“Habibi.”
Habibi, four (as he said he were), is probably not flying for the first time (if you also factor in the number of times, he’s ran around the neighborhood, mimicking a bird in flight). I rambled around at him about what I was doing when I was four – playing ball, flying kites, 'riding tyres', learning Hausa, counting planes and swans that fly past above. “Your generation is quite blessed”, I murmured to Habibi; and he replies in Hausa.
“inna jin tsoro.”
He’s scared. The plane begins lift off. That's the part you feel your eye rolling, and pressure building in your ears. My friend, who’s buckled besides me, knows that feeling so much. She complains of not bringing her pair of earpiece along.
Habibi closes his eyes and smiles.
As the plane has stabilizes in flight, he opens his eyes and looks out the window. 1, 2, 3…10, 12; Habibi is counting the cars he can see down below. He smiles, and tells me in Hausa; “ga motochi.” He points at cars he can see from nigh. When asked how many he could count, he smiles and replies:
“one hund-i-red.”
Habibi’s family is headed to Owerri. From appearance, you know they are of North-Eastern descent. I didn’t find time to count how many they were, as my attention was divided between my friend and the book I was attempting to read. I bumped into her, a little before I boarded the plane. She just won’t stop asking what I was going to Owerri to do, and my response of “I’m going to tweet” was not satisfactory.
I kept comparing a four year old me, and Habibi. His meekness spread a smile across my face, and told myself, my generation is blessed too.
Habibi keeps peering through the window, and each time he did, I followed suite, not out of curiosity, but for the fact that each time I have the luxury of flying, I learn again, the concepts of Geography.
An ardent student from primary school, it wasn’t any mistake when my Geography teacher in secondary school said in class, that I was going to study Geography at the university. What transpired between him and I in my fist of anger, is a story for another day.
Today, I’m a trained geographer, no professional certifications, no work experience in the field, but every time, I’m amazed by the depth of learning I get when I go high up in the skies –flying or mountaineering . Today, I was opportuned to peek out just when we were flying above Lokoja. I could see in the background, the slow winding River Niger, it’s ox-bow lakes and the small islands formed here and there within it.
I’m always left amazed by the power of nature every time, whether it’s the desert formations in Niger, Mali, Libya or Tunisia; the River Sasandra or San Pedro in Cote d'Ivoire, the River Niger or the thick forests of central West Africa; I’m more than amazed by the power of nature, the creation of God, and by the level of learning I get when I behold.
Flashes of classroom instruction overcome me, and then I see myself going through my Gho, Cho &; Leong textbook, which formed the foundation upon which all of my understanding of geography is built.
As the cumulus clouds thicken and our view is obstructed, Habibi shuts his window, and returns to life in the plane. My ears are giving way to the pressure in the cabin, and I quickly dive in to my pocket for my earpiece, archiving that experience for another day in a bid to try and enjoy the flight to Owerri.
We got to Owerri in time, and Habibi remained my companion as we approached the arrival lobby. Habibi was dragging his luggage on wheels, and offered to carry my strap-on bag, which weighed almost double his weight. He said it in a way that humored me, and I erupted in laughter. His guardian looked our way, and smiled. Habibi must be the Sanguine of the lot, and his guardian must have thought, “Habibi has met his type.”
Fates had to separate us as he had to wait for the rest of the family to get their luggage, and I had to catch my taxi taking me to Owerri.
I murmured to him a prayer, “God bless thee child”, and he just characteristically smiled on!
