How long can I stay?

People rushed to my right and left, looking pale and nervous, while some appeared astonished or, worse, clueless. Amid the turmoil, I reasoned that putting myself slightly in front of the screen displaying scheduled departure flights would be a smart idea. 

It was not.

With each passing minute, more flights are canceled. That is akin to Russian roulette. 

And watching didn't make me feel great. Still, I stared. It seemed the screen was holding me in place with a magnet. I didn't realize anymore that people were yelling and weeping around me. 

I turned my body, the people's voices faded into the distance, and my mouth dried. I sat down on the ground or so I thought. Though the prospect of the Unthinkable made my chest feel like it was going to burst, there was a ray of optimism that my flight would be unaffected. 

My thoughts went back to the previous night when I journeyed from Homabay to Nairobi by night bus as the only non-Kenya passenger; it felt less bizarre and scary to me than being at the Jomo Kenyatta International Airport.

I am struggling to breathe. My hands shook, and I didn't dare to glance at the flight itinerary on the screen. I've already checked in, my luggage has been checked in, I've completed all of the security procedures, and as far as I remember, this is the time to rest in the waiting room at the gate. However, this is not the situation today. Everything seemed different today.

People hurried around, children wailed, and their parents were overwhelmed.

I heard some folks say, "We're stuck in Africa. What happens to us if we are not allowed to fly back?”

I swallowed. I pressed my body with my hands away from the ground, and my legs performed the rest. 

Fear struck me again. I barely repressed my mounting panic and took a few calm breaths. I didn't feel any better when I observed the people around me. Some almost ran me over, brushing my shoulder and causing me to do a half-turn. And before I knew what was happening, the person was out of my eyesight. 

I received a text message reading, "Your flight has been canceled."

But how could this be? I checked the screen again; the flight was still planned and was ON TIME. I shook my head, feeling a large lump in my throat. I looked left and right. I had no idea what to look for, but I knew I couldn't just stand here and wait.

But what happens now? What should I do? I wiped the sweat from my brow. The crowd around me left little room for me to breathe. 

I looked at the child next to me, and the mother tried to comfort it by taking it up. The mother's voice trembled and she struggled to hold back tears. She kept talking to the child, but the situation escalated. The child's face was already flushed from the crying and wailing. I had to look away, even though I was not the kind to do so. 

I couldn't handle it any longer. I walked away from this scene. Goal…No Goal, just moving away. Away from All of this.

I kept looking at the other screens as I moved through the crowd. I took numerous side steps around folks who didn't want to see another person walking or gazed in bewilderment at screens. My flight was still scheduled as ON TIME. 

What's up with you guys at the airport? Where's your assistance? Where is your guidance? Don't you see? 

Then I heard a dull sound on the left side of me. I turned around. I noticed someone at a counter pounding his fist on the desk. I generally say the finest age for a man, but now I say the best age to be a madman. 

Then I looked at the sign over the desk. It showcased British Airlines. At this point, I noticed I was standing in the thick of a crowd swarming around the counter. 

The scales slipped off my eyes. I turned around and looked for desks. Someone brushed me on the shoulder again, but this time the person stopped. A middle-aged woman approached me and put her hand on my shoulder. She apologized. As she turned to walk away, I grabbed her arm fast. She looked at me as if puzzled. 

I asked her whether she knew where the KLM counter was.

She nodded, and I thought I saw a brief brightening of her eyes. We started talking, and we realized we were on the same plane. I sighed in relief as if someone had lifted a heavy burden off my shoulders. 

We ran. I ran again. Why? The crushing feeling resumed as we slipped through a crowd of people who appeared to be heading in the opposite direction.

She paused and gave me a hopeful expression. She gestured in that direction. I had to stand on tiptoes to see above the crowd. 

I don't believe I've ever been happier to see KLM people. We ran that way and had to wait in line. I only heard parts of the employee's words to the person before me, but they sent chills down my spine.

I gulped and stared at the woman, whose name I still don't know. I was relieved not to be alone, but I noticed tears welling up in her eyes. 

It was finally our turn. We said the words fast, louder than normal, and simultaneously. The employee tried to remain calm, but his hands shook and his responses made little sense. The only constant was the announcement that no further flights from Kenya would be available.

The government canceled all international flights because of COVID, he stated. This happened overnight. I told him it could not be real. The embassy coordinated this special flight. He looked at me bewildered and shook his shoulders, saying in a tense tone that we needed to check into booking a flight with another airline before the last flight was fully booked.

As we walked away from the counter, I overheard a man in the background ranting at and threatening the clerk.

But all of that faded into the background for me when we heard a loudspeaker announce that everyone who didn't have an international flight from Kenya should pick up their luggage from the claim area right now.

Then I overheard someone mention that they could still book a flight there and point the way. I told myself that it didn't matter which European country this jet took me to as long as I got out of Africa. We exchanged glances, and I noted the woman's expectant smile. Her name was Anne.

We rushed to the baggage claim area to prepare for our next journey. The procedure of acquiring bags went fairly nicely. We went through the security checks once more, but we didn't mind. We looked at each other and were laughing. It felt so damn good to laugh. 

The escalator was broken, so we had to run up the stairs. Leaving Kenya provided us with newfound freedom, it provided us wings. Carrying the suitcase, we almost staggered to the appointed location before coming to a halt. We exchanged disbelieving looks. When I looked around, I noticed that other people were hurrying there as well, and they had also come to a halt.

Nobody knew what was going on here anymore.

Was that a terrible joke?

I gently approached the counter. The man at the counter smiled thoughtfully. He knew exactly what was in store for each of us. I handed up my passport at his request. The sound of the stamp made my entire body shiver.

When I asked how long I could stay in Kenya without difficulties, he replied, "as long as air traffic remained suspended due to COVID."