Trying to leave Ghana

I should have suspected that things might go pear shaped when I got an email from the travel agent saying that my flight had changed and it was now leaving half an hour early, and had a different number.  The time didn’t really make any difference since there was a combi to take 16 of us to the airport to catch various flights, and we were all going to be plenty early.  Actually it took 2 combis, one for the luggage, and it started to rain.  Heavily.  Nonetheless we all arrived at the airport, but it was so congested that the two combis had to park at different ends of the terminal so we all got soaking wet trying to retrieve our luggage.  There is nothing as dispiriting as departing on an overnight flight in soggy pants.

When we got inside, the gate for our flight hadn’t opened yet, even though it was three hours before flight time, but they explained that it was because the flight was delayed for half an hour.  I met a very nice mining engineer in line and learned a lot about mining while I was waiting.  Eventually we managed to get checked in and went through all of the normal airport stuff.  First step health check  – they take your temperature by pointing a thing at your brain, and your temperature comes up on a little screen.  You show your yellow fever card, and if you don’t have one, they send you to another counter to get a shot.  Next stop security, then immigration.  I caught up with my friends from South Africa in the coffee shop and we had one last bout of Ghanaian food, although it seemed better, perhaps because we were out of the dorm atmosphere.  We rushed a little because we had all be told sternly when we checked in that the gates would close at the specified time, with no exceptions.

Off to my gate, arriving about 5 minutes before it was due to close to discover that it wasn’t open yet.  Back in line with the same lovely man, and we continued our conversation.    Eventually the gate opened, with the same staff members who had checked us in downstairs, and they checked all of our IDs and boarding passes again, and admitted us to a “lounge”.  The AC was on the permafrost setting, and even though I felt silly I sat there with a sweat shirt on.  Then the lights went out.  Then they went on.  Then they went out but we could still see because of all of the lightning.  Then they told us that our plane had been redirected to Monrovia because of the storm. It’s OK if you don’t know where Monrovia it…I didn’t either until I looked it up.  It’s the capital of Liberia! (no, in case you are wondering, I don’t have any symptoms of ebola).

As we sat in the alternating darkness and light, my name was called over the PA system.  For some reason this is something I never want to hear in an airport, “Margaret Law, please identify yourself at an information desk”, so off I went.  They told me that my suitcase was caught in security, and I needed to go down and see the security officer.  I had to leave my boarding pass with the people at the gate.  Back through immigration, where I had to leave my passport, back through security,  back through the health screening point and down to the check in desk, where a fierce looking female officer led me to a back room.  Actually it was more like a concrete hallway with a table, and metal gates at each end.  I went inside with my suitcase and two security guys, while the female one stood guard outside.  I was a little anxious because I had a large bag of drugs for Ndwara…  Tylenol, painkillers, malaria medication and antibiotics and all of the containers had different people’s names on them.  I was planning my plea bargain for drug smuggling when they asked me what gold I had in my suitcase.  Gold???

Of course I said I didn’t have any, but they looked skeptical and dug through my suitcase like a dog looking for a bone.  Stuff was dumped on the table, including the large bag of drugs, while they rooted around looking for the gold I was not only smuggling, but denying.  They poked and prodded and seemed particularly suspicious of a pewter serving spoon that I had bought, going so far as to try scratching it with a fingernail.  I don’t know who was more disappointed, me or them, when it turned out there was no gold in my suitcase.  Once everything was out and they had shaken my bag thoroughly, they shoved everything back in, including the big bag of drugs, and told me to run, so I wouldn’t miss the plane.

Back through the health check, still had my yellow fever card, and no temperature; back through immigration to get my passport, and back through security.  Back to the gate to pick up my boarding pass, and sit down with my friend the mining engineer.  There are lots of gold mines in West Africa, and he was joking that perhaps they should have checked in his bag instead.  The good thing was that all the running had dried my clothes and hair.

Eventually the plane arrived from Monrovia, and managed to land, even though the storm seemed as bad as before.  By the time we got boarded, it was over three hours late, and the flight from Accra to Nairobi took an hour longer than usual, probably because of the storms and wind.  I don’t think anyone slept on the flight…the first half was too bumpy, and then, because we were flying east,  the sun came up.

When I booked my flight from Nairobi to Kisumu, I thought that the four hour wait would be perfect.  I could get cleaned up, have some breakfast, and arrive in Kisumu cleanish and rested.  What actually happened was that we landed at 9:45 and the Kisumu plane was due to depart at 9:55.  Since it’s always worthwhile, especially here, so see if the plane actually has gone, I checked with the agent.  It had actually left early at 9:35 for some reason.  Domestic plane timing in Africa is a very approximate business, and often depends on the number of government officials who are either on board or wish to be.

After I got my baggage I set off from the international terminal to the domestic terminal; at least that was my intention.  There is a large map of the airport outside the international terminal, showing the way to terminal 2.  I set off with my goods and chattels, following the side walk.  The airport is a giant circle and it seemed that if I just kept walking I would come to terminal 2.  Two problems:  the sidewalk is under construction so you can’t go there, and there is no terminal 2 anymore.  That was a temporary sign while they were building the new terminal.  Now domestic departures are from terminal 1-D (not on the map), but a nice security looking man led me down a ramp, and held up the chain at the bottom so that I could walk across the traffic circle and make my way to terminal 1-D.  When I arrived there, the sign on the door said terminal 2, so evidently I was in the right place.

Kenya Airways was able to get me on the next flight, for a small charge of $79 USD.  Having been up for more than 24 hours, I didn’t want to discuss the fairness of this, so I paid and went to check in.  One small problem – I have two bags and I’m only allowed one, and it turned out that the biggest one was overweight.  The agent suggest that I just check the heaviest one, he’ll charge me for that, and I carry three bags on the plane with me, and it will save me about $50.  Although I am morally opposed to people carrying large numbers of carry-on items onto the plane, but at this point I wasn’t going to argue with him,  especially when he gave me a wink and said that he could really only see two of them.  Out comes my credit card, but of course, it’s not that simple.  I have to leave my bags, go back out of the terminal to the ticket agent, and buy a coupon for the overweight bag for $20.

The ticket agent is a very strange thing…it is like two booths side by side with a sliding panel in between.  You go to the first one and buy your ticket and then go to the other one to pay.  The first person prints a form from the computer, and pushes it through the sliding panel.  Then the second one enters all the same information on her computer, takes  your money, stamps the first form and pushes it back through the sliding panel, and then gives you a copy of the receipt to take back to the check in counter.   Eventually I was all checked in and ready to go.  The plane arrived, our ID and carry-on bags were checked by the winking agent, and 45 minutes later I was landing in Kisumu where Apollo and his family, including his brother Patrick (I guess my “brother” now), met me.