AIRtiquette

“Bode, you’re buying buns and a Scotch egg from a hawker on the road. Why?” 

That was me, probing my colleague, Dr Bode, about his decision to buy suspicious-looking snacks by the roadside. 

His response? 

“Baba, forget jare. I’m famished and we are running late. Do you know if we’ll be served food on her plane? What if there’s no food on board and, when we get to the site, all they expect us to do is start work?” 

That was Bode. An amazing friend and an even better doctor. He was a bit on the plus-size side. Very likeable and professional, but he had one weakness: food. 

If he were Esau, he would sell his birthright a second time in exchange for food without batting an eyelid. I say this so you understand just how bad my friend’s situation was when it came to food. And yes, there was something else. Bode had a particularly strong gastrocolic reflex. Eating a large breakfast often sent him looking for a bathroom soon afterwards. 

When we set out from our residence (we were young resident doctors who had recently graduated from medical school), he had already polished off a freshly made shawarma and a cold bottle of Sprite. 

“Tobi, you worry too much. We’ll be boarding a private jet. No queues, no hassles, and it’s just an hour and 45 minutes to Maiduguri International Airport, max,” he argued. 

There was no winning an argument with Bode. Arguing with him felt like feeding him more food. I let him be. 

A billionaire philanthropist who had devoted nearly a decade to partnering with the Federal Government to eradicate polio in some of the country’s most vulnerable regions had been assigned a few young medical officers to work with across the country. 

She had insisted on young doctors because, while working towards eradicating polio, she also wanted to give newly qualified medical doctors an unforgettable practical experience. 

Ten names were submitted, and her team selected five of us. Among the five selected were Dr Ogechi, Dr Abike, Dr Jubril, Bode and me. Bode and I were running late, but we still had time. Her team had asked us to arrive by 10.30 a.m. It was a few minutes to 10, and we were already approaching the airport road, so we were fine. 

Meanwhile, our other colleagues were already sending us updates about their situation. They were at the private wing of the airport, being treated like VVIPs. I looked at Bode. 

“See, how did you think a billionaire would bring a group of doctors together and not make sure they were catered for?” 

For once, Bode was quiet. We finally joined our colleagues at the lounge, and I realised I had chosen the wrong profession. 

“So this is what the ultra-rich enjoy at the airport? The same airport where people like me just run around trying to check in and not miss a flight?” 

There were canapés, fresh juice and water. We were well catered for. I took a couple of apples and some water, sat down and caught up with my colleagues. Bode couldn’t resist. He dug in, eating whatever took his fancy. 

Madam eventually arrived. We could feel her aura immediately. She was very polite, curious and warm. I looked for Bode before we left the lounge. He was nowhere to be found. Soon, we boarded her private jet. She led the way with her entourage, about four of them. We followed. I could almost feel a sense of pride creeping into my soul as we skipped all the usual checks on our way to her private jet. I wasn’t sure her staff had spent six years studying a course at university. 

“Where is your colleague?” one of her staff members asked us. 

My colleagues looked at me, expecting an answer, so naturally, everyone, including our host, turned towards me. 

“This plane is due to take off in the next 30 minutes. Being late for a programme is tacky. Where is your colleague?” 

I picked up my phone and called Bode again. It wasn’t my first attempt. I was beginning to worry but kept a straight face. 

“We leave as planned,” she instructed the flight crew. 

A few minutes later, Bode showed up, all sweaty and exhausted. 

“I’m so sorry, everyone. Madam, my apologies.” 

She looked him straight in the eye, genuinely concerned. 

“Are you all right? You must be Dr Bode. I haven’t met you yet, but I know everyone’s name.” 

Bode nodded. 

“I apologise. I had to get some things done.” 

We finally took off. 

I looked around the jet. I could get used to this. There were seats for everyone, a cabin attendant and a conference table. Once we were airborne, the meeting began. She asked us a few questions to get to know us better, including about our experiences so far. She also outlined the plans. She had not studied medicine, but she knew her onions. She understood what needed to be done and what she expected of us. As she spoke, a foul smell permeated the cabin, and she paused. 

“What’s going on here?” 

She looked around, and her gaze eventually landed on Bode. He was seated beside me. He looked uncomfortable and was sweating. Our host noticed. 

“Dr Bode, are you all right?” 

Embarrassed, Bode finally stood up and asked to be excused. A few steps away, he passed gas again, this time audibly. I closed my eyes. I knew there was something wrong with that strangely coloured Scotch egg he had bought by the roadside. Our host said nothing for several minutes. Five, perhaps, if I had to guess. She sat there, clicking her pen on and off with her thumb, looking at nothing in particular. The silence was awkward. I could only imagine what was going through her mind. She resumed, but the spark was gone. Bode did not come out of the lavatory until we landed. 

Once we did, she glanced towards the lavatory. I could tell, as could most of my colleagues, that she wanted to freshen up before stepping off. She signalled to the cabin attendant not to disturb Bode and improvised by applying her lip gloss and quickly touching up her make-up from her seat. 

Soon, we were out and got to work. It was indeed a great experience. I loved being part of the initiative, providing medical help to the less privileged. Bode eventually joined us, although he remained uncomfortable throughout the day. 

The rest of the days went well, and Bode had got his act together. 

On the final day, she hosted us, members of her team, Federal Government officials, medical volunteers and other foreign nationals at a buffet to celebrate the progress we had made through vaccinations, treatment, education and other efforts. It was the perfect ending to the project. 

Bode seemed to have forgotten what had happened on the plane and kept going back for refills. It was a very long table, but everyone could see one another. 

“Bode, what are you doing?” I whispered to my friend after his third visit to the buffet. 

“What’s the issue? That was food poisoning. Please let me enjoy myself after putting in hard work. Life is for the living,” he fired back. 

With that, I let him be. The next location was Zamfara State. She announced it and mentioned that she hoped to see everyone again in three months. We were all looking forward to it. The private jet, the VVIP status, the lounge, the accommodation and the first-class treatment. It was almost like living like kings and queens. And the day arrived. Everyone received an invitation except Bode. It came as no surprise to me. 

She had kept an eye on Bode. I thought her initial concern had gradually turned into a judgement about his discipline. That was how I saw it. I noticed how she looked at Bode when he got up for his third helping at the buffet. That was the moment she made up her mind. Bode’s abilities were not enough. She wanted more. Decorum and discipline.