Want to See my Passport?
July 10, 2006
We have arrived in Seattle! The trip was long and involved some challenges, but we are happy to be here.
I purchased a kora for my cousin. A kora is a twenty something stringed instrument. It is typical in West African music. I bought it from the same fellow who sold me the balafon. I ordered the instrument in April. I knew that when I arrived, my friend would already be gone to the U.S. We landed in Bamako on Friday night and went directly to the music store. The employee had no idea what I was talking about. He said he would call Rusty. He asked me to return the following day at 10:00. We went to our hotel and settled in.
Saturday morning I found a cab and headed back to the store. The employee told me that the box had not been sealed. He had nails, but no hammer. He wandered off to find a hammer. He returned shortly to say that he still had not found one. He called the driver over and rattled something off in Bambara, then turned to me to say that he would be taking my car to go get a hammer. I said that would be fine, but he could pay the driver. He was incredulous; why should he have to pay for the driver? I did my best to explain (in French) that he had had three months to prepare the box and if it wasn’t ready, that was his problem, not mine. The driver finally explained it to him in Bambara and the man took off on foot. The driver and I had a good laugh about it.
We boarded Air Senegal on Saturday night. We arrived at the Bamako airport with plenty of time to spare. We presented our passports to the guard at the door, then proceeded inside. Passports were inspected before we were allowed to go to the ticket counter. They checked passports again, checked us in, and sent us towards the gate. We filled out some paperwork to present to the man in the cage who also checked our passports. Six steps later, the gendarme checked them again, up the stairs, where the man at the top checked our passports. On to security where, that’s right, they checked our passports. Seven times they checked before we got on the plane.
Although we had assigned seats, the plane was open seating. Translated that means it was a freeforall. I sat separately from the family. We had good entertainment, free booze, and a hot meal all in an hour and a half. At about 11:30 at night we touched down in Dakar. if you have ever flown internationally, you know that you have to fill out these little cards upon arrival at you point of entry. Usually they give you these forms on the pane so that you can have it done when you arrive. In Africa however, these forms are only available at the airport. You disembark, enter the terminal, and join the crush for forms.
We entered the line to get our vaccine cards checked and bumped into an American woman who was returning from Burkina Faso. She talked our ears off through this line and the next one where they checked our passports. She told us to be sure and check the carousel for our bags even though we had checked them through to New York. We passed through a passport check to baggage claim and almost immediately spotted our bags. I asked a gendarme what the deal was. He explained that we should leave them and Air Senegal would collect them and send them to our South African Airlines flight. Carrie went and asked another person just to be sure. We saw a man from the airlines pulling bags, so we asked him too. They all confirmed that they were pulling bags to be sent to NYC.
We x-rayed our bags and went outside into the taxi drivers, money changers, and assorted bedlam that exists at the Dakar airport. We pushed through the crush of people to a security guy asking for passports. Inside the departure terminal, another man checked our passports and inspected our bags, then sent us to ticketing. The ticket agent checked our passports and asked where our bags were. We explained what we had done. He called his supervisor who told us that if we left our bags here, we would never see them again. Back outside we went, through the crowd, past the guys with machine guns, on to baggage claim. There were all our bags. Now we just had to go through the whole process all over again.
South African Airlines was great. A beautiful aircraft, great service, and free booze; who could ask for anything more? We left Dakar at 3:00 am and flew for eight hours over the Atlantic, arriving at JFK at 7. After some processing we made our way to the AirTrain and headed off to Coney Island for the day. We ate tons, drank Root Beer for the first time in a year, and hung out on the beach. After fourteen passport checks, we had finally arrived.
Next came the worst part of the trip; American Airlines. We waited until the end to board. We gathered our things and journeyed down the JetWay. We rounded a corner and bumped into the line. While we waited, others joined in behind. We finally came to where we could see the aircraft. A woman came to the cabin door and announced that we needed to hurry up and get to our seats. The longer we took to get to our seats, the longer it would be before we could take off. We found our seats and sat on the tarmac for almost two hours before leaving.
Our seats were haggard. There was metal protruding from the seat pockets, one of the reclining mechanisms was broken, and the window shade didn’t want to stay up. Finally they announced that snacks would be available for four bucks. What a switch from Africa where everything is free and a hot meal is always served. Zachary was hungry, but they ran out of snacks prior to arriving at our seats. We complained to the flight attendant, but he snapped back that it wasn’t his problem and there was nothing he could do about it. The problem was further exacerbated when they ran out of drinking water an hour later. I paid how much for that?
We finally arrived in Seattle at 10:00 Sunday night. Everything came through except the kora. How one can lose a five foot tall, sixty-five pound pyramid, completely wrapped in blue, I have no idea, but they did. While our bags were one of the first to come down the carousel, we were one of the last groups to leave the airport. Since finding our way to Cameron’s house, we have been reunited with the kora and hung out with some of our nearest and dearest friends. It’s cold here (70 degrees) and a little surreal, but we are happy to be back home once again.
MJR
We have arrived in Seattle! The trip was long and involved some challenges, but we are happy to be here.
I purchased a kora for my cousin. A kora is a twenty something stringed instrument. It is typical in West African music. I bought it from the same fellow who sold me the balafon. I ordered the instrument in April. I knew that when I arrived, my friend would already be gone to the U.S. We landed in Bamako on Friday night and went directly to the music store. The employee had no idea what I was talking about. He said he would call Rusty. He asked me to return the following day at 10:00. We went to our hotel and settled in.
Saturday morning I found a cab and headed back to the store. The employee told me that the box had not been sealed. He had nails, but no hammer. He wandered off to find a hammer. He returned shortly to say that he still had not found one. He called the driver over and rattled something off in Bambara, then turned to me to say that he would be taking my car to go get a hammer. I said that would be fine, but he could pay the driver. He was incredulous; why should he have to pay for the driver? I did my best to explain (in French) that he had had three months to prepare the box and if it wasn’t ready, that was his problem, not mine. The driver finally explained it to him in Bambara and the man took off on foot. The driver and I had a good laugh about it.
We boarded Air Senegal on Saturday night. We arrived at the Bamako airport with plenty of time to spare. We presented our passports to the guard at the door, then proceeded inside. Passports were inspected before we were allowed to go to the ticket counter. They checked passports again, checked us in, and sent us towards the gate. We filled out some paperwork to present to the man in the cage who also checked our passports. Six steps later, the gendarme checked them again, up the stairs, where the man at the top checked our passports. On to security where, that’s right, they checked our passports. Seven times they checked before we got on the plane.
Although we had assigned seats, the plane was open seating. Translated that means it was a freeforall. I sat separately from the family. We had good entertainment, free booze, and a hot meal all in an hour and a half. At about 11:30 at night we touched down in Dakar. if you have ever flown internationally, you know that you have to fill out these little cards upon arrival at you point of entry. Usually they give you these forms on the pane so that you can have it done when you arrive. In Africa however, these forms are only available at the airport. You disembark, enter the terminal, and join the crush for forms.
We entered the line to get our vaccine cards checked and bumped into an American woman who was returning from Burkina Faso. She talked our ears off through this line and the next one where they checked our passports. She told us to be sure and check the carousel for our bags even though we had checked them through to New York. We passed through a passport check to baggage claim and almost immediately spotted our bags. I asked a gendarme what the deal was. He explained that we should leave them and Air Senegal would collect them and send them to our South African Airlines flight. Carrie went and asked another person just to be sure. We saw a man from the airlines pulling bags, so we asked him too. They all confirmed that they were pulling bags to be sent to NYC.
We x-rayed our bags and went outside into the taxi drivers, money changers, and assorted bedlam that exists at the Dakar airport. We pushed through the crush of people to a security guy asking for passports. Inside the departure terminal, another man checked our passports and inspected our bags, then sent us to ticketing. The ticket agent checked our passports and asked where our bags were. We explained what we had done. He called his supervisor who told us that if we left our bags here, we would never see them again. Back outside we went, through the crowd, past the guys with machine guns, on to baggage claim. There were all our bags. Now we just had to go through the whole process all over again.
South African Airlines was great. A beautiful aircraft, great service, and free booze; who could ask for anything more? We left Dakar at 3:00 am and flew for eight hours over the Atlantic, arriving at JFK at 7. After some processing we made our way to the AirTrain and headed off to Coney Island for the day. We ate tons, drank Root Beer for the first time in a year, and hung out on the beach. After fourteen passport checks, we had finally arrived.
Next came the worst part of the trip; American Airlines. We waited until the end to board. We gathered our things and journeyed down the JetWay. We rounded a corner and bumped into the line. While we waited, others joined in behind. We finally came to where we could see the aircraft. A woman came to the cabin door and announced that we needed to hurry up and get to our seats. The longer we took to get to our seats, the longer it would be before we could take off. We found our seats and sat on the tarmac for almost two hours before leaving.
Our seats were haggard. There was metal protruding from the seat pockets, one of the reclining mechanisms was broken, and the window shade didn’t want to stay up. Finally they announced that snacks would be available for four bucks. What a switch from Africa where everything is free and a hot meal is always served. Zachary was hungry, but they ran out of snacks prior to arriving at our seats. We complained to the flight attendant, but he snapped back that it wasn’t his problem and there was nothing he could do about it. The problem was further exacerbated when they ran out of drinking water an hour later. I paid how much for that?
We finally arrived in Seattle at 10:00 Sunday night. Everything came through except the kora. How one can lose a five foot tall, sixty-five pound pyramid, completely wrapped in blue, I have no idea, but they did. While our bags were one of the first to come down the carousel, we were one of the last groups to leave the airport. Since finding our way to Cameron’s house, we have been reunited with the kora and hung out with some of our nearest and dearest friends. It’s cold here (70 degrees) and a little surreal, but we are happy to be back home once again.
MJR
posted by Bronx to Timbuktu at 3:38 PM
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