**Disclaimer: Obviously a few major events in my life as a Peace Corps volunteer have not been documented in my blog posts. For example, I am now in Manila. I am no longer a Peace Corps Volunteer. I said goodbye to Burkina. etc. etc. All of those stories will come at some point in time, but they are not ready yet, and I feel it is important to wait until everything I want to write about (and remember) is complete and recorded in chronological order, before I post it. Especially since everything in my life from June-mid September needs to be said. Whether you care or not. My blog is more for me, than for anyone else. So for now, for your reading pleasure, here is a bit of my adventures post Peace Corps. And someday, perhaps when I'm back in the USA, I'll post about my last months in village.....someday.
(The Events of) September 21,
2013: Airport Adventures
It took a while, but eventually my bags were packed. I had stuffed as much as possible into my 2
suitcases, my backpack, and my laptop case, and I was well aware that every
single one of my items was over the weight limit by at least 5 pounds. Whoops.
But it’d be fine, right? I didn’t
know what else to do to make my baggage situation better – I had already
eliminated everything I could part with (and some items I couldn’t). The framed metal-carved lion from Niger given
as a gift from Salimata Sanago? I guess
it’s got to stay in the Transit House… letters people wrote me? Sadly, in the garbage….my guitar music binder
I’ve had since 9th grade? I
crumbled up a few sheets of music and was just about to throw the whole binder
into the garbage, when a friend who had been watching me told me to stop: “Just
shove it into your laptop pocket.
You’re already over the limit, so who cares if you add another half a
pound. You’re done; go to bed.”
He was right. I was tired and
sad. I wanted to be done packing and get
a few hours of shuteye on my mattress on the Transit House porch for the last
time. I zipped up my suitcases, threw
away my garbage, placed my box of giveaway items on the table (stuff like
half-full bottles of shampoo and lotion, a hairbrush, sunscreen, etc.), and
showered so I’d be ready for my taxi
that would be coming to take me to the airport in a few short hours.
Ishmael, my taxi driver, was right on time at 7am. We loaded up my things (2 suitcases, my
backpack, and my laptop case) and away we drove. When I got to the airport I was surprised to
see that nothing was open yet – no ticket windows, no luggage check-in
counters, no one exchanging money.
Although, come to think of it, I’m not sure why I was surprised. In fact, past experiences with the Ouaga
airport have taught me to greatly lower my expectations about the airport’s
organization and its responsibilities to its passengers….
I was the second passenger who had arrived for the morning’s flights
(the first of which was to Cote d’Ivoire at 10:30am, followed by my flight to
Ethiopia at 11:15am), and I ended up waiting for almost 2 hours until the
airport decided that it was ready to start for the day. Finally I was at the Ethiopian Air check-in
counter. Bag one: 4 kg over. Bag two: 4.5 kg over. Dang.
“That’ll be 9 kg of extra baggage charge, madame. 63 mille CFA.
And it’s good only until Hong Kong, not all the way to Manila.” There was no way I was paying an additional
$126 (plus a fee again in Hong Kong) for my luggage, especially when I knew I
had things I could rearrange and by doing so, would reduce weight by at least a
few kilos. My flute got clipped to the
outside of my backpack, along with my tennis shoes. I took out my traditional pagnes and wrapped
them around me like skirts, one by one until all three were attached. All the Burkinabe around me just grinned and
nodded in approval, and I acted all casual about it and jokingly justified my
wardrobe by saying, “It gets really cold on airplanes!” Additionally, all the foulards became a big
scarf around my neck, and I put on a bunch of my jewelry, and some more of it
was shoved into my sweatshirt pockets.
Better, right? Yup, now each bag
was only 2 kg over….but that still wasn’t good enough. So I threw out my bag of cosmetics,
everything except for my malaria medication and contact solution. Besides, I didn’t really need toothpaste, or
deodorant, or shampoo throughout the next 5 weeks, right?
Check-in Counter Guy: Madame, you need to put this back in your
suitcase, please.
Me: I can’t, it’s too heavy. I’m leaving it here.
Guy: Uhh….no, you can’t. You must take it.
Me: No, my bags are too heavy and I don’t have
any money to pay for overweight fees, so I need to leave it.
Guy: Uhh…..you’re abandoning it?
Me: Yes. Yes I am.
Guy: Uhh….. ***turns
to his boss who was watching me this whole time, and holds up my bag of
cosmetics*** ….Sir, she wants to abandon this? What do we do? ***boss
shrugs***
Me: Just keep it. Take it home and give it to your wife.
Guy: Uhh….?....No, I can’t…..What is it?
Me: It’s toothpaste and soap. Your family will like it. It’s a gift!
Guy: Uhh…. I will hold onto it, and if we find
anyone with the same ticket as you to Manila and some extra space in their
luggage, we will ask them to put it in their suitcase and you can get it when
you arrive in Manila. Ok?
Me: Sure, whatever. ***We
both knew that there’d be absolutely NO ONE besides me going from Burkina to
Manila.***
My two suitcases were now as good as they were going to get without
leaving further things behind (each 1.5 kg over), and I was kinda holding up
the line for everyone behind me. So the
boss came over, “okayed” my suitcases and told the check-in counter worker to
just label my bags as heavy on the ticket (but no fee) and move along. The boss eyed my carry-on’s, as well as my
ridiculous “outfit,” asked to weigh my backpack, saw it was 12.5 kilos instead
of the allotted 7kg (not including the flute that I left next to my
twenty-plus-pound laptop), and simply said, “Your bags are all very heavy. Too heavy.
You might have problems with your connecting flights. Good luck.”
And to the visa counter I went.
Police Officer: Madame, you listed your Burkinabe address
as “Lanfiera.” Lanfiera?
Me: Yes, it’s the name of my village.
PO: Never heard of it.
Me: Lanfiera.
It’s a small village by Tougan.
PO: Maybe.
But I don’t know it. Why didn’t
you live in Ouaga? We could have been
friends and you could’ve taught me how to have conversations in English.
Me: I don’t like Ouaga, I like my village. And I don’t speak English.
PO: Hahaha, c’est
faux. Your passport says you are
American, so I know you can speak English.
Me: ***Silent
glare and look of disapproval***
PO: So, Lanfiera.
You need to write a real address.
Where did you live in Lanfiera?
Me: Um, in a house?
PO: What street?
Me: There are no street names. I lived by the mosquée and the water pump.
PO: Well you need to write something specific,
like a mailbox number.
Me: So you want me to make something up?
PO: Hahaha, well….. sure. It’s not’s a problem. No one looks at these. Also we need your cell phone number.
Me: I don’t have one.
PO: You didn’t have a phone?
Me: I did, but now that I’m leaving definitively,
I no longer have a working phone number.
**that was a lie; my phone was
actually in pocket…***
PO: So you won’t give me your number so I can call
you from time to time and practice speaking English?
Me: ***silent
glare and an even bigger look of disapproval***
PO: Okay, well you need to put your thumb on this
scanner.
***And the electricity goes out***
PO: Ohhhhhh, hahaha no electricity! My computer screen is black, you see? You’ll have to wait; we didn’t finish
loading your fingerprint onto the computer.
……so do you have facebook?
***After an awkward 3-4 minutes, the electricity comes back, thank
god. My thumb was scanned and I advanced
to the security check point.***
Surprisingly, I didn’t experience too many problems here. They asked me if I was Burkinabe, since my
hair was braided, my feet and hands were hennaed, and I was wearing traditional
pagne. They questioned the flute, and so
I had to demonstrate that it was indeed an instrument of music by putting it
together and producing a few notes. They
also remarked that my computer and backpack were too heavy, but since I tried
to apologize in Jula and Moore and say that I was leaving Burkina for good and
needed to take back gifts for my family, they were amused by this and they let
me slide on through. At last, I had made
it. I plopped myself down on a chair and
took off my layers of scarves and skirts.
But not even ten minutes later, my name was announced over the intercom
to report to the original baggage check-in counter. NOOOOOO!!!
What did I do????
Check-in Counter Guy: Madame, the police would like to see you.
Me: …..?
Check-in Counter Guy: Please follow me. ***He
leads me to a backroom where two young officers are staring at my two suitcases.***
Me: Bonjour….?
Officer 1: Ah, c’est
une jolie femme Burkinabé. Comment
ça va ?
Officer 2: You are married?
Me: Is there a problem with my luggage?
Officer 1: You do not answer his question? Why?
Officer 2: You are not married?
Me: It doesn’t matter if I’m married or not. Why are my suitcases not on the plane?
Officer 2: We need to look inside them.
Me: Ok.
Officer 1: You have
questionable items inside; we need to search for weapons.
Me: Alright.
I bet I know what the problem is.
***I unzip the first suitcase,
pull out my clarinet case, and open it up.***
Officer 1: Whyyy !!! What is that?
Officer 2: It’s for playing music, you idiot. Are you stupid?
Officer 1: A flute?
Officer 2: Yes.
Me: No.
Officer 2: No!?!
Not a flute? Then what is it?
Me: A clarinet.
Officer 2: A clarinet? I do not know this instrument. Is it like the trumpet? Play it.
***I put together the clarinet, glide through a chromatic scale and
screech out some high notes, and then smile sweetly at the young officers, who
have been whispering to each other and giggling.***
Officer 1: ***now
speaking in English*** It is
good. Very good. Thank you .
Officer 2: ***also in English*** He wishes to say that you are very ….very,
how do you say it…bea-u-tiii-fulll.
***Officer 1 punches Officer 2 in the arm.***
Officer 1: No, it is him who say that. He want that he can make you his wife.
***Officer 2 punches Officer 1 in the arm.***
Me: I only marry men who have lots of money.
Officer 1: Yah. He
not rich. This one, he have no
money. But I have much money!
Officer 2: No, he lie. He only say ‘deese lies cuz he want to marry
you. He is a faux-type. He not good.
Me: Okay, well I can’t marry either of you – my
plane is leaving soon. Can I close my
suitcase now?
Officer 2: First, we must finish searching. What is this?
***The officer points to my contact solution; I say it’s for my
eyes. Then they point to another “weird”
item, and another…and then the calabash (drinking gourd) that I have wrapped
up. ***
Me: That’s a calabash…? Don’t you know what it is…? ***I
understand them being curious about my contact solution and my pink razor….but
the calabash? That’s a traditional
Burkinabe item! EVERYONE in Burkina
knows what a calabash is. I was confused
as to why they were confused…***
Officer 2: Ah yes.
Calabash. I know it, I know
it. I just ask to see if YOU know what
is it. To see if you are real Burkinabe
or no.
Me: Ok, well can I close my suitcase now?
Officer 1: Yah. We
finish. So when you come back?
Me: I’m not.
I’m leaving forever and going back to America.
Officer 1: So you won’t like to marry my friend?
Me: No, not really. But if you work hard and make a lot of money,
maybe someday, if I come back to Burkina, I’ll marry you. But you’d have to be my third or fourth
husband – I already have two and I might find another in America. Is that okay with you?
Officer 2: Hahaha, yes.
Very good.
Officer 1: Here, put this in your bag. ***He
hands me my bag of cosmetics that I had “abandoned” earlier.***
Me: What?
Officer 1: It’s no problem. ***returns
to speaking French*** The boss out
there by the counter told us to give it back to you so you didn’t have to leave
your soap here. They already marked your
bag, so you can put this in now and they won’t re-weigh your bags. Il n’y a pas de problème. Ça va.
Me: OH! Thank
you! Thank you so much!
I had my cosmetics back, and all I had to do was flirt with the young
officers a bit. (And perhaps, looking
really sad and pathetic in front of the check-in counter boss had helped
too.) I was feeling good – a little
sweaty from wearing so many layers, but oh well. Got through security and all, and not a
single thing was left behind. Success!
I returned to the boarding gate waiting area, and a police woman
approached me, asked where I was going, and then ushered me to the “Ethiopian
Air” waiting area. But not after first
searching my carry-ons (again) and patting me down. I’m not sure why Ethiopian Air searched
everyone before allowing us to enter the roped off waiting area, when we had
just come through security. The people
going to Cote d’Ivoire weren’t being searched a second time…. the lady seemed annoyed with me at first
(fair enough) but I told her my sob story about finishing Peace Corps and
having gifts from my village, and right away she perked up. She asked me questions about my village, if I
spoke any local languages, how I enjoyed my time in Burkina, etc. She turned out to be really nice and
concerned for me (and my carry-ons). She
helped me firmly reattach my “skirts” and stuff my book and travel pillow into
my already too full backpack, so that I literally would only carry on my
backpack and laptop case, without extra things in my hands and items dangling
from my backpack (besides my tennis shoes and flute, which she helped better
attach to the backpack with a piece of string). We chatted until it was time for me board
the bus that would take me to the plane, only stopping whenever another female
came through the line and thus she was needed to pat the female down --- though
females traveling were limited; men outnumbered women by at least 10:1. We exchanged emails and even took a picture
together on her iPhone.
Finally I was climbing up the steps of the plane, my carry-on straps
digging into my neck. My seat was near
the front, 15C, but when I got to the 15’s I was confused to find all the seats
taken already. People were standing
behind me, anxious to find their own seats, muttering rude things about the
girl (me) just standing in the aisle with her bags, but I wasn’t sure what to
do. I tried to let people pass, but, as
we all know, plane aisles are small to begin with. There’s hardly room for one person to walk,
let alone a person wearing a backpack and holding a laptop case while a second
person tries to squeeze by, also holding luggage. Not gonna happen. “Madame, please find your seat,” said the
flight attendant. Urgh, I just wanted to
get rid of my bags, to throw them into the luggage compartment, and maybe take
off the excess clothing so I could move more freely. And then I could deal with this lack of a
seat problem. I looked from left to
right; however, it seemed as if all the overhead spaces were full. In fact, most the plane seats were already
filled with impatient people awaiting take-off (my bus had been the last trip
between the waiting area and the plane --- there’s no ramp that connects the
waiting area directly to the plane entry; you have to ride a bus about 100
meters to the plane and then climb up about 30 steps to board) and so my
original thought of “just grab an empty seat” wasn’t gonna work, more than
likely every single seat on this plane was assigned to someone.
The flight attendant directed me to an overhead space ahead, and with a
bit or rearranging; I was able to shove my computer into the compartment. We found another place a few compartments
away for my backpack….and all the while people were still waiting behind
me. “Madame, please take your seat
now,” said the flight attendant. I
explained that my seat was 15C while simultaneously showing my ticket, and
pointing to indicate that all the 15’s were already filled with people……aka
someone wasn’t in the right seat. I
heard the large older man waiting directly behind me tell the person behind him
in line that this was ridiculous and I was causing problems for everyone. Not true.
If there just would’ve been some space for me to put my stuff, not to
mention a seat to sit in, everything would’ve been just fine. The flight attendant pushed her way through
the line to the 15’s and asked to see all their tickets. Turns out that TWO of the six people weren’t
even 15’s and a third person was in 15A instead of 15D. Urgh people…..learn to read. Finally I was in my seat next to the window,
a young-ish Burkinabe man was sitting next to me, and a crabby middle-aged
white guy was by the aisle. I took off
my skirts and scarves and sweatshirt and relaxed for a few minutes. Until I realized that I had forgotten my
ipod, book, travel pillow, gum, and contact solution in my backpack. This was a 7-hour flight. I was definitely going to want these items,
and better to get them right away, than to wait til after take-off and then
have to wake-up my neighbors so I could get out, in turn causing them to hate
me even more.
The large crabby guy who’d been behind me in line happened to be
sitting nearby, and so when I got my backpack down and started to pull out
items, such as my book and ipod, he glared at me. What?
Jeesh, I’m not even bothering you….
The flight itself was fine and the seven hours went by really
fast. I even chatted with my Burkinabe
neighbor – turns out he was on his way to China to buy merchandise that he
would bring back to Ouagadougou and sell in his store. He makes this trip twice a year, staying with
his friend/acquaintance in China for 3 weeks before flying back to
Burkina. Soon it was time for lunch, but
for some reason, I couldn’t understand what the flight attendants were
saying...even though they were speaking English.
Lady: Fish or Chicken?
Me: Quoi?
Lady: FISH or CHICK-EN….
Me: Uh…
Lady: Do you speak English or français?
Me: Oui, français.
Lady: Voulez-vouz le poisson ou le poulet?
Me: Oh, ok.
Je vais prendre le poulet, s’il vous plait.
***a few minutes later, a different lady comes by***
Lady: To drink?
Me: Quoi?
Lady: Beverage?
Me: Quoi?
Je n’ai pas compris, pardon.
Lady: Uh…Water or Coke? ***she
holds up the bottle of water and can of coke***
My Burkinabe neighbor: Yes.
Lady: Which one sir?
Neighbor: Yes.
Uh…l’eau….uh, wah-ter.
Lady: Here’s your water, sir. Miss?
What will you have to drink?
Me: OHHHH!!!!
***I realize she’s been speaking English the whole time, as was the
lady with the food before her….it all makes sense now!**** I’ll
have water, please. And orange
juice. With ice. Thanks.
Me: (to my
neighbor, in French) So you can
speak English?
Neighbor: Ha, no no.
I speak English small small. Just
a few words, like water and thank you, that I’ve learned from these airplane
rides. I didn’t finish school so I don’t
know much English.
Me: Yeah, I don’t speak English either anymore…
Naturally, having grown accustomed to eating such delicacies as tô and
slimy leaf sauce, I found the plane food to be AMAZING. I ate every last crumb, and had both tea and
coffee with lots of sugar packets during my dessert of packaged coconut
cookie. However, unlike my flight to
Italy last year, I did not stoop so low as to ask my neighbors if I could eat
their unfinished food. I wanted to, but,
I did realize that I need to start adjusting to normal society again and eating
strangers’ half-eaten food is seen as weird by most people…so I refrained.
Before I knew it, we were in Addis Ababa. We got off and were herded into the
“transfers” area, where we of course had to go through security yet again. While waiting in line, I conversed with the
guys around me. They were from Ouaga and
on their way to Seoul (South Korea) for a business conference, and so we’d be
on the same connecting flight to Hong Kong.
All three men were about 40-years-old and didn’t have any carry-ons besides
a briefcase/laptop each. So one man took
my computer case, and another took my backpack, and I was left with only my
skirts/blankets in my arms. How
convenient! Plus, this allowed me to
board the next plane without a problem, as it looked as if I only had one small
carry-on (i.e. my blankets). It couldn’t
have gone any smoother. We boarded the
plane to Hong Kong on time, the flight was only half-full so everyone had
plenty of space for storing carry-ons in the overhead compartments, as well as
for sitting. In fact, I had a window seat,
plus the two other seats in my row, all to myself. Since this flight was 11 hours long and
“overnight,” I was able to stretch out and sleep soundly a good portion of the
11 hours. AND, we got fed two delicious
meals, plus a snack! OH YEAH, and we got
socks! Fuzzy yellow socks. At first I was like, “No way am I wearing
handout socks. Weird.” But then my feet did start to feel cold and
all the Asians on the plane were already wearing their pairs, plus I realized
that I couldn’t remember the last time I had even worn socks myself – I wore
flip flips EVERY DAY in Burkina – so wearing
fuzzy yellow socks seemed like an appealing idea. It turned out to be a wonderful idea. I had forgotten how nice it is to be cold,
wear layers, and snuggle up under a blanket(s).
Once in Hong Kong, I had to go the Cathay Pacific ticket counter and
get my connecting flight ticket to Manila.
I’m not exactly sure why they couldn’t give me it in Ouaga, but
whatever. I finally find the counter and
am grateful the line is only a few people long.
With my flight to Manila boarding in less than an hour, I was worried
about finding my gate, arriving late, etc.
So I’m waiting in line. And
waiting . And waiting. It’s been about 15 minutes. By now there’s like 10 people behind me, plus
the 2 in front of me who haven’t moved yet either. The original 3 people are still standing at
the 3 counters, and all employees are on the phone and tapping away at the
computer. What is going on? Why isn’t this
line moving? What are they doing? Seriously, hurry up. I start paying attention to what is
happening at the counters and eavesdropping.
Well, I mean, it wasn’t hard to eavesdrop. These people (all of which I assume to be
American, based on their smooth English and appearances) were yelling very
loudly at the employees, who were doing their best to remain calm and speak
clear English.
Lady 1: I want to talk to your manager! Now!
Is that him on the line? Who are
you talking to? Is it him? Please give me the phone, I need to talk to
him, and he needs to explain to me what the problem is and how you’re going to
fix it, since you don’t seem to know.
Female Employee 1: Sorry, mam.
No, not him. He not
available. Please wait.
Lady 1: NO! I
will not wait. I’ve been waiting over
hour already. ONE HOUR. Right here, in this spot, talking to
you. FOR ONE HOUR. I’m done!
This is ridiculous. Give me your
manager’s name. I’m going to report
him. ***lady takes out her iPhone and
starts filming the employee***
FE 1: I very sorry, mam. Please, you need to put your phone down. You cannot record ---
Lady 1: I can’t record you!?!? But why not?
This is what’s happening…it’s not your fault. I know that.
But, we need proof that you did everything possible so they don’t blame
you. That’s what’s gonna happen. They’ll blame you! So this is proof. I need you to make a statement; tell me what
you said your manager had said on the phone.
FE 1: No, very sorry, but no. Not possible.
I not comfortable….
Lady 1: But it’s the truth isn’t it? The truth!
You and I, we need proof!
FE 1: No, I cannot. Please, you must ask your questions to the
manager. If you can wait here until the
manager is free, please, and I will help the other people in line.
Lady 1: NO.
You listen to me. I am a
customer. I have paid good money for my
ticket, and now you tell me to wait and talk to the manager!?! I am never taking your airline again! You are going to fix this situation
immediately and ….
Guy 1: Excuse me.
EXCUSE ME. Can you please be
quiet? I’m over here, on the phone,
trying to get ahold of this same manager, and I’m waiting patiently. I was here before you were, I have the same
problem as you, but yet I’m not screaming at the employees. It’s not their fault they don’t know
anything.
Lady 1: You see?
Another problem! This rude guy is
trying to get through to the manager too, and he’s probably the reason our call
isn’t going through! ***points finger at female employee 1***
Guy 1: Pllleeeeeaaaasssssseeeee. Stop.
You’re not the only one whose flight got screwed up.
FE 1: Mam, I found opening to New York on flight
in one hour, economy class ---
Lady 1: NO NO NO!!!
I paid for a business class ticket, direct flight from here to New
York. I will not be sitting in
economy. No way. You’ll find me a flight that leaves before
midnight, that’s direct to New York with no layovers, and with me in a business
class seat. I will not accept
economy. Who do you think I am, treating
me like this? I’m a paying customer, and
this is what I get? Economy class? You’ve got to be kidding me!
Guy Behind Me in Line: Oh my god….seriously? What is her problem?
Different Guy in Line: Either take economy or get out of the
way. You’re gonna make the rest of us
miss our flights!
***security officer ushers an Asian man over to ticket counter***
Male Employee 1: Hello, sir. What’s the problem?
Security Officer: You need to look at his boarding pass…
Asian man: I don’t know….what to do? My flight, it leaves in 20 minutes. I with group.
We go to Israel. They all on
plane, but me, they not let me on plane.
Why?
ME 1: ***looks
at boarding pass and types info into his computer*** Uh,
ok. Um, I’m sorry sir. Please wait.
There seems to be a problem with your registration code.
***makes a phone call, probably to the manager, who seems to be MIA***
Asian man: But what do I do? I going to miss plane. My friends are waiting for me.
Security Officer: You’ll be fine. Just wait here.
ME 1: ***with
phone on his shoulder, motions to the couple in front of me in line*** Yes, okay, here you are, everything looks
good on my computer. So here are your
boarding passes, go upstairs, gate 34 is in Terminal 2. Hurry, it is boarding now. Thank you.
***Guy 1 is still “waiting” on the phone for the manager with an
employee standing next to him, the Asian man is looking at his watch every 30
seconds after which he turns to me to smile and say, “This not good. They not help. That lady, she distract them,” referring to
the crazy Lady 1 who won’t accept the economy replacement ticket and is pacing
in front of the counter while her counter’s employee is frantically trying to
figure something out. The male employee
goes over to help the coworker at the third counter, who has question. The third counter has been occupied this
entire time by yet another lady, but at least she’s not yelling….I’m starting
to get really nervous about whether or not I’m even going to make my flight,
because I’ve been standing in a non-moving line for almost 30 minutes now.***
Asian man: Now my flight leave. I miss it.
So now what? You tell me to wait,
and tell me everything will be fine, but you not help. Now I have no plane. I paid $1500 to go to Israel with my
friends. But I not get to go. I wait here.
I do not know why.
ME 1: I’m sorry sir. Very sorry.
We’ll be with you in a minute.
Let me help some of these passengers who’ve been waiting in line first,
so they don’t miss their flights also.
Lady 1: You know what, sir? Now you know better. Never take this airline again. Tell all your friends. All this airline does is cause problems and
then try to “fix” them by ripping you off and giving you economy instead of
business like you paid big bucks for.
Guy 1: Hellooooo, could you keep it down. I’m trying to hear if someone picks up the
phone or not.
***ME 1 motions to me; I give him my passport and online itinerary.***
ME 1: Alright. No problems.
Here you go. Next, please.
Me: Wait, excuse me. What gate is my flight boarding at? It doesn’t say….and at what time?.....
ME 1: Uhhh….. ***fiddles
with is computer*** I do not
know. It’s not listed yet. It’s possible it will be canceled. Lots of flights are being canceled. Just go to Gate 21, that’s the main Cathay
Pacific Gate, and ask someone there.
I had my boarding pass, a good start.
As I went through security, and then into the airport terminals, I tried
to walk as fast as I could, all while carrying my 50-pound carry-ons, of
course. Within 10 minutes of speed
walking, I was tired and sweaty, and my shoulder ached. But I was only at Gate 12. The airport clocks
said 4:15pm, which meant that my flight, originally scheduled for takeoff at
5:05pm, was just starting to board – maybe.
It still wasn’t listed on any of the big arrival and departure
screens. Actually, it was listed, it
just didn’t have a time or gate by it.
All the other flights had times/gates listed, and if not, a big red
CANCELED was listed. (There were a lot
of canceled flights. I was beginning to
suspect that something was going on….) I
finally plopped myself down into a chair in front of Gate 21, which was now
listing my flight with an “anticipated” boarding time of 5:30pm. Hmm, interesting. As I thought about it and noticed the
more-than-normal chaos around the airport, in addition to the numerous
cancelations, I recalled that upon landing on my flight from Addis Ababa, we
had flown over a whole bunch of boats and ships in the harbors. They were all lined up neatly (not docked,
but rather positioned out in the water), and had yellow and red lights
blinking. It also was rather dreary and
rainy out. A flight attendant came over
and asked to see our boarding passes, and she would respond with “Okay” to some
people (like me) and “Please go to ticket counter” to other people. Something was definitely up.
Later, upon arriving in Manila, I was informed that a typhoon was
approaching (or had already hit?) Hong Kong, and that all flights had been
cancelled for the night. My flight to
the Philippines was one of the last flights that got out. Whew!
Lucky me! I don’t think I would
have enjoyed camping out overnight in the Hong Kong airport during a typhoon,
especially after already having endured over 24 hours of travel.
Once my flight took off to Manila, only about 2 hours behind schedule,
it was smooth sailing. It was the nicest
(and biggest) plane I had ever been on, probably holding over 350 people. We each had our own screen on the seat in
front of us and could watch movies and TV show series; listen to music; play
Chess, Sudoku, hangman; and more. So
many options! If this would have been a
10-hour flight instead of the 1.5 that it was, I don’t think I would have slept
a wink. I’d have stayed up the entire
time, being mesmerized by all the TV shows and movies I have yet to see, as
well as by playing chess, a game that I only recently learned to play (A big
merci to Gregory K! Someday I’ll beat
ya!).
Going through customs was easy; they hardly even looked at my passport
and they definitely didn’t look at my bags.
As I left the airport and crossed the street to where I was expecting to
meet Jacque Olson, all the Filipinos shouted, “Nice hair!” and “I like your
hair, mam!” I guess seeing someone with
tons of little braids with beads attached at the ends, wearing African jewelry
and clothing was pretty weird and attention-drawing.
At last, I spotted Jacque and before I knew it, my luggage was loaded
up into her friend’s car and we were driving away, into the Philippine
night. It had rained a lot (blame the
“nearby” typhoon?) and so some of the roads were flooded. We finally got to Jacque’s apartment, did
some initial chatting, ate some supper, and then went to bed. With my long flights, plus time zone changes,
it was currently around 9pm, Sunday, September 22. (It would have been around 2pm in Burkina, so
I was actually “ahead” on sleep, but since it was nighttime in Manila and
travel is exhausting, I had no objections to going to bed!)
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