Leaving
the cocoon of the hotel Tamana, I had forgotten
-
the thousands of motor cycles and scooters carrying assortments of
burdens but often men in women in traditional dress
-
the unmarked sand-paved streets - transporting surfaces smoothed
daily by street sweepers
-
the garbage strewn side-streets, burrows amongst deserted old cars,
carts and tumbling down straw huts and buildings
-
the line-ups of street and seething activity on and beside the road
-
the half-destroyed buildings fronting the highway - as if their
fronts were sacrificed for the higher good of transportation
All
the reminder that Mali is one of the poorest countries in the world.
But
also I had forgotten,
-
traffic lights run by solar panels that are studiously obeyed
-
concrete barricades both sides across the 1.6 km bridge across the
Niger river bed that demarcate the motorcycle and bicycle lanes
-
clean-up efforts of the rubble in the fields and the preservation of
trees
-
people bathing in the river and irrigated gardens along the riverside
At the one security check point close to the airport, the driver (the
manager of the hotel) tells me to "put your camera away and
don't take it out until you are away from Mali." But he is
also friends with one of the soldiers, makes a show of opening the
trunk - my suitcase is in the back seat - and we are waved onwards.
At
the airport, the first task is to enter the scrimmage of people who
want something from me - money, change money for me, sell CDs, sell
me something, carry my luggage. By the time I'm next the building, I need a place to wait, settle my nerves, finish my water bottle and get my bearings.
Two long lines of heavily burdened luggage carts end at the
entrance. People pass the line-ups and are screened by security
officers before entering. The line moves very slowing. I really wish that I could take a
picture - the clothing is colourfully everything, children gussied up
with braids of every variety and practically pasted to their parents
clearly no place to play, the shear numbers of people sitting,
standing seemingly patiently, the constant rumble of voices. A
very few are taking their last drags before going cigarette free for
their flights - in fact, very few Africans seem to smoke (in
contradistinction to the Europeans and certainly not many are fat).
Does
it ever feel good to have my boarding passes in hand! By the
time the plane is loaded, I will have had my luggage x-rayed three
times and hand-searched twice - lost my "tweezerman" and
the battery out of my little flashlight to their garbage. They
weren't picking on me, this happens to everyone.
At
7:30 pm, 25 minutes late, the plane, an Airbus 330, was loaded. We hear the
luggage compartment open and close, open and close - the pilot goes
down the aisle twice and just when he should (workshops in Risk
Management aren't just for emergency room physicians and public
health officials), he announces over the sound system that the baggage
loading equipment is broken and that we are waiting for a tractor to
tow it away!
Whew!
At almost 8:00 pm our engines are revving and we are moving,
the pilot studiously following the yellow line on the tarmac as we
turn onto the runway. Suddenly from my window, I can see that
all hell is breaking out on the ground. There are ground crew
with flashing lights, someone with the red flashlights swinging them
into X's, a spotlight shone on the cockpit - even to my eyes, they
want our pilot to stop the plane. He does but when the bells
and whistles seem to settle, revs up again. If the ground
wasn't frantic before, this is over the top! There are people and machines moving everywhere. A couple of trucks
with flashing lights on their cabs park on the runway in front of us making clear that our plane is not going anywhere.
The coup? A military intervention? But no.
From
my seat at the window, the left wing of our aircraft is poised to slice into the tail wing of a parked Air France plane! The
pilot announces the issue and the ground crew confers, people standing under the wings, an apparent supervisor arrives.
For the next thirty minutes, a tractor alternatively pushes and
pulls our plane back and forth levering us to the right until clearance is achieved. What
a potential disaster! Am I ever thankful to the sharp eyed ground
crew! (Also, how amazing that this doesn't happen more often on busier airports!)
In
Brussels, my task becomes “Phoning Bill”. My Visa won't work in
the telephones and the phones won't allow me to charge the call to my
home number. OK. I'll find the business lounge and Skype him with
the MacBook Air. But my “Air” won't sign on to the “Telehotspot” because it "says" it doesn't recognize the ip address! My iPad isn't so fussy. Finally, almost two hours after arriving and after
downloading the Skype app to the iPad, we're in touch!
At
this point, I'm SOO looking forward to lying down on the plane – my
back is holding up surprisingly, uncomfortable in either sitting or
lying for any length of time but not reverting to the original injury. The
Brussels – Toronto leg of the flight is delayed by an anxiety-producing two hours which means that I probably won't make the Toronto-Regina flight. The trans-Atlantic stops in Montreal where going
through customs is a snap – (keep that in mind for future trips) but which also means that when we
arrive in Toronto, we're on the domestic side close to connecting flights so there is still a chance. By now the crew know that I want to get home so they arrange for me to off load first. But this adventure is not over! The airport bridge won't attach to our plane - the pilot announces that it is broken and we are waiting for the GTA!!!
By the time every thing is moving again, the Toronto-Regina check-in was closed – but the desk staff is willing to check to see if the plane was still attached to the boarding gate! Whew!
Made
it to Regina (and Bill's arms) twenty minutes (and ten days) late!
