The Scottish Dwarf!
I had been having speaks with the Scottish Dwarf about two weeks before that incident, about the unwisdom of having two big, open holes between the runway and the apron.
He drew himself up to his full height, about even with my belt buckle, and told me that they had painted lines left and right, dull yellow in color, for Drivers, Airframe, the guidance thereof, clearly directing them around the two big, open holes, so that nothing could possibly go wrong.
I cited Murphy's Law and suggested that, at least, they should put up some sort of marker boards to cue strangers to Osubi not to take what looked like an obvious shortcut.
Then I told him that in heavy rain those yellow lines and even marker boards might go unseen, so that the safest course should be to cover the holes.
Well, if I knew anything, anything at all, then I would be working for Shell for the big bucks, not working for Bristow as a Driver, Airframe, and that settled that. I was sent on my way.
I think it was about two weeks later that all hell broke loose when that Hind did its thing. It's typical Nigerian luck that nobody was sliced in two when that blade landed out in the parking lot, clear on the other side of the terminal.
Never mind, afterwards they did cover the holes.