Mishaps and Transition

DAVID: My mishaps keep happening and many of them at the key point of entry into the next country.

In Uganda, we are coming off the plane at Entebbe, Uganda, and as we are headed towards Immigration I see the “Health Check” sign, and realize our Yellow Fever immunization cards are safe and secure…in my checked bag.  As we get to the front of the line, I confess this to Jeany, and she asserts in response: “Just look healthy.”  The four of us present our perky, ready-for-adventure best, and the officers take our names down and say we can go if when we leave the country we present our YF cards. I remembered the cards when we departed.

In Kenya, I realize I actually paid for the visas twice (once online and then unthinking, when we met the immigration officials in person). Since Jeany and I were the only one required to have visas, at least we’re only out $100. USD. Ok, that one still stings.

Yesterday, we land in Dar Es Salaam to make the tightest flight transfer of the whole trip. I realized on the plane that I left our money for the visas in my checked bag. Oh yes, I did it again.  I tell an immigration officer that I need to get money from an ATM, and he graciously says I can go out of the secure area to the machine and return while Jeany and the boys wait in the processing line. I have to go through security to get out, then the ATM doesn’t let me make the transaction. Before I get too stressed I remember that in order to get to out to the cash machine, I went past baggage claim….So after going through security again to get back in, I go find my bag riding on the belt, pull it off, get the money out, put it back on the belt, and then go back to Immigration. 

I tell the immigration officer about our short flight connection time, and he assures me they will get us through in time to get to the flight. Tanzania is unique in granting visas. No online application, and no pre-filling out of forms. You have to fill out the application at the airport and then wait with everyone else applying while they process them in no particular order. So, getting ours done early was indeed a mercy. 

We grabbed our bags, went through security to get out of the airport, ran to the entrance and went through security to get back in to the airport, and thankfully we were right next to the check in desk for our airline because a man came over to us and said “Precision Air flight to Tabora is closing. Hurry!” and we rushed to the desk, endured disapproving looks while checking our bags, and then went through two more security checks to get to the gate. We made it on to the flight!

A big thank you to the humanity that each African country has offered us in these moments where we could have been treated with suspicion and made to follow the letter of the law.

God Bless Us, Every One.

JEANY:

We are in Tanzania before we really have time to prepare ourselves.

The flight over Mount Kilimanjaro is stunning.

When we arrive at Dar es Salaam, we are greeted with a blast of hot air like we entered a sauna.  The cool elevation of Nairobi is gone and we are sweltering.  The immigration folks will not take our e-visa forms, nor will they accept the forms we wrote on the plane, so we must quickly re-write our information on the side desks before they will process our visas.  We are sweating it now and not just because of the heat — we have a flight to catch in one hour.  David has again left his cash in his suitcase, so he ventures off with a security guard to use an ATM.  (He's told that story above.)  Suffice it to say, we get our visas, scramble out through security (yes, they scan your bags on the way OUT of airports too.)

So after we make it out, we can re-enter (after going through another security), and then we can check our bags for the connecting domestic flight.  Midway through this second security, we are told the flight to Tabora is closing and we have to hurry.  We rapidly grab our bags, re-tuck our liquids and laptop, throw on our shoes untied and scamper over to the check-in.

There are three attendants there and they stare at the harried white family and barely bat an eye.

Now I realize Tanzania is more like Uganda than Kenya: they are relaxed.

Gradually they weigh our bags and re-tag them and send us off to the gate.

We are easy to spot in this airport, and not just in the way you would think; it is again, because we are the ONLY ones running.

We reach the top of the stairs only to — you guessed it — go through security.

We can see the people on the other side of the glass and they don’t looked stressed.

By the time we enter our gate, we see that no one has even boarded and sweat is streaming down my spine.

The flight is not so very comfortable, but not so bad either.  I see six Caucasians who look like first-time missionaries.  One couple is trying to wedge a guitar case into the overhead bin; I think of telling them before they try three different ways that is not going to happen.  The wife is barking at the husband and he is sweating but silent; humiliated.  The line up behind me is waiting and finally they give up and sit with the guitar for now.  All this time a small woman draped entirely in black is pushing at me from behind without speaking.  I turn, frustrated, ready to just let her pass me, but then I would lose connection with Weston.  She glares at me through the only part of her that is uncovered — a little slit for the eyes.  We are now in Muslim country and both Christians and English speakers are rare.  I offer to let her pass, but just then the aisle opens up and we can move forward.  Sure enough, she ends up sitting next to me.  She spreads her arms over both arm rests and then her legs go wide under her dress and she turns away.  The need to be friendly in me wants to speak to her, but instead I read the signs and remain silent.  My hope for cross-cultural connection is out the window with her gaze.  I scrunch my massive quarterback shoulders as much as possible and prepare to ride this bird of a plane all the way into the heart of this strange new land.

Sure enough, we hit some tummy-flipping turbulence on the descent and it’s all I can do to breathe and pray.  The landing is not smooth, but we are safe and eager to meet Moses, our leader to the promised land of Tabora.