Isma

Life is all about learning. You study in school for the first half of your life just to be comfortable in the second half. I’m a Nigerian. I come from the northern part (So you don’t think I’m drowning in oil money) My father was a retired banker before he passed away (more on that in own exclusive post). My mother works for the government, thought she is THE government that I’ll ever depend on.
When I was young, I’d make fighter jet aircrafts out of paper and run round the house (it seems much smaller now). I’d go play in my fathers living room and occasionally even in his bedroom. He would tell me abt jets, missiles and various other modes of aerial warfare.
The reason I brought this up is because to this day I’m still fascinated by Aircrafts. I want to fly.
I actually received an admission letter from a Flying School in Jordan (I’m not gonna bother remembering the name).
Here’s the thing, I’m pretty good with computers. Infact I’m an Internationally certified computer Technician. The time came to come back to reality. I did. And I decided I’d study Information Systems. I really hope I don’t regret it.
Oh! In between I wanted to be a petroleum engineer after meeting someone that make $100,000  a month (ikr!!!!!)
Anyways I ended up receiving a similar letter from the Liaoning University, In China. Lord knows I wanted to go to China! See the great wall (which is the boundary of the earth according to my culture). I wanted to learn KungFu!. I wanted to eat rice with chopsticks. I wanted to eat  frogs and roaches. I wanted to go gaga.
Then One faithful day, my Bestfriemd and I were talking. She told me that in two weeks she’d be leaving for Egypt. I was shocked! Because frankly I couldn’t stand being without her. She is my  compass. She is my…… (More on that  in her own exclusive post)
I immediately started seeking  admission into 6th October University im Egypt, at the same time sabotaging the Chinese efforts. The day finally came for her to leave. If any of you have been to Nigeria then you know how bad  telecommunications in  nigeria is. Or maybe it was just my phone.
The sad thing is the night before we were on the phon…. You have 1 minute remaining . God Damn I hate that woman! I start saying my goodbyes. “….Goodbye” I say.  I’m not one to believe in the unseen affecting our actions but immediately it came outta my mout ….. Your call credit has been exhausted and your call terminated!. Suddenly I remember Bash. Bashir Abdullahi was one of my most loved cousins. One night they came to our house. I escorted them out after a day of jest and joy . He turns around and he says “Khalil, Goodbye” And that was the last I saw of him. He died that very night. My Goodbye to her somehow reminded me of Bashs’ to me. Next morning network starts acting up. Things get so scattered and it eventually ended up turning into somewhat of a fight. We didn’t talk for a long time after that. Got into something. She’s the only person that I feel comfortable telling everything to.
By this point I don’t want to got the same university with her. I pick the first admission letter I receive, which happened to be from the Modern University For Technology and Information. I bribed a few Officials to get my passport renewed. Another bribe to get my Visa done real quick.
Here’s something I forget to mention,  Plan A was for both me and my mom to come to Egypt, After I’d settled down that’s when she’d leave. Her Passport wasn’t submitted early enough ($300 would have taken care of it) and the session had started.
The whole fam pack into 2 cars and off to the airport we go. Soon war erupts in my head, I HAVE TO GO. Don’t let them notice this! Ibrahim You’re a Man! I hold it back and say bye to my brothers, cousins and my sister. I miss her, she misses me too but no1 is gonna admit it. Rabu’i our driver too. He actually taught me how to drive, and in those few weeks and later years to come  we became very good friends. I pull my box and pull towards the terminal. My mom walks with me. There’s this feeling within me that I can’t express in words. We reach the door and I just feel……   I cannot even think of a way to describe how it felt for me to say goodbye to my mother. I don’t care if It’s lame, I don’t care if I’m a boy or a man. Quite honestly the only thing I cared abt was living in that moment! Cherishing my moms presence. Savouring it. I say bye. She says bye. We just stand there looking at each other. She gives me a gentle nudge, I understand. She always had a way of talking with her eyes.
I’m in the terminal now.
This shady guy that my mom has appointed to “watch over me” is just something else. I’ve known him only for a few minutes and he’s acting as I’d were technically twins. I hate that he fooled her with the performance. I bring out a bag. I could swear that bag has been to hell and back.  Daddawa, tafarnuwa and many other skataskata tins. He seems baffled that 32 cans of milo won’t fit in his bag (Shocker). Before I could say ‘Cat in a hat’ he had put two cans into my backpack. So [that’s what the performance was for!]. I as I walk my heart pounds like crazy! What if he has heroine in it?
Cocaine?
Don’t Arab counties decapitate people for that?
Alhamdulillah!
I pass the searches. I just quickly get in the plane and hand him his ‘things’.
A long flight, and that was the time I realised how crappy airplane earpieces are!. We land safely in Cairo. An Uncle of mine had already arranged exclusive services for me. There I see a guy holding a card that read Ibrahim Isma in bold letters. Yes!! I’m rescued! They direct me to their lobby. It’s just….. Perfect. After a few minutes they came. I followed them out. I changed some money, bought a sim card and went home.
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