By Alaba Adejare
On the morning of July 13, 2025, an Air Peace Boeing 737 carrying 103 people landed in Port Harcourt and veered off the runway. Everyone walked away safely. In aviation terms, that alone might have closed the chapter as a near miss. But what followed has kept the story alive and turned it into something far more consequential than a single runway excursion.
The aircraft, operating a scheduled Lagos to Port Harcourt service, touched down well beyond the recommended zone on Runway 21 after what the Nigerian Safety Investigation Bureau later described as an unstabilised final approach. It eventually came to a stop deep into the clearway. No casualties. No fire. No immediate tragedy. Yet in aviation, the absence of disaster does not mean the absence of danger. It simply means there was a margin and this time, it held.
What should have followed was a straightforward, transparent process: secure the facts, test the crew, verify the data, and communicate clearly. Instead, the aftermath has unfolded in a way that raises more questions than answers.
On the same day as the incident, toxicological tests were carried out on members of the flight crew at a facility under the Rivers State Hospital Management Board. When the Nigerian Safety Investigation Bureau released its preliminary report weeks later, it cited findings that immediately shifted attention from the runway to the cockpit and cabin. The report indicated the presence of alcohol biomarkers in both pilots and cannabis compounds in a cabin crew member.
Under normal circumstances, such findings would be definitive and deeply troubling. But the circumstances here were anything but normal.
The results took ten days to emerge.
In modern aviation practice, toxicology results for substances like alcohol and cannabis do not take ten days when handled in properly equipped and accredited laboratories. They take hours. The delay alone would have been enough to invite scrutiny. But it did not stop there. The facility where the tests were conducted has been described as not certified for aviation toxicology under the standards of the International Civil Aviation Organization. That detail introduces a more fundamental problem, one that goes beyond delay into the realm of credibility.
Because in aviation, process is everything. Chain of custody, laboratory accreditation, and turnaround time are not bureaucratic details. They are what determine whether results can be trusted, defended, and used to make regulatory decisions.
The crew members at the centre of the report seized on exactly these points. Appearing publicly, they rejected the findings outright. The co pilot insisted he neither drinks nor smokes. The cabin crew member described the report as defamatory. But beyond denial, their argument rested on procedure. Why did it take ten days? Was the lab accredited? What happened to the samples between collection and analysis?
These are not rhetorical questions. They are technical ones. And in a system where lives depend on technical integrity, they matter.
Yet even as those questions were being raised, the regulatory response appeared fragmented. While the NSIB stood by its report, the Nigerian Civil Aviation Authority moved in a different direction, clearing the co pilot and returning him to active duty. There was no detailed public explanation reconciling that decision with the findings already in circulation. At the same time, Air Peace maintained that it had not received formal communication from the NSIB more than a month after the incident, even as the report was being discussed publicly.
What emerges is a picture that is difficult to ignore. One agency raises concerns. Another appears to dismiss them. The airline questions the process. And the public is left to piece together a narrative from incomplete signals.
Hovering above all of this is the figure of the Minister of Aviation, Festus Keyamo, whose public posture toward Air Peace has been notably enthusiastic. He has described the airline as a symbol of national pride and praised its leadership in terms that go beyond routine governmental support for a domestic carrier. There is nothing inherently wrong with encouraging local industry. But aviation regulation depends not just on fairness, but on the visible absence of bias.
When a minister openly celebrates an airline that falls under his ministry’s regulatory oversight, it introduces a perception problem. And in aviation, perception is not cosmetic. It shapes trust in the system.
The NCAA regulates Air Peace. The minister oversees the NCAA. The minister has publicly endorsed the airline. The regulator has taken a position that appears to soften the implications of a safety investigation. Even if each action can be explained in isolation, together they create an impression that is difficult to dismiss.
And aviation does not tolerate weak impressions. It demands clarity.
Months after the incident, the most basic questions remain unanswered. Why did the toxicological results take ten days? Was the testing facility properly accredited for aviation purposes? Who authorised its use? What protocols governed the handling of samples from collection to analysis? On what precise grounds did the NCAA clear the co pilot while the investigation remained unresolved?
These are not political questions. They are safety questions.
Because aviation systems are built on trust that procedures are followed, that regulators act independently, and that when something goes wrong, the response is transparent and accountable. When those elements begin to blur, the risk is not immediate, but it is cumulative.
On July 13, 103 people boarded a flight and lived to tell the story. That is the outcome everyone hopes for. But safety is not defined only by what happens in the air or on the runway. It is defined by what happens after, in the decisions, the disclosures, and the willingness to confront uncomfortable facts.
This incident has moved beyond the runway. It now sits at the intersection of regulation, governance, and public trust. And until clear answers are provided, it will remain there.
Because in aviation, unanswered questions do not fade away. They linger. And over time, they become risks of their own.
*Adejare writes from Lagos
