What Claustrophobia Feels like In Transit

Water.

It was 8 p.m. on a Friday night in Ikoyi. Women, in different shades and sizes of bikini, lingered around the boat dock with small suitcases waiting to be loaded on board. Men also gathered in groups, puffing smoke and downing shots of spirit. It was time for a typical weekend at Ilashe, and these lads were ready to have it. My aunt couldn’t contain her disgust, “So Naija girls don spoil true true” she kept shaking her head and passing lewd comments, as girls with revealing bikini bottoms passed by.

We had booked a medium sized speed boat, so it had an inner compartment that could only contain about 6 people. With a beach wedding to prepare for, we had no time to waste. So I joined hands with the grooms men to load our bags onto the boat, and one by one, we climbed in, clinging to our life jackets. The 30 minutes boat trip from Ikoyi to Ilashe was about to begin. My mum, aunt and cousins quickly filled up the inner compartment, mainly because they were frightened by the large body of water, I was too.

But the moment I stepped into that tiny compartment, my breathing changed. It was as if the air grew thinner. My chest tightened, and panic surged through my veins like electric current.

I fell instantly dizzy, and I started to stagger as if the ground had suddenly tilted beneath my feet. The walls of the compartment seemed to close in, pressing against me from all sides. It was as if my world had shrunk to the size of that tiny space.

With each passing second, the sensation intensified. I needed to escape. So I stepped out for air, and as I was gasping for breath, my mum started to scream, asking me to come in and retreat to safety. I could see the fear in her eyes, but I was at a loss for words. I tried to tell her that I just couldn’t bear being inside that box. It was affecting me physically and mentally, but the only the thing that mattered was her own idea of safety, which meant being enclosed and secure. Alas, I broke down, right in front of six polished grooms men, two of my cousins, my mum, aunt and a very pretty woman, who seemed at ease sitting by the sea.

I couldn’t recall the last time I cried so hard, and in public, no less. That wasn’t the kind of woman I had projected myself to be - I was super woman, invincible, and unbreakable. But that day, my body, mind, and soul reached their elastic limit, a concept i knew all too well from physics. After an exhaustimg day of running around Lagos, my soul had simply had enough. The dam finally broke, and I surrendered to my tears.

God, I cried, no one could understand why. On the surface, it seemed trivial - just getting into a boat compartment. But I couldn’t stop. Tears streamed down my round cheeks, as I found my way to the pretty lady sitting by the sea. She didn’t ask questions; she simply offered me tissues, and a pat on the back. We sat in silence, taking in the sight of the waves parting for our boat as it bounced along with insane speed. I could finally breathe fresh air, and my mind was free from fear and anxiety.

I felt at peace, despite being unable swim, and the risk of the boat capsizing. My fear for enclosed spaces outweighed my fear for water. It’s ironic how no one asked any questions or judged me for breaking down, they probably assumed I was scared because it was my first time on a boat.

Only Ona, my cousin’s husband asked if I was okay, two nights later. Without context, he couldn’t ask any questions earlier. I told him I dreaded enclosed spaces, and he understood. He opened up about his fear for heights too, and though it was a consolation tactic, it was comforting. Since then, I have been on boats three times, once at Tarkwa Bay Beach, and twice, at a dam back in Ilorin, and I knew damn well to sit close to the sea, no questions asked.

Land

When I was younger, I always dreaded road trips, but I didn’t fully understand why. I especially hated sitting down in the back seat of a sienna, where the windows couldn’t open. I detested the smell of engine oil, and the overwhelming heat that followed, as we squeezed into the car seats. At just 8 years old, I experienced the torments of motion sickness for the first time during a 12 hour long road trip from Abuja to Ilorin.

My mistake was taking a bowl of cereal before we left the house that morning. As the car rumbled along the highway, an invisible force seemed to pull me deeper into discomfort, and my head felt weighed down. My breathing grew rapid, and shallow, as if my lungs were struggling to find enough air to sustain me. The car jolted intermittently, each time we fell into road bumps, which was like every 15 minutes, sending my body into further discomfort. Sweat trickled down my face, and it became increasingly harder to keep my composure.

The nausea overwhelmed me, and before I could even utter a word, I doubled over and vomited. People often scolded me for throwing up randomly, as if I had control over it. But this time was different, the driver parked the car and emptied sachets of water on my head, and made me sit close to a window for the rest of the trip. I felt the cool breeze mixed with exhaust smoke from passing trucks and buses.

As I grew older, I learned to bid for front seats and window seats. That was the only way I enjoyed road trips. One thing I still want to do is raise my head out of a fast car, stretch my arms far, and just breathe fresh air, but Lagos is a crazy place - It’s either my head gets chopped off by a passing car or someone smacks it really hard.

Air

I travelled by air for the first time in April, and my excitement was evident to the person sitting next me. I took many pictures, which gave away my newbie status. He chuckled, saying local Air-Peace flights didn’t quite meet his standard. He entertained me with stories of international aircrafts and the luxuries of flying business class. “ You will understand what I mean when you fly with Emirates or Air Dubai,” he said. I told him I was just taking the pictures for memories, and a window seat would have offered better views.

So he showed me how to book a window seat on the airline’s website. I made a mental note to book one for my return flight, and I did. We took off around 10 p.m., and although it was dark, I could still see the world beneath me. As we flew higher, each building blended into tiny bits of light and at a point disappeared into the darkness of the clouds.

Sitting by the aisle, I didn’t have a panic attack, but I did feel nauseous, and my ear felt like they were going to pop. But sitting next to the window, my chest tightened as I gazed down and felt the plane ascend. Negative thoughts flooded my mind, and I started worrying about gravity and all the things that could go wrong. Unlike cars or boats, airplane windows don’t provide fresh air, so I closed mine, and eventually fell into deep sleep.

Have you ever had a claustrophobic experience? What was it like?

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