BOYCOTT IBOM AIR? When a Woman Who Risk Causing Plane Crash is being Celebrated

BOYCOTT IBOM AIR? When a Woman Who Risk Causing Plane Crash is being Celebrated 

By Ufok Ibekwe Esq

The Uyo tarmac that day was like a steaming pot of jollof rice left too long on the fire. It was too hot to swallow. It was simply uncomfortable, and thick with tension. Ibom Air Flight 7M203 sat ready, its engines humming softly, while inside, a drama involving a woman in skimpy dreams was unfolding that would soon make headlines. Comfort Emmanson, a name now carved in infamy, sat clutching her iphone like a lifeline. When the crew firmly instructed passengers to fully power off their devices and not just switch to airplane mode, she scoffed, her face red and twisting in defiance. “You know who I be?” she snapped in heavily accentuated pidgin English, as if her status could bend the laws of physics. But the rules of the sky are no respecter of persons, and when a fellow passenger, fed up with her stubbornness, reached over and snatched the glowing device from her hands, the first spark of a much bigger fire had been lit.

For the next hour, the plane buzzed with whispers. Passengers exchanged glances, some shaking their heads in disbelief. One traveler later described her as “a street hobo chasing cheap fame,” while another muttered under their breath, “Na so person wey no hear word go enter plane crash.” There’s an old Igbo proverb that says, “When a child insists on carrying fire like water, they will learn the hard way.” Emmanson was that child. She was simply stubborn, reckless, and utterly convinced of her own invincibility.

By the time the plane touched down in Lagos, the tension was thick enough to slice with a knife. Most passengers hurried off, eager to escape the brewing storm. But Emmanson waited, her anger simmering. The moment the last passenger disappeared through the jet bridge, she struck, snatching the wig of the air hostess, slapping her, and even lunging for the fire extinguisher as if she intended to turn the cabin into a warzone. Security footage later showed her flailing like a woman possessed, sandals flying as FAAN guards struggled to restrain her. It was a disgraceful spectacle, the kind of thing you’d expect from a Nollywood villain, not a grown woman on a commercial flight.

The real tragedy here wasn’t just the assault, it was the sheer senselessness of it all. That simple thirty-second act of switching off her phone could have prevented everything. Aviation safety isn’t about arbitrary rules; it’s about a thousand small obediences that keep planes in the sky. There’s a Yoruba saying: “The sail that refuses to listen will dance with the riverbed.” Emmanson refused to listen, and now she was drowning in the consequences of her own arrogance.

Passengers who witnessed the ordeal had no sympathy left for her. Some called her “a rich small madam playing god with other people’s lives,” while others simply shook their heads, muttering that even the toughest area boys know when to yield. Her actions weren’t just an attack on the crew, they were a slap in the face of the unspoken covenant of air travel which says, “We surrender a little control so that, together, we can all arrive safely.

Ibom Air’s response was swift and unyielding. A lifetime ban, police charges, and a public statement that left no room for debate were activated against her. But in today’s world, where social media can turn rogues into victims with a single hashtag, the airline found itself in a tricky position. #BoycottIbomAir started trending, with some people painting the crew as oppressors rather than enforcers of basic safety. The first PR challenge now is for Ibom Air to be firm in defending their company policy to always protect the lives of every passenger which has paid off over the years in zero crash history.

Perhaps the solution lies in transparency. Releasing the full footage of the incident enough to show the severity of the assault on the air hostess without traumatizing viewers could silence the skeptics. Maybe the NCAA should step in and explain, in plain language, why certain aircraft require full shutdowns instead of airplane mode. And while discipline is non-negotiable, a little compassion could go a long way. Training crew in de-escalation techniques, like RwandAir’s “Ambassadors of Calm,” might prevent future clashes before they spiral out of control.

Nigeria’s aviation history is littered with cautionary tales. Med-View Airlines collapsed in 2019 after passengers lost trust in their safety standards. On the other hand, United Airlines survived their own PR nightmare in 2017 when a passenger was violently dragged off a flight, because they owned up to their mistakes while still upholding their policies. Ibom Air has a choice: learn from these lessons or risk becoming another footnote in aviation’s book of hard knocks.

Right now, Nigeria doesn’t have a strong national carrier. Arik Air is struggling, and Green Africa is still finding its wings. If Ibom Air falters, who will fill that gap? The stakes are high, and the solution isn’t just about damage control, it’s about rebuilding trust. Maybe they could launch a “Guardians of the Sky” initiative, rewarding passengers who help maintain order. Maybe they could enlist cultural influencers like Burna Boy to spread the message: “Real power isn’t in defiance, it’s in knowing when to power down.”

At the end of the day, this isn’t just about one unruly passenger or one airline’s reputation. It’s about a simple truth: discipline without humanity is tyranny, but humanity without discipline is chaos. Ibom Air must find the balance. As the elders say, “If the handshake goes beyond the elbow, it has become something else.” Emmanson crossed that line. Now the question is, can Ibom Air guide us all back to safer skies? I think it can.