My Krossroads

Have often wondered why, during  international travels, I receive the special attention of security agents in the form of less than friendly stares or being pulled out of line for special interrogation and drilling. Is it something about me, my luck, my personality or something about my physical structure? Is it something about the way I dress, the quality of clothes I wear, the eye glasses I put on or the way I speak? For clarity, some of my travel experiences have nothing to do with my nationality. I’ll explain shortly.

Travelling overseas comes with a good mix of pleasure and pain. But it is the joyful part that most people tend to recall. After five weeks of holiday in Nigeria, I was on my way back to Australia when my travel nemesis showed up at Gate 217 of Terminal 3, Dubai International Airport. Last Sunday, a security official (at the entrance to Gate 217) who checked passengers’ travel documents, concluded that I bore no resemblance to the passport photograph in my international travel passport.

As soon as I handed my passport to the security officer, he flicked through the pages as if he was looking for certain evidence stuck somewhere inside my passport with which he would prosecute me. I looked at him nonchalantly. Occasionally, he gazed at me with a hint of disdain. He asked where I came from. I replied. He demanded to see my Nigerian Passport. I pulled it out of my shoulder bag and gave to him. He scrutinised it and handed it back to me. All the while, his fingers continued to riffle through my Australian Passport. The passenger behind me was becoming restless. Occasionally, he would mutter some words, perhaps his own way of expressing disappointment with the security officer’s slow pace of checking my passport.

At one point, I asked the security official if he was having problems with my passport or if I should remove my eye glasses so he could see my face properly and compare my image to the photo in my passport. He ignored me and continued flipping through the passport pages. I stood and watched. Finally, he looked up, shot a glance at me, and said: “You don’t resemble the photograph in your passport. You look much younger in your passport photograph than you look in person.” He then fixed a long hard look at me. If he expected me to blink because of the way he was probing me with his eyes, he was mistaken. I returned to him my own gawky gaze. We were now locked in a psychological contest eyeball-to-eyeball.

I wondered whether I should shout at his stupidity or throw in a satirical comment. I decided on none of the options. Common sense should have informed the man that anyone would look much younger in the photograph contained in an international passport issued eight years ago. The reason is simple: for everyday that passes, we grow older, not younger. But this security official was not in the mood to apply common sense. He called on his female colleague to have a look. Mercifully, the woman took one glance at the passport, looked at me and signalled to the man to return my passport to me.

By the time my passport was returned to me, anger had already welled up to my throat. I tried to calm myself with the philosophical reminder: the ability to remain calm in the face of all provocations is the hallmark of maturity. I also reasoned that, out of every bad experience, something good is likely to emerge. This axiom proved to be true because of what happened next.

When I got to the boarding area, I handed my boarding pass to the Emirates Airline staff. The woman slipped the boarding pass through a machine that spun out some information about me. Then the woman looked at me and said: “Sir, you have been upgraded to the business class.” I couldn’t contain my joy. To be upgraded to the business class is a wish that every economy class passenger constantly dreams about. The good news proved to be the balm that finally soothed the pain and the indignity inflicted on me by the security officer.

My experience at Dubai International Airport last Sunday was by no means the first or indeed the worst. In August 1992, I travelled to Bangkok, Thailand, to attend a UNESCO-sponsored conference. I was a post-graduate student on an Australian Government scholarship. I was in company of two other colleagues from the same university. I was also travelling with the Nigerian Passport.

As soon as I tendered my Nigerian Passport to the passport control officer at Bangkok International Airport, the officer yelled repeatedly: “Nigeria, Nigeria, Nigeria” Almost immediately, I saw other airport officials racing in the direction of the officer. I didn’t understand why the officer was shouting hysterically and why other airport officials were caught in a stampede. Could the sight of the Nigerian Passport or the passport bearer be the main reason for such panic? It didn’t take long before I realised what was happening. I was upset by the way the passport control officer embarrassed me simply because I carried the Nigerian Passport.

A few minutes later, two officials led me to a small room where I was questioned about my mission to Thailand, the state of my health and whether I had in my possession the international yellow fever vaccination card. Two days later, I met a Nigerian academic who was a staff of the university that hosted the conference. I narrated my ordeal to him. He showed no emotion but explained that it was common for Nigerian Passport holders to be treated like criminals in Thailand because of the extraordinarily large number of Nigerians on death row for drug trafficking. He also explained that a Nigerian professor at the University of Ibadan, who was at the conference, was subjected to a similar treatment. To rub in the insult, the professor (names withheld) was ordered to report to airport officials everyday till he left the country.

Although I reside in Australia, my residential status has not shielded me from occasionally sad experiences at different Australian airports. I recall an experience some years ago at Kingsford Smith International Airport in Sydney. I was returning from a research trip to Nigeria and Ghana. Unfortunately, owing to industrial action by Indian air traffic controllers, the KLM flight could not pass through Indian airspace.

The flight was forced to make an unscheduled stopover in Karachi, Pakistan, to await the end of the industrial action in India. The stopover meant that passengers in that KLM flight lost significant travel time. By the time I arrived in Sydney, I was already feeling unwell and uncomfortable owing to inability to shower or change clothes. It was in this condition that I arrived in Sydney sweating.

As soon as a security official noticed that I was sweating, he concluded that there must be something unusual about me. I was pulled out of the queue and asked why I was sweating. I was informed by my interrogators that my sweat suggested that I was nervous for some reason. Was I attempting to export into Australia any prohibited or illicit goods? The officials wanted to know. In all my readings, I have not seen any report – published or unpublished – which shows a direct link between a sweating passenger and an impending criminal activity.

In January 1999, I travelled to Auckland, New Zealand, on a short holiday visa. When a customs officer saw my light luggage, he felt something eerie about me. First, my luggage had to be scrutinised to ensure that I was not carrying a dangerous weapon or prohibited goods. When the officer noticed that I had no shorts but only trousers and shirts in my luggage, his instincts triggered off an alarm. How could you visit New Zealand, a popular holiday destination, for such a few days and with trousers and no shorts? The officer asked. I told him I was not accustomed to wearing shorts. But I also asked him whether I had broken the country’s laws by visiting without shorts.

The paradox in all these experiences is that different countries have different ways of identifying potential criminals in their airports, even if the indicators often prove to be outlandish, and even if the supposed criminals are nothing but decent, honest, and law-abiding travellers.

Levi Obijiofor

culled from the Guardian