A Scary Escalator

Airports. Its amazing to look around airports, especially in Africa. All colors, shapes, ages and sizes. Different traditional and urban clothing. You wonder where people are going. Where were they are coming from. And you wonder their story. At the Nairobi airport recently I checked in for an early am flight. In the passport control area there was a Somali Family of about 12. They represented all generations, a young baby, toddlers, a young couple, mother, father, grandmother and grand father. They were dressed in nice robes and traditional wear. You could tell they were wearing their best clothes. Two young boys, one about 3 years old and the other 8 were dressed in crisp shiny suits. One of them silver and the other gold.

The 8 year old and his father and another sibling passed through the passport check point. The father got on the escalator to go to the gate area and the 8 year old boy stopped at the bottom. The boy looked in freight at the escalator and slowly stepped forward. As the stairs pulled him forward, he leaned backwards and nearly fell on his back. Legs in the air, he shuffled back quickly to safe ground and stared up at the silver moving stairs. He tried once more with great trepidation, but nearly fell again and quickly backed away. The escalator to the right was broken, not moving, yet the boy had no idea whether it would suddenly start, so walking up these stairs was not an option. His father looked down from the top urging him to get on, waving his arms and shouting instructions, but the boy would not move. He was shaking and tears welled up in his eyes. I was behind the passport check point so could not assist. Finally his dad walked down the other side, and they walked up the broken escalator together.

The rest of the family was going through the passport check point, and after getting my passport stamped the grandfather, the 3 year old in the silver suit and a young girl probably age five approached the escalator. The girl had a shiny gold dress with gold pants underneath. I asked the grandfather if he needed my help, he nodded. The young girl looked up at me with big brown eyes, put her little hand in mind, and together we stepped on the escalator. It was like pulling a child onto a chairlift, I lifted her onto the stair and then at the top did the same. She stood still on the entire ride, looking forward with her eyes wide open. At the bottom however, her brother was petrified of this moving snake. There was no way he was getting on and he cried in terror. I waited at the top with the young girl, as the grandfather gave up on the moving escalator and pulled the young crying boy up the broken escalator. At the top, I handed over the young girl, and we parted ways.

Where were they going? Where had they come from? Often times you see families like this moving, but they did not carry a lot of baggage, so it appeared that they were on some sort of a trip. But then again, how had they arrived having not encountered an escalator. I will never know their story, but what I do know is there are still so many people living so remotely in this world that the site of an escalator brings one to tears.