Mama Said There'd Be Days Like This
December 18, 2005
Boy am I tired, what a day! It started out great, got testy in the middle, jumped right into super complicated, and now we are resting comfortably.
We spent the night at our friends’ house in Bamako. Ray and Jerry are teachers at the Bamako school, but they are originally from Oregon. They were super gracious. They gave their cook Friday off so that she could come in on Saturday to cook for us. We had a fantastic meal of beef skewers, rice and vegetables with fresh Basil, and fresh fruit salad with mint leaves for dessert. We even got to have fresh lettuce salad! Two other folks from the school showed up to join us. We ended the evening soon after Paul and Linda left for the airport.
This morning we had real coffee on the porch, chatted about life for awhile, and then headed out to breakfast. Good stuff! After breakfast we packed and headed to the airport for our flight to Dakar.
The Bamako airport is very small. We entered and went to the Air Kenya desk. I presented the e tickets we had gotten from the travel agent and was immediately told that they were not tickets, just reservations. We weren’t getting on the plane. As it turns out, Air Kenya doesn’t have e tickets, they only accept hard copies. I immediately called the travel agent. Except it’s Sunday and there’s no answer. I did what any self respecting teacher would do; I called the school secretary for help. She gave me the name of the owner of the company along with suggestions about how to find his cell number. The one that worked was the suggestion to talk to the Air France office, as they all know this guy. After some persuasion, the agent managed to find his number.
So here we are; our plane leaves at 1:05 and it is now past twelve. I am not a happy camper and I am getting more stressed by the minute. Worst case scenario is that we have to go back to Ray and Jerry’s and get on a plane tomorrow. Not too bad, but goddammit I want to go to Dakar! I get a hold of the guy and he promises to get back to me. Ain’t that great? I called the secretary again. She suggested that we just go ahead and purchase tickets at the window and we’ll get the thing sorted out later. That sounded lekker, so I talked to the Air Kenya guy. He informed me that it was not possible to purchase tickets for Air Kenya at the airport. They have no way to accept payment of any kind. He sent me to Air France. She told me that the office was closed until 5:30 or we could talk to Air Senegal when they arrive at three. Shit! What kind of an airline doesn’t sell tickets at the airport? We agree to wait around for fifteen minutes and then call the agent back. That’s when the phone rang.
It’s now pushing twelve thirty and I am wound up. Fortunately, I kept my cool. The agent tells me that there several things that happened and he is very sorry (Ahh, I love those words). He tells me to go back inside and talk to the (English speaking) manager and he will put us on the plane. I ended up having the manager call the agent. After a heated discussion, we were allowed on the plane, but no seat for Zachary. We checked in at 1:00. Talk about relief.
Now I consider our family to be fairly experienced travelers, but apparently we still have some things to learn. The flight was less then two hours. The food was good and so was the visibility. We were heading for the beach for a little R&R. Nothing to do but lie in the sun, swim in the ocean, and drink beer. Then we arrived at the man who wanted to see our immunization card. We had to get a mess of shots when we came to Mali. We each have a little book that lists all of them. They are tucked neatly in their place in the file folder in the second drawer of the sideboard; right where we left them. Apparently we are supposed to carry them with us wherever we travel. Now we are in Dakar; it’s eighty five degrees, there is no air conditioning, and we are crammed into a little room with fifteen other people. The man with the uniform has our passports; we have not let him out of our sight since he took them. I tried to tell him that we worked for the embassy, but he didn’t seem too impressed…
One by one they called people into the office. It’s a tiny, windowless box in the back of the airport. If you cannot prove that you have had a Yellow Fever shot, then you must buy one for $10. We had that shot; we wouldn’t have been able to enter Mali if we hadn’t, but we don’t have the paperwork to prove it. I can have them faxed here, but that’s gonna take time. We’re so close to the water. I saw it flying in. The plane swung out over the Atlantic before it landed. For a brief moment I could see nothing but water. Man, do I miss the water. It’s right there, through those doors, but that man has my passport…
I thought I was going to pass out, it was so hot. Finally we got called in. We explained to the man in English and French, ticking off the shots we got to come here. We must have said the word “teachers” at least five times. He sent us back out to the waiting area. Fuck! I’d rather spend the night in Bamako then the Dakar airport. Hell, I would rather spend the night in the Lake Forest holding cell then the Dakar airport. This sucks! Five sweltering minutes passed before he took us aside, admonished us for not carrying the paperwork, and sent us on our way free of charge.
Sweet! Now we only had to go through Customs, Baggage Claim, Security, and the crowds outside before we could get to our hotel. Indeed, that is where we are now. It’s a peaceful place with a pool and a balcony. I can even smell the ocean from here…
Carrie says, “AHH!”
MJR
Boy am I tired, what a day! It started out great, got testy in the middle, jumped right into super complicated, and now we are resting comfortably.
We spent the night at our friends’ house in Bamako. Ray and Jerry are teachers at the Bamako school, but they are originally from Oregon. They were super gracious. They gave their cook Friday off so that she could come in on Saturday to cook for us. We had a fantastic meal of beef skewers, rice and vegetables with fresh Basil, and fresh fruit salad with mint leaves for dessert. We even got to have fresh lettuce salad! Two other folks from the school showed up to join us. We ended the evening soon after Paul and Linda left for the airport.
This morning we had real coffee on the porch, chatted about life for awhile, and then headed out to breakfast. Good stuff! After breakfast we packed and headed to the airport for our flight to Dakar.
The Bamako airport is very small. We entered and went to the Air Kenya desk. I presented the e tickets we had gotten from the travel agent and was immediately told that they were not tickets, just reservations. We weren’t getting on the plane. As it turns out, Air Kenya doesn’t have e tickets, they only accept hard copies. I immediately called the travel agent. Except it’s Sunday and there’s no answer. I did what any self respecting teacher would do; I called the school secretary for help. She gave me the name of the owner of the company along with suggestions about how to find his cell number. The one that worked was the suggestion to talk to the Air France office, as they all know this guy. After some persuasion, the agent managed to find his number.
So here we are; our plane leaves at 1:05 and it is now past twelve. I am not a happy camper and I am getting more stressed by the minute. Worst case scenario is that we have to go back to Ray and Jerry’s and get on a plane tomorrow. Not too bad, but goddammit I want to go to Dakar! I get a hold of the guy and he promises to get back to me. Ain’t that great? I called the secretary again. She suggested that we just go ahead and purchase tickets at the window and we’ll get the thing sorted out later. That sounded lekker, so I talked to the Air Kenya guy. He informed me that it was not possible to purchase tickets for Air Kenya at the airport. They have no way to accept payment of any kind. He sent me to Air France. She told me that the office was closed until 5:30 or we could talk to Air Senegal when they arrive at three. Shit! What kind of an airline doesn’t sell tickets at the airport? We agree to wait around for fifteen minutes and then call the agent back. That’s when the phone rang.
It’s now pushing twelve thirty and I am wound up. Fortunately, I kept my cool. The agent tells me that there several things that happened and he is very sorry (Ahh, I love those words). He tells me to go back inside and talk to the (English speaking) manager and he will put us on the plane. I ended up having the manager call the agent. After a heated discussion, we were allowed on the plane, but no seat for Zachary. We checked in at 1:00. Talk about relief.
Now I consider our family to be fairly experienced travelers, but apparently we still have some things to learn. The flight was less then two hours. The food was good and so was the visibility. We were heading for the beach for a little R&R. Nothing to do but lie in the sun, swim in the ocean, and drink beer. Then we arrived at the man who wanted to see our immunization card. We had to get a mess of shots when we came to Mali. We each have a little book that lists all of them. They are tucked neatly in their place in the file folder in the second drawer of the sideboard; right where we left them. Apparently we are supposed to carry them with us wherever we travel. Now we are in Dakar; it’s eighty five degrees, there is no air conditioning, and we are crammed into a little room with fifteen other people. The man with the uniform has our passports; we have not let him out of our sight since he took them. I tried to tell him that we worked for the embassy, but he didn’t seem too impressed…
One by one they called people into the office. It’s a tiny, windowless box in the back of the airport. If you cannot prove that you have had a Yellow Fever shot, then you must buy one for $10. We had that shot; we wouldn’t have been able to enter Mali if we hadn’t, but we don’t have the paperwork to prove it. I can have them faxed here, but that’s gonna take time. We’re so close to the water. I saw it flying in. The plane swung out over the Atlantic before it landed. For a brief moment I could see nothing but water. Man, do I miss the water. It’s right there, through those doors, but that man has my passport…
I thought I was going to pass out, it was so hot. Finally we got called in. We explained to the man in English and French, ticking off the shots we got to come here. We must have said the word “teachers” at least five times. He sent us back out to the waiting area. Fuck! I’d rather spend the night in Bamako then the Dakar airport. Hell, I would rather spend the night in the Lake Forest holding cell then the Dakar airport. This sucks! Five sweltering minutes passed before he took us aside, admonished us for not carrying the paperwork, and sent us on our way free of charge.
Sweet! Now we only had to go through Customs, Baggage Claim, Security, and the crowds outside before we could get to our hotel. Indeed, that is where we are now. It’s a peaceful place with a pool and a balcony. I can even smell the ocean from here…
Carrie says, “AHH!”
MJR
posted by Bronx to Timbuktu at 11:54 AM
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