Twenty minutes into his afternoon walk, Musa soon found himself at the heart of Victoria Island. Unlike any other part of Lagos, the city reminded him of his time in Beirut, with a handful of interesting neighborhoods, and exciting hangouts at every corner. However, fences separating buildings from pavements were what differentiated Victoria Island from Beirut, as well as the streets not being built over hills. But, to Musa, it was close enough in comparison. 

It was 2005 when Musa, on one rainy day, found himself strolling through his old neighborhood one last time. Since his childhood, a lot had changed, but not in a way that would ever put him at ease. Most of his favorite shops and bakeries had since shut down, including the childhood store that his father once rented, with most of his friends from primary school no longer around. Fences bore signs of posters from the last elections, many of the roads were left unmaintained, roundabouts reduced to mud and decaying concrete, and the gutters were completely filled with sand.

Then again, it didn’t surprise Musa that constant queuing by each filling station, in addition to trailers making their way to the seaports, drove most residents away from Apapa. Businesses that remained, as well as new ones, struggled to find customers.

“This looks like a war-torn country,” Musa thought to himself.

As fate had it, just as he was about to enter Warehouse Road, a familiar face crossed paths with Musa.

"Musa?” the stranger exclaimed. Seeing that Musa was a bit confused, he pulled up his shades, and said, “Do you remember me? It’s Wale.”

Musa, with a huge smile across his face, was ecstatic. “Hey, Wale!” he exclaimed, with both boys exchanging handshakes.

“It’s been long. How’re you doing?” Wale asked.

“Fine,” Musa said. “And you?”

“Great,” Wale said. “What brings you here?”

“I just wanted to see Apapa one last time. I’ll be traveling to Lebanon on Friday,” Musa said.

“You’re leaving Nigeria forever, or just for studies?” Wale asked.

“Just studying,” Musa said, “but I might move to the GCC once I graduate.”

“I see,” Wale said. “My brother and I will be flying over to the States by next month.”

“I see,” Musa said.

“It was nice seeing you again. Take care of yourself,” Wale said, giving Musa some handshakes one last time.

Seeing his old friend couldn’t have put a wider smile on Musa’s face, if only he could have remembered to ask Wale for his email address. Alas, he had little time left before the sun would begin to set, and the rain would become heavier.

As he got home, Musa was looking to put away the rainy boots that he had borrowed from his father, although without asking, as his parents passed by to welcome him. But, filled with rage, Mrs. Shajareh gave a menacing stare at what her son was holding.

“What the Hell is this? Did people see you wearing those boots? They’re for construction workers, not for people like us!” she bellowed.

Musa was a bit confused. In his mind, the leather boots were similar to what one might assume Londoners would wear on a rainy day. To his mother, however, it appeared that he had just committed something taboo in the streets of Lagos.

She then turned to her husband, and said before storming off, “I want you to send this your son to Lebanon as fast as possible. I want him to learn how to act normal.”

In addition to loneliness, bearing his mother’s moodswings had been the norm throughout Musa’s adolescence. Of course, this also meant isolating himself in his room for the night yet again.

On Friday, Mr. Shajareh drove Musa to the entrance of the Murtala Muhammed International Airport. Musa had already hugged his mother and his little brother Rabi’a before leaving home, hence he felt it was appropriate to do the same with his father by the airport. Having dropped his suitcase, all he had to do was wait with the other passengers at the terminal, with few others more joining them by the last hour.

Musa opened his hand luggage and pulled out a book to read, but also his secondary school certificates. Due to poor sales at his store, Mr. Shajareh took Musa out of his school two years earlier, and had him enroll in a local secondary school. Hence, instead of an international certification, Musa settled with a regional certification. It was accepted in numerous countries outside of West Africa, so Musa felt certain that it’d be good enough in Lebanon as well. This was in addition to spending a year at an IT institution for good measure.

“I hope they accept them,” Musa thought to himself, as he put his certificates back.

At last, airline staff opened the gate, and started calling out each passenger by name. Like a child entering an amusement park for the first time, Musa pulled his hand luggage through the bridge with excitement. It was his first time entering an airplane this way. As he took his seat, he pulled out his new color screen phone, from the same manufacturer as his first phone, and typed a quick SMS to his parents.

“I’m in the airplane. I’ll call you guys when I land in Beirut,” he texted.

Within two minutes, Mr. Shajareh responded, “That’s good. Safe journey.”

After forty more minutes of waiting, Musa’s airplane began to make its way to the runway. In under a minute, the airport in its entirety could be seen from a distance, only made visible by electricity in a night scenery. With all lights turned off, the airplane began to build momentum and made its ascend into the sky. Unlike most passengers, Musa left his window unshut, watching the Lagosian landscape rapidly shrink before being completely blanketed by clouds. The journey was both frightening and exciting.

The flight lasted for over six hours, but it was too exciting, and rather uncomfortable, to sleep for more than an hour. Instead, Musa took the time to watch a selection of in-flight films, and indulged in airplane meals. He heard people complaining about the quality of airplane meals, but he would grow rather fond of them ever since that flight.

At last, the captain made his announcement in Arabic and, then, in English.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We’re making our descent. We will be landing at Rafic Hariri International Airport in the next ten minutes,” he said.

Shortly after, all the seatbelt signals lit up, hence prompting passengers, Musa including, to fasten their seatbelts.

Musa had kept track of the airplane’s route throughout the flight. On the display right in front of him, he often switched to the map software while also watching the scenery outside the window.

However, what he saw next was truly astonishing. With the sun rising above the Mediterranean Sea, what seemed to be Beirut and its surrounding regions from a distance drew nearer. The next thing he knew, the airplane was just meters above the city landscape as it made its descent onto the runway. As it came to a stop, everyone onboard started cheering and clapping, as Musa was greeted by the morning scenery of the surrounding mountains, and the airport itself.

It was another thirty minutes till Musa was able to pick up his suitcase. Making his way to the arrival section of the airport, his cousin, Karim, and one of his uncles-in-law, Abdulaziz, welcomed him by the exit.

“Musa, you finally made it,” Karim said, as he and Abdulaziz gave him kisses as part of Lebanese customs.

“I remember when you were small,” Abdulaziz said, as he took a good look at Musa.

Musa and his family made their way to the parking lot, where Abdulaziz gladly dropped Musa’s suitcase in his car’s trunk. With no time wasted, they made their way into northern Beirut by taking the expressway to Burj Abi Haidar. With the sun rising much higher, Musa could appreciate the beauty of the Beiruti city landscape up close. But, having to now call Beirut his home, his dream of becoming a banker could finally be realized, while leaving behind him worries and regrets from his past.