Time was, and it seemed such a long time now, when being a travelling Nigerian was a delight. Travelling Nigerians had money to spend courtesy of a generous BTA (Basic Travel Allowance). We had goodwill to spend courtesy of our cheerful, sunny disposition. And in some cases, we had I.O.U. to collect courtesy of our generous, benevolent government. I witnessed the phase when the green passport brought smiles – of envy? – to the faces of immigration officials. I witnessed the phase when we didn’t need visas to some European and African countries.
I witnessed the phase when Oxford Street in London, Champs Elyse in Paris, Manhattan in New York treated us deferentially because we were, next to Arabs, the big spenders of the time. Not to talk about Beirut and Milan which treated our travelers as gods and goddesses. My earlier trips to East and Southern Africa were such a revelation. Many doors, and I dare say laps, which would have been exclusive, were opened just for being a Nigerian journalist and tourist. Even newly independent South Africa, despite being ahead of us on many fronts, treated us with respect and warmth. You got the feeling that many of their people would have traded places if they could.
