I had always imagined my first journey outside Nigeria would be the sort of moment that arrives with trumpets, grand applause, and a cinematic fade. Instead, it came quietly, an invitation extended by Prophet Sam Olu-Alo for a fully-paid pilgrimage to Jordan. I laughed it off at first, but then the confirmation came from the Chief Operating Officer handling the arrangements. Suddenly, the world opened.
This was different. Not the familiar zig-zag across the 26 Nigerian states I had so far explored. This was my first real exit, a crossing of boundaries, cultures, and inner horizons. Even though my mother is Nigerian-German and many of my siblings have dual citizenship, I had only known Nigeria. I had prayed for a moment like this. And now, here it was. On God’s bill.
The Journey Begins
We boarded Qatar Airways for an almost 11-hour flight from Lagos to Doha. I confess — the food onboard? Ehn… let’s move on. But the scale of movement, the shift in time zones, the widening world beyond the window, these stayed with me.
The contrast hit full force when we landed in Qatar. I give credit to Nigeria’s new terminal upgrades, but Doha’s airport was something entirely different, panoramic, polished, and pulsing with quiet luxury. A train glided us through the terminal with effortless choreography. Everything gleamed. Everything hummed. I thought of my brother who lives in Qatar, just a city away, but time and visa constraints meant: “Next time.” I sighed, but smiled.
A short flight landed us in Amman at midnight. We passed immigration smoothly and were transported to our lodging. I woke to a gentle sunrise the next morning — soft, honeyed light across the hills. Like a Jordanian damsel lifting her veil just enough to intrigue.
The Jordanian Dinar is no respecter of Nigerian budgets. Thrice the value of the U.S. Dollar. One of the travelers got a simple haircut for 15 dinar (that’s over 30,000 Naira). His face froze. We understood. We behaved.
Yet the hospitality, the order, the calm, they were unmissable. Jordan welcomes, but Jordan does not pretend: You will spend.
Meals became an ongoing lesson in adaptation — rice, more rice, dates,sugary stuff, Greek yoghurt, bread upon bread. At some point I whispered to myself: Where is amala and correct pepper soup when you need salvation?
Walking Through Scripture
Then came the pilgrim’s core:
Mount Nebo, where Moses stood and glimpsed the Promised Land.
The prison site of John the Baptist.
Kadesh and Meribah, where Moses struck the rock and water burst out for the Israelites.
And then Petra – 1, 2…
The ancient rose-red city carved into stone, once home to the Edomites. A place that holds its own silence with authority. The landscape felt like stepping into a threshold between myth and memory — the kind that rearranges your sense of time.
We traveled onward into the desert near Wadi Rum, the surreal backdrop for films like Dune, The Martian, Star Wars, John Wick. Imagine massive sculpted rock formations, endless amber sand, and the hush of something ancient watching. We slept in cube-like desert lodges under Arabian stars. Pure wonder.
I made some friends there too. They must have met Matt Damon too.
Salt, Silence, and Sacred Water
At the Dead Sea, the world’s lowest point, the wind felt thick with history. I watched people float effortlessly in the hypersaline water, defying gravity. I did not dare; my skin voted against experimentation. We stopped at a shop along the way filled with Dead Sea treasure, salt scrubs, facial clay, oils. Exotic. And priced like it.
We continued to Lake Tiberias, near the edges where Jordan brushes shoulders with Israel and Syria — the Golan Heights rising in the distance. We visited Gadara, where Jesus met the man possessed by many spirits. Then Mount Gilead, birthplace of Prophet Elijah. Stories breathed themselves to life.
And through all the long hours on the road, nearly 30, I did not see one pothole. I smiled quietly: If you know, you know.
Finally, we reached the River Jordan, that sacred channel where Jesus was baptized by John. A heavily-guarded border zone. We baptized, prayed, reflected, and took photographs. Then we drove back toward the city, with a little shopping to round things off.
Looking Ahead
This journey changed something in me. Perspective. Wonder. Gratitude. The world is far larger than the walls we grow up inside. Travel is not just movement, it is awakening.
There are more voyages to come and more stories to tell.
For now, I return home with a heart stretched wide.
Cheers to serendipity, to sunlight, to strangers who become companions, to ancient stones that teach.
About the Writer
Fortune Omosola is a broadcast journalist, poet, voice actor, and writer. His works are available on Amazon. He runs the eclectic platform Jollofmash.com.ng where he explores culture, climate change, travel, art, and more.
He enjoys football, scrabble, road trips, and stirring the world with words.
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