By Patrick Omorodion

Never in my coverage of the Africa Cup of Nations have I been subjected to stress which is not of my own making.

Unlike FIFA, CAF’s accreditation window opens very close to commencement of the competition.

And because the CAF  site is usually slow to inquiries, I did not know on time that my accreditation process was hanging.

This delayed the approval of my accreditation which I am still battling to resolve. This, of course, affected my application for a travelling visa which however came late with the support of a letter of introduction from my office.

On travel day, with my departure fixed for 2.30 p.m. I set out on time to be able to beat the nightmarish Lagos traffic which was made worse on this day as the heavens opened with flood slowing down vehicular movement.

I was able to get to the airport on time for  my check-in and immigration formalities.

That settled, we, my friend and colleague, Femi Solaja, made our way to the boarding gate of Egypt Air. The queue, as usual, was long and not wanting to join other impatient Nigerians to push and shove, we sat down waiting for the queue to reduce.

As I sat down, I kept my passport and boarding pass on the seat close to where I sat, sipping a can of maltina.

When I made to throw away the empty can, I mistakenly left my passport and boarding pass there. As it got close to my turn on the queue, I put my hand in my jacket pocket to fetch the vital travel document but alas it was not there. I rushed back to where I sat but couldn’t find it. I rushed back to the immigration point and was asked to pass my hand luggage through the screening machine to see if it was tucked in a corner of the bag. No way. Sweat beads started dropping from my temple and  my body temperature increased. I couldn’t fathom missing the flight and waiting to start all over again. I came back to the boarding gate helpless with the airline staff asking me to empty my bag to search thoroughly. I did but nothing was found. Just as it sunk on me that I would miss the flight, a voice from one of the cleaners at the airport rang from a far, “there is a passport here o”.

Even onlookers who felt pity for me heaved a  sigh of relief and my temperature just dropped and my  tensed body just eased off. Solaja was equally relieved that I made it.

Airborne now and the flight crew started serving food. Chicken or beef, they asked once they got by the aisle to your seat. A  lady close to Solaja just kept looking at the hostess with mouth agape. She suddenly whispered into Solaja’s ear saying, “ egbon kilo wan wi’”, meaning, “my senior what did she say?”.

Solaja just told the hostess “please give her beef”. Ostensibly she didn’t understand a word of English spoken to her. Yet she was heading to Cairo as a supporter of the Super Eagles as the apparels she adorned betrayed her.

I knew exactly that she was one of those being trafficked abroad. Yet the agency for fighting such crime, NAPTIP say they are winning the war.