Of the Great Trunk

“He’ll be here in just a minute sir.” Smiling back: “OK.”  The airport shuttle from this hotel was supposedly only a fifteen-minute journey.  “He’s on his way.”  “Yeah?  OK.”  The guards at the door tried to make small talk with me.  Staring up on the hill, no one was driving down the long path in.  I went back to the concierge.  “I just called him.  He is coming”  “With all due respect, I need you say when specifically he’ll be here.  Not just ‘soon’.”  "You see sir, today is the first day or Ramadan.  He was blocked by the guards from entering the compound, but now he is in.”  I looked up and still, no one was heading down the road.  My daughter wants to know if they are going to block us from departing, as we head to the airport.  I’m beginning to wonder myself, but soon, were off into the car and off.  

My wife had “misplaced” four hundred dollars in US cash she'd had in her trousers.  Never a good amount to loose, we were now on our way to the airport but without the requisite funds to buy the visa in the next country we were heading to.  I had been assured that I could take local currency out at the airport and then change it back to U.S. dollars.  Standing at the bank with about ten minutes to spare before boarding, I was disabused of this idea at one and then another bank. My friend who was to meet us at the airport in Malawi confirmed:  Dollars were required.  They weren’t going to take local currency. 

It’s a long flight down from Addis to Blantyre.  Longer than you think.  Longer than it take to go from Beijing to Shenzhen or New York to Miami.  Africa is nothing if not long.  Our little distance was only a fraction of the great trunk. I sat in the window seat next to an Italian couple with whom I exchanged a scuzzi and a prego when I need to relieve myself.  Down below I imagined I saw wildebeests’ migrating as we flew over Kenya.  But surely this was a mirage.

At the airport I imagined that I would get the guy to put the visa in my passport first and then tell him I had no money.  I walked up and he asked me for money first.  Ahh.  They were ready for me.  But so was my friend, who had heroically found a way to secure cash, which he motioned that he had secured.  He gave it to an officer who promptly handed it over the imaginary immigration line to me and I put, right after into the hands of our officer.  The two visas, one for Ethiopia and one for Malawi now reside back to back in my passport.  I admired them both and considered how cool they looked for a while as I entered this country.  In my mind I imagined a ditty called:  “It’s my first time in Malawi.”

Sunday, 06/25/17