December 10, 2005: My Husband's Account...

December 10, 2005 is a day I cannot forget in spite of a natural propensity not to indulge in unpleasant memories. Here was a day that began like every other day before it, no unusual expectations except that I planned to surprise my wife, Ijeoma and the kids, Kechi and Tara with an announcement later that day in Port Harcourt. Ije and the kids would be in Port Harcourt that day because Kechi was coming in from her school in Abuja, and Ije was picking her from the airport. I was going to tell them that we were moving house from Aba to Port Harcourt, something I had been discussing with Ije for a while.

So on this seemingly regular day, I had concluded my preparations for departure to Port Harcourt from our residence in Aba, put my stuff in the car and was standing by the car in the court yard chatting and sharing a coke with my brother, Ikenna, prior to driving off when a call came through to my mobile. It was my wife and there was a note of panic and near hysteria in her voice.

"Mike I don't know what is happening, I don't understand what they are saying. They say Kechi's plane is in trouble, it's like its going to crash ...”

It was a crazy, bizarre and frightening call all at once. I was trying to calm her down, "calm down, woman, slow down, what exactly is the problem?" when she trailed off and the line cut off. I turned to narrate this strange call from Ije to Ikenna and had barely started when she called again this time to confirm that the plane had crashed.

I truly cannot recall clearly my immediate reaction. All I remember was that soon after I found myself on the high way speeding towards Port Harcourt. On reflection, however, I dimly recall smashing the coke bottle against the fence of my court yard, spinning into my car and telling Ikenna I must get to the airport at once. I suspect Ikenna offered to drive but I would not hear of it, my mind was a complex of confusion, anger and fear. Not the best state to drive in, but I probably would have gone mad en route, were I not driving.

It was simply insane. This was not supposed to happen, not to a plane load of growing innocent children coming home for Christmas. Barely weeks before, a Belleview plane had crashed en route Abuja from Lagos. This was an outrage.

That was the state of my mind. I was angry, even furious at the indifferent fate that would let this happen but there was also an inescapable  knot  of  cold  fear  at  the  back  of  my  mind  grimly acknowledging the inevitable reality of my wife's phone call and the fact of tragedy and death as part of our lives.

I imagine that was where I was emotionally when I started calling my friends asking them to arrange for an ambulance for the airport. In fact, Ezigbo and Patrick(Sule) were unaware of the crash before I called them. 

From them, and a few others I had called, came the uncertain assurance that plane crashes can be survived and this was probably a crash landing which was even less fatal, hence an ambulance might be a little hasty. George, on the other hand, provoked spiritual assurance. He simply said, ' No it's not true, Mike, Kechi can't die! I will put it in prayer right now and I am joining you in Port Harcourt.'

Perhaps it was the confidence with which he said it or his apparent faith in prayers but in that drive to the airport I found myself actually praying silently for a miracle, for a reality less tragic than the message I got and making every kind of promise to God should I get my miracle. One promise I remember making was that if God saved Kechi, I was going to become a born-again Christian.

To this day I frankly cannot figure out how I drove over 65 miles of rough and tumble turnpike to get to the airport in less than an hour and a half on a busy Saturday. Perhaps it was all part of the miracle I prayed for, because I got my miracle, and Kechi lived and lives on today as a testimony that miracles still happen and a memorial to her colleagues, that we may never forget that December 10, 2005 happened.

When Ije called to say that Kechi was alive, there was an immediate loosening of the cold knot of fear inside me. I remember that Ikenna said to me, 'Well, it looks like you are about to become born-again.’

Then the fear came back and I was thinking that sometimes people survive accidents only to die later, then I thought maybe the crash was not so bad. In the midst of these see-saw of emotions, I arrived at the airport, and Ije and I began the mad dash to Braithwaite Memorial Hospital. The traffic was insane, and I remember I told Ije to take a commercial motor bike which would get there faster, I would meet up with her.

At the hospital, my friends were already there, crowded around the ER doors. Ody, Ezigbo's wife, rushed up to me and gave me a hug and I immediately thought, 'Oh Kechi is dead'. I thought she was comforting me.

That's when I lost it. I broke down and wept like a baby.

Ody said, “No, no , Mike. She is not dead. She is alive'.

From there, it was off to Shell, where we met with Dr. Moses, a man who was going to become very important to us.

I want to forget, because several years down the line, the memories are still very painful, but I cannot and hopefully the Nigerian nation will not also, for in not forgetting, we may ensure prevention of, or life-saving response to, future accidents.

As for me, I am still striving to keep the promises I made to God and in time I will.

...Account by Mike, Kechi's Dad, my husband.

To be continued...