Ever since I started traveling by air, there was one experience I always hoped for; not just flying, not just landing, but flying into the evening and arriving at night. So this time I booked my flight ahead and on that very day I was to go to the Akanu Ibiam airport at Enugu state from Abakaliki, Ebonyi state and check-in 1hr before departure, I had to select my seat online via their website as I wanted to sit by the window and watch the sky slowly change its colours, to feel that quiet transition from day to night while suspended above the ground.
This time, flying from Enugu State in the eastern part of Nigeria to Lagos State in the west, I finally experienced it.
As the plane took off from Enugu, the sky still held onto daylight. It was calm, pale blue, almost gentle. From above, the land looked familiar but distant, forests thinning into patches, roads drawing quiet lines through the earth. Enugu has a softer landscape, greener and less congested, and from the air, that calmness reflected in the sky itself. The light felt clean, open, unhurried.
As we climbed higher, the sky began to change not suddenly, but gradually, like it was thinking about it. The blue slowly deepened. The sun started dropping lower, and its light spread differently. The clouds caught warm tones, light orange at first, then hints of gold. This is something you don’t fully appreciate from the ground. In the air, the sky feels closer, more intentional. You’re not just under it; you’re inside its mood.
Somewhere between Enugu and the midpoint of the journey, I was smiling and did took note of what I was to do as the colours began to shift more noticeably and it was amazing to watch. The orange became richer, leaning into pink. The edges of the clouds glowed softly, as if they were lit from within. I noticed how the sky didn’t change all at once as it happened in layers. Blue above, warm colours around the horizon, shadows forming underneath. It made me think about transitions, how most changes in life don’t happen abruptly. They come in stages, often unnoticed until you pause and look.
As the plane continued westward, heading toward Lagos, the light began to fade faster. I’ve noticed that traveling west in the evening feels like you’re chasing the sunset, but never quite catching it. The sun keeps moving ahead, and the sky responds by slowly letting go of the day.
The clouds started losing their colours, turning grey, then darker. The blue above shifted into deeper shades navy, then almost black. The contrast was beautiful. Calm, quiet, steady. By the time we began our descent into Lagos, night had fully arrived.
And that moment, that first sight of Lagos at night from the air, stays with you.
Tiny lights scattered everywhere looking like people in a concert pointing their flash light in the sky. Streets glowing. Movement visible even from above. Lagos doesn’t sleep easily, and you can tell from the sky. Compared to the softer, quieter feel of Enugu, Lagos looks alive, busy, restless. The city lights reflected faintly on the clouds, giving the sky a different character; less natural, more electric. I realized then that the sky doesn’t just change because of time. It changes because of place.
Flying from the East to the West, I watched the sky move from calm to vibrant, from open greens to dense lights. The transition felt symbolic. Enugu’s sky felt peaceful, almost reflective. Lagos’ sky felt energetic, buzzing, alert. Same country. Same journey. Different atmosphere.
Sitting there, looking out the window, I felt grateful. Not in a loud way but just quietly aware. Moments like that don’t demand attention; they reward it. No music. No scrolling. Just watching the world shift beneath and above you. When we finally landed, it was fully night. The experience I had imagined for so long was complete. And I smiled, because sometimes the things we look forward to aren’t grand events but they’re small moments that happen in between destinations.
Watching the sky change colour reminded me that movement itself is meaningful. That transitions deserve to be noticed. That even when you’re headed somewhere familiar, the journey can still offer something new if you’re present enough to see it.
That flight from Enugu to Lagos wasn’t just a regular travel I’ve been embarking on. It was a reminder to slow down, look up, and appreciate the quiet beauty of change. As Zeddicus the great wizard in the legend of the seeker said, lesson number one ‘sometimes to gain ground you need to slow down.’ He spoke hungrily to Richard the Seeker. And I know now, every time I fly in the evening, I’ll look forward not just to where I’m going, but to what the sky has to say along the way.
