Greetings from Douala airport again, where I spent over 17
hours. I thought my transit adventures had ended with my previous post which
wrapped up a few hours ago; allow me to tell you how mistaken I was.
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| Bamako and the Niger river are "black with sun," to steal Albert Camus' expression from Noces |
At 8am, I finally left Leo and his bar, and went to the check-in
counter for my flights back to Bamako. Seeing no one at the counter, I asked an
airport employee what time check in would start, and was simply, and
mysteriously, directed to a back room and told to ask the airline directly.
“Your flight? Oh, it’s canceled. But there’s another one
tomorrow,” an airline employee told me. In Africa, airlines have a small fleet,
and run them on loops – they don’t do back and forth flights between two
destinations, but will typically travel to five or six destinations on a loop.
My plane was thus stuck in N’Djamena: it had been experiencing technical issues
over the previous three days, which had finally deteriorated to the point the
plane couldn’t take off that morning. Due to small fleets, and the age of
certain planes, it’s not uncommon in Africa to hear someone on the loudspeaker
announce a flight has been confirmed. Confirmations can be as noteworthy as
cancellations.
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| Everything is shared in Africa, including electricity. Bamako, Mali |
I then spent the next five and a half hours negotiating a
way to leave that day that would get me to Bamako in time for an 11am meeting
the following day with a senior Malian official – which their solution would
not do.
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| A house may be unfinished, but it already has cable to watch soccer |
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| A man walking his goat. Saint Louis, Senegal |
Just when I think we’d solved the issue, Abdoul casually mentioned that this new itinerary would cost me about $1,000. That set off another round of negotiations and discussions with Abdoul which lasted for three hours, and ended with me on the phone with the deputy director general of the airline, informing him he had 5 minutes to approve the purchase of these tickets by his company before check in closed and I missed my flight, and thus my meetings.
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| "Stop violence against women and girls to live in a peaceful world" A no doubt highly effective UNICEF campaign, and money well spent. I can't help but wonder if their goal is to show the large international aid community in Bamako that UNICEF is there, since this sign will clearly have no impact whatsoever on any situation |
I finally secured my tickets at 2pm, paid in full by the
airline, including tickets on companies that weren’t partners of theirs, just
as the plane was scheduled to begin boarding. I rushed through the airport, all
the while wondering how I’d manage in Lagos since I didn’t have a visa. This
normally wouldn’t be an issue for a mere transit, but the airline hadn’t
managed to check my backpack all the way to Dakar, meaning I’d have to exit the
transit area to retrieve it, and check it again for the second portion of my
trip.
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| Saint Louis, the former capital of the French West African empire, is today a struggling fishing village and colonial vestige |
It turned out I didn’t need to rush: the plane hadn’t even
landed yet. I asked an airport employee how late the flight typically was, and
she merely answered “It’s Nigerian,” with a telling shrug. Having not eaten
since arriving at the airport at midnight, and nothing the previous day outside
of some light cocktail snacks at the reception, I wolfed down the can of
ravioli I always carry in case of emergency. I then lied down on a row of
chairs to catch a few minutes of sleep.
My Arik Air plane eventually arrived over two hours late, a fact some people seemed to expect since they showed up for the flight over 90 minutes after it was scheduled to leave.
After over 17 hours in Douala airport, which I’d gotten to
know intimately (including going back and forth through secure areas, and
visiting the police station twice during the night, mainly because I could),
the plane finally departed. I now know better than to end this post here: I
haven’t arrived yet.
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| Mosque in Saint Louis, Dakar. Claimed as the only mosque in the world with a clock on the minaret |
We took off three hours later than the scheduled time –
reducing my transit window at Lagos airport from three hours to zero minutes. I
immediately informed a flight attendant upon boarding of my situation, and
requested she call ahead to hold my second flight, which was also with Arik
Air.
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| America is everywhere Bamako, Mali |
I also told her upon boarding that my baggage had only been checked through Lagos, not through Dakar, and that I would need it to be check through Dakar. While waiting on the tarmac (for a VIP who arrived directly at the plane, driven by his chauffeur), we went into the luggage compartment, and with a mere pen she wrote “Dakar” on my backpack’s airline label. To say I was reassured would be a severe exaggeration.
When I arrived in Lagos, after Benin, I immediately got off
the plane to find a woman waiting with my boarding pass. She asked me to follow
her, but I responded I would not do so until I saw someone get my bag and
follow us. Given the tight connection, and everything I’d been through, I
didn’t want to take any chances – after all, the Cameroonian curse seemed to be
following me!
An employee arrived, to retrieve my bag. I indicated it was
a green backpack, and hence easy to spot, but from the plane the stewardess
shouted “It has Dakar written on the label!” He proceeded to check every bag,
red suitcases, black duffel bags, and boxes, despite my repeated indications,
until he found my green backpack, checked the label, and triumphantly shouted
“Dakar!”
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| After a summer spent in Africa, there are many things there I cannot explain. This is one of them |
I phoned Alioune, with whom I’d been staying in Dakar, to
let him know I’d be by that night at around 1am. Due to additional delays, I
arrived at 2am, and greeted him warmly. After all my travels, Dakar felt
familiar, like home. Alioune noticed my shaved head and my beard and asked
jokingly if I’d become a jihadist while in Mali. He then told me we would talk
at breakfast, but I explained I’d be leaving at 4am for my 6am flight to
Bamako, yet would be back later that afternoon, in time for dinner. He looked
at me with bewilderment and went to bed, shaking his head.
I showered, for the first time in three days, and
experienced pure and utter bliss while pouring water onto myself (there was no
running water). I avoided touching my bed, since I hadn’t slept in one in three
days and feared it would lull me to sleep. At 4am, I went back to the airport,
and felt overjoyed to be traveling with just my passport, a notebook and some
cash, without any bags. I boarded my flight, the sixth time I’d done so in the
last sixteen hours, and drank an unknown amount of coffee. After all, I was
about to meet with the Chief of Staff to the President of Mali! This was it,
the reason I’d be fighting so hard, always pushing, always moving ahead, for
over 32 hours.
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| A bank in Bamako advertises: "We don't led to the rich." A succinct populist message, and interesting ad campaign |
After a great meeting, it was time to go back to Senegal.
The Chief of Staff lent me his chauffeur, since no taxis were allowed within
the presidential enclave. I appreciated the gesture, especially since I arrived
at the airport at 2pm for a flight leaving at 230, which I made. Once home in
Dakar, I sake into the bed, and tried to realize everything I’d been through,
not just over the past three days but during the last six weeks in Africa. I felt a mix of relief that my travel ordeals were over, and sadness that my African adventure was coming to a close. The
next day, I would get on a plane yet again, but this time it would be to leave Africa and depart for Paris.
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| The sun sets over Benin, as it does over my trip, a gorgeous adventure until the end |
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