First Hurdle: Skateboards

After a 13-hour flight to Istanbul, I had to run through the Ataturk Airport to catch my flight to Addis Ababa. Consequently, I didn’t have time to browse around the Duty Free shop to find an HP printer that the Center said they needed. I was able to receive texts (THANK YOU!) but couldn’t connect to the WiFi, so just nibbled an apple I’d brought until my flight boarded.

            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.