immigration officer began to interrogate me.
Why was I wearing a jacket in the hot weather?
I was dressed for UK weather not US but I didn’t explain that to him.
Do you have any money?
I had a bunch of Nigerian naira that I didn’t have the chance to change to dollars because of my sudden departure.
The currency confused him. It looked like I was going to be detained again in secondary inspection but I was too tired to care. Let the heavens fall…
What do you do?
I’m a lawyer.
Why didn’t you say that before? Here’s your passport. Welcome to America!
I was too exhausted to be exhilarated or otherwise. Frankly I was just in another country/city I didn’t plan to be in like Accra or Lome except that this New York in America was scarier.
After I crossed immigration, I had nowhere to go really. I walked to the pay phones against the wall because that’s what most people were doing but I didn’t have anyone to call.
Finally it was my turn in the queue and I phoned a human rights organization whose number I saw on a pamphlet I got in England during my prior visit earlier in the year. It went to voicemail. Of course. It was night time. No one would be in the office!
Then a young man and woman at the next pay phone beside me said, “we just called the YMCA in Manhattan. They have only two rooms left. If you’d like to split a taxi, we can go there now.”
I said, “yes.” I had no other plan. Not A, B or C. O!
We rode together from the JFK airport. While the Australian couple oohed and aahed about the sights of NY, I was slumped in the back seat too exhausted and apprehensive to look.
What on earth was I doing in America?

The Aussie’s split the fare two ways instead of three. I’d been scammed again but it was ok. That was their commission for helping get a room and taxi. YMCA I knew stood for Young Men’s Christian Association so the hostel must be safe, I imagined.

We got there. I paid and went up to my room. I walked in and saw something I had never seen in my life – a TV locked in a cage! What on earth was I doing in New York???

As I lay down in my bed, little did I realize the full import of the fact that I had lost complete control of my life and my plans from the moment Officer M. Richard’s took my passport into her hands at London Heathrow hours ago.

I traveled from Accra, Ghana at midnight and lost one hour when I got to London which was on GMT. Then traveled to New York and gained five hours on EST. I had traveled through seven time zones on three continents.

I had literally just spent the longest day of my life thus far. 31 hours in one day in September 1997 when I accidentally arrived in America.