In Nigeria today, the turbulence begins long before the wheels leave the runway. It starts in the departure halls, on the tarmac, and down the aisles where power, fame, and temper take the cockpit, and civility is forced to fly economy.
Nigeria’s airports, the calm of routine has been replaced by a storm of entitlement and unrest. Flight attendants, the silent guardians of our skies, now brace for battles not just with weather, but with passenger rage.
A young flight attendant recently confided that every day on the job feels like walking into a storm. From verbal abuse to outright assault, the skies have become a battleground where dignity is in freefall. Passengers buckle in, not praying for smooth air, but for peace amid the chaos.
This is no isolated trend. The Nigerian Civil Aviation Authority reports that unruly passenger cases have surged by over 30% in the last two years, mirroring a global rise. Yet in Nigeria, the consequences are magnified by weak enforcement and a culture where rules are often ignored.
It used to be that stepping into an airport meant stepping into a zone of order. Timetables, queues, clipped announcements, and the unspoken pact that once we were airborne, the rules of civility would hold us together. But lately, Nigeria’s skies have been anything but calm.
Stepping into an airport meant entering a realm of calm precision, a place where every movement was measured, every voice tempered by patience, and every person understood the silent rhythm of waiting. The soft murmur of announcements, the steady shuffle of orderly queues, the polite nods exchanged between strangers all woven into an unspoken promise that once airborne, we would be bound by rules, respect, and shared civility. Airports were gateways not just to destinations, but to discipline and dignity.
I used to think that anyone who boards an airplane must have some sense. But these days, it’s nonstop fights with the crew.
Three incidents, each as bizarre as it is troubling, have dragged our aviation industry into the headlines for all the wrong reasons.
Senator Adams Oshiomhole’s boarding row with Air Peace, Fuji legend KWAM 1’s defiance on the Abuja tarmac and Comfort Emmanson’s violent assault on an Ibom Air crew member.
First, Senator Adams Oshiomhole. In June, the former labour leader and governor and APC chairman arrived at Lagos airport for an Air Peace flight. He says he checked in online, arrived early, but was denied boarding because the airline sold his seat to a walk-in passenger paying several times the normal fare. Air Peace says boarding had closed. The minister ordered an investigation, the Airline Operators of Nigeria called his behavior “unruly.” In truth, what Nigerians saw was a powerful man in a public spat with a powerful airline each side claiming the moral high ground, but both revealing the frailty of our passenger-rights regime.
Then came KWAM 1. August brought a scene straight from a Nollywood airport drama. The Fuji legend allegedly blocked a plane’s taxiing path in Abuja, poured liquid on crew and security, and refused to budge until he got his way. The NCAA grounded two pilots for starting taxi procedures prematurely and slapped a no-fly order on the musician. The videos went viral, but what lingered longer was the question. How, in an age of global terror threats, could anyone breach tarmac protocol and turn a runway into a personal stage?
And now, Comfort Emmanson. On an Ibom Air flight from Uyo to Lagos, she refused to switch off her phone before takeoff. Upon landing, after other passengers had left, she allegedly launched an assault on the Purser stepping on her, snatching her wig, smashing her glasses, raining slaps, even grabbing a fire extinguisher as if to weaponize it. Security intervened, she fought them too. She’s now banned for life from the airline, handed over to police, and under NCAA review.
Three incidents. Three very different personalities. One common thread.A dangerous erosion of discipline, accountability, and respect in Nigerian air travel. Airports and airplanes are not ordinary public spaces. They are high-security, high-trust environments where a single breach, whether from a celebrity, a politician, or an everyday passenger, can put hundreds of lives at risk. Yet these episodes show a system where rules bend, enforcement is patchy, and both crew and passengers can behave like the law is a suggestion, not an obligation.
We need more than bans and after-the-fact outrage. Nigeria’s aviation industry must draw a red line, that the safety and dignity of crew and passengers are non-negotiable. The public must see swift, impartial penalties whether the offender is a senator, a superstar, or an unknown traveler. Equally, airlines must stop hiding behind PR statements when they are the ones at fault. Passenger rights, transparent boarding policies, and strict adherence to international safety standards must be enforced not massaged in the court of public opinion.
Different faces, different moments but one unmistakable signal.A system buckling under entitlement and fractured enforcement.
When a senator believes a plane must wait for him, when a superstar treats a runway like a red carpet, or when a passenger assaults cabin crew with a fire extinguisher, it reveals a dangerous culture where rules are optional and respect is rare.
The consequences go beyond viral videos. These behaviors jeopardize safety, crush crew morale, and erode public trust in institutions meant to protect us. Yet responses often feel reactive punishments too late, reforms too vague.
If Nigeria is to reclaim order in the skies, it must act decisively. That means launching nationwide education campaigns teaching respect and responsibility, empowering airlines’ crews with legal protections and crisis training and giving the Nigerian Civil Aviation Authority real power to enforce rules swiftly and without fear or favor.
These aviation troubles also mirror broader societal fractures. A culture of entitlement, tolerance for impunity, and weakening adherence to rules that hold civil society together. Fixing the skies requires confronting these roots.
A flight is a fragile contract, a leap of faith among strangers bound by shared rules. When discipline and respect don’t board first, the whole system falters. Nigeria’s aviation sector faces a firm choice. Restore order and dignity in the skies or watch ego and outrage turn every journey into a potential disaster.
The clock is ticking. For the safety of all who fly, it’s time for Nigeria to take off toward a future where civility commands the cabin and chaos is grounded for good.
A flight is not just a journey, it is a fragile pact of trust. Break it, and you don’t just disrupt a schedule, you gamble with lives. From Oshiomhole’s boarding drama to KWAM 1’s tarmac standoff to Comfort Emmanson’s airborne brawl, our skies are sending a warning loud enough to hear over any engine roar.
If discipline and respect don’t board first, then one day, Nigeria may discover the true cost of letting ego and chaos fly unchecked. And that landing will be far rougher than any turbulence we’ve ever known.
Stephanie Shaakaa
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