To Poznan With Love

One of the historical buildings at the Old Market

As my airplane crossed the skies, I shifted in my seat and looked through the window below to the farmlands and roofs. Malgorzata, the Polish lady beside me who had given me a crash course during the flight about the Polish culture and language was catching up on a nap. She had given me my first taste of Polish hospitality when our paths crossed while boarding. "Which city are you headed to in Poland"? She'd asked me, to which I replied "Poznan". She had proceeded to give me the specifics of the picture of the city. I knew little about Poznan except that it was one of the host cities of the Euro 2012 games which were co-hosted by Poland and Ukraine. My Polish friends in Bolingbrook, Chicago had been excited when I told them I was slated for Europe and Poland was my choice. Jacek, whom I had met in very funny circumstances (a story for another day), was especially delighted. He wouldn't stop telling me about the Polish lassies and how much swell time laid in store for me. "You'll find the most beautiful European girls  in Poland" he'd said with a grin. I tried to brainwash him that I was going to Poland not as a seeker of a bride but as an aspirant of an European degree. I didn't give much thought to it when he differed from me owing to the few raunchy acts we'd put up together in the suburbs of Chicago.

The voice of the pilot came over the speakers, announcing our arrival at Lawica Henryk Wieniawski Airport, Poznan. Malgorzata stirred as I re-adjusted my deportment to buckle my seat belt. I flashed her a winning smile to cover up my uneasiness, something that always came over me after a long flight and in anticipation of going through customs and immigration. I was carrying a Nigerian passport which was almost synonymous to crime? and caused terrible delays and bashfulness at most borders. As the airplane descended for landing, I reviewed the most important words I'd learned in my crash course with Malgorzata. Thanks, Hello, I don't Understand and Excuse Me came on top the list. I knew from my miniature travel experience that these words always come in handy whenever you had to speak a language other than English which means foreign to me. At the point of entry, I exchanged phone numbers with Malgorzata as she strolled to the line marked "citizens or passport holders" (I felt a little jealous), and I to the line where other foreigners like me stood. If I had been thinking of Poznan as a Polish city stuck up in the nineties with old grannies and typical country damsels roving the streets, I quickly learnt how wrong I was. The airport was an indicator of how international the city of Poznan was. Everyone had a different kind of passport and spoke different languages. There was a long line of newcomers, who came from different walks of life waiting to be checked by immigration . Behind me was a woman from Brazil, who had a crying baby. I sympathized with her and had to give up my space to allow her scale through immigration fast and attend to the crying baby. I checked my documents again, switched off the iPod, and looked round, soaking up the scene. It was a cool day in fall and the airport felt like a mini United Nations summit. 

Poznan City Hall

The immigration officials must have been working so efficiently as the line moved placidly and in no time, I was standing behind the desk of the Polish immigration. I'd made my skin thick like I always did each time I had to face immigration outside the borders of West Africa. I was aware my green passport brought suspicion and frowns to the faces of these officials. "Dzien Dobry" the woman official began with a professional smile. "Nie rozumiem po Polsku" I replied with a smile. Immediately, and to my greatest relief and admiration, she switched to eloquent English. "Passport, please". I handed her my passport and watched the look on her face. Having disembarked from a plane from O'hare, Chicago, She'd probably thought I was African-American and thus expected a Yankee passport. I was preparing to enjoy the surprise that laid in for her when I handed her my green Nigerian passport but there I learnt my second lesson about Poles. "You are who you are and not where you come from". She browsed through the pages of my passport with professional brilliance, asked me some routine questions, stamped me in and wished me a good time in Poland. What! Just like that! I checked my legs to see if I was wearing my "lucky socks" or something. I walked away from the desk, head held high to claim my luggage with a wide grin. I had already fallen in love with Poznan. "Here I come, Poznan!", I mumbled under my breath.

Next part due soon....Watch out!