Member-only story
When I First Realised I Could Get to Heaven on My Own Accord
A first lesson in critical thinking
I was nine, and on my way back to boarding school in Ireland after spending my first Christmas holidays at home in Nigeria.
Pin-pointed with a huge sign slung around my neck resting on my chest for everyone to read, were the words ‘unaccompanied child’. Yes, I was flying completely on my own. Full of trust in the world of adults and in the belief, they were doing their best to accommodate me and ensure that I arrived safely in Cork to the welcoming arms of my Uncle Ted.
These comprised air hostesses assigned to cater for our safety and well-being as long as we were young customers of their airline — yes, there were usually a few of us, typical for those days of expat life in former British colonies and privileged nationals like our family. My father was the medical doctor for Nigerian Airways and so we could, as family members, travel for free.
I was on the last leg of my trip. I’d arrived in London Heathrow Airport early morning, and was on the connecting Aer Lingus flight to Cork.
I was sitting at the aisle and next to me at the window was a priest. Thinking back, I was probably seated next to him deliberately — to ensure that if I had any issues with flying, here was an adult who in his role as a…
