I had slept
for 7 hours on the previous flight (that after watching We Bought a Zoo and A
Dolphin’s Tail) so didn’t want to sleep on this leg as I’d be arriving in
Ethiopia after midnight. Alas, having three seats to myself was too much luxury
to resist lying down to snooze again.
Arriving in Ethiopia late at night may have
had some advantages; the airport seemed to be deserted except for the
passengers from our arrival, so immigration went quickly. No one asked how much
money I had, why I was there, nor whether I’d had the appropriate
immunizations.
Next stop:
luggage claim. As soon as I glimpsed the carousel, I saw a skateboard box
making its way around! Yay!! I grabbed a cart and in no time had collected all
5 boxes and my one bag. Off to customs.
Despite
having just loaded almost 200 pounds of boxes onto my kart, I had to heave them
again onto a short conveyor to be X-rayed; this was the final hurdle to getting
the boards into the country. I pushed my kart to the other end of the machine
to find a woman wearing blue surgical gloves surveying whatever the X-ray
machine revealed; a uniformed Ethiopian man calmly arguing with an agitated
Frenchman regarding the purpose of some metal parts that looked like disk
brakes; and a disheveled, lethargic bunch of officials off to one side,
lounging across chairs and talking among themselves amidst tossed wrappers and pitched
jackets. Seeing that no one was looking for my attention and the boxes piling
up as they were extruded from the X-Ray, I began restacking the boxes onto my
kart.
“Nuh, nuh,”
the woman grunted, waiving a blue finger at me. “Two. Inspect.”
“Okay,” I thought
to myself, smiling cooperatively and nodding politely. “Casual … act casual.” I
reminded myself that there were skateboards in the boxes, not contraband. I
suspected that these were the boxes into which Tim Ward had packaged with the
skateboard trucks, which likely drew attention from the distrustful machine.
The uniformed officer, while dodging the Frenchman’s flailing arms and angry
spittle, called over an official from the gaggle on the sidelines, who dragged
herself up reluctantly as if being aroused from bed and without the use of
words, clearly instructed me to put the dubious boxes on the table.
“Skateboards,”
I said stupidly. Unimpressed, she rummaged through a drawer for an object sharp
enough to break open the packaging tape that had thus far done its job
restraining the contents of the box from Arizona to Tehachapi to Los Angeles to
Istanbul to Addis Ababa. After dull
piece of metal proved useless and a ball-point pen snapped into innumerable
pieces, keys from her pocket did the trick and pink foam peanuts flew out as
the box exhaled. “Skateboards,” I repeated.
I pulled a
set of wheeled trucks from the fluff and positioned them on the board, running
my hand across them to mimic their purpose. She returned my performance with a
blank stare. Speaking seemed the only solution: “They’re used skateboards from
America,” I explained, pointing out the wear on the bottom as I frantically
tried to recall an email from Jon Burns instructing me point out their use so
they wouldn’t be suspicious that I was bringing them for resale. What else had
he said … something about their “friend” in customs whom I could ask for if I
got stuck. What was his name … “They’re for Ethiopian children,” I beseeched,
boldly closing the box on her searching hand to point to a shipping label I’d
made for their transit that both visually thanked Turkish Airlines for sending
them at no charge and showed a picture Jon had send of children happily
clinging to a skateboard. That was the ticket: a smile broke across her face.
She called to another official to come look and collaborate, I think, her gut
instinct that this was no problem. He uttered back a few words. “No problem,”
she confirmed, smiling respectfully then returning immediately to her posse.
Yay!!
Relief! I happily karted my skateboards out of the airport, past solicitous
taxi drivers, and into the tiny, blue Toyota Corolla of Eyob Mamo, the
volunteer coordinator for Mercy Ministries Happy Children’s Home who greeted me
with excellent English and the charm of someone who wasn’t burdened with collecting me at 2:00 o’clock in the morning.
Eyob and the skateboards. It was when I inspected
this photo on my phone to ensure it met my expectations that it crossed my
mind, “Wait a second … where is my bag?” Yeah. In my excitement, I left my
suitcase at the X-Ray machine! Ha ha! And because nothing is simple at
airports, I had to run back across the barrier road (which, as you might guess,
drew the attention of security); enter through “Departures”; go back through
security (yep, shoes off, phone in separate container …) and wind my way
backwards through the airport to find my lonely Ogio bag, undisturbed and
waiting patiently for my return.
Thank you, thank you for taking the time to give us an update!
ReplyDeleteWheeeeew! I think that you had my heart in a knot when I read..."where is my bag?"
ReplyDeleteLove you, glad you made it! Miss you already