Where Is Gandalf When You Need Him? (Part One)

This is the first of three installments by guest contributor J, who wrote this e-mail message describing a business trip with Walter the consultant (remember him?) to the FH/E project sites in South Gondar in mid-June 1995.

The phrase that I always need to keep in mind while I am here is: “Well, that’s just Africa.” I am kicking myself for not tattooing that on my right arm as I travel to and through the province of South Gondar. Walter, a consultant from Kenya, and I embarked on our journey to Nefas Mewcha at 10 o’clock Tuesday morning. Our flight was to leave at noon for Bahir Dar and from there we would travel three hours by car to our final destination. Unfortunately, no one had warned me about the Ethiopian airport experience.

Only passengers are allowed beyond the airport parking lot into the terminal building. So at every juncture, policemen and guards ask you for your plane ticket and your passport. The airport is quite small and the number of passengers that travel through there on a daily basis would be dwarfed by the traffic at the Eugene or Boise airports. Nonetheless, everywhere you go there are lines – lines to check your baggage, lines to pay your airport user tax, lines to check your passport (again), lines to use the phone, etc. So it was a good thing that we arrived two hours early for the domestic flight. By the time it was 12 o’clock, there was no indication whether our flight had already left, was about to leave, would ever leave, or was actually scheduled. There are no monitors, no information desks, and no airline officials; only guards. At ten minutes to one, the fun actually started: our flight was announced and we were all herded toward the x-ray machine and metal detector. Forty minutes later it was my turn to brave the ominous machines. Only minutes earlier I had witnessed one poor woman removing her hair pins from underneath her head covering so as not to displease the shrieking metal detector. I was poised and calm: after all, I am a seasoned international traveler. The machines posed no problem, but it quickly became clear that the machines were the least of my troubles. A set of small chambers, divided by curtains, awaited unsuspecting travelers. Women and men were guided into separate rooms, one at a time, and searched thoroughly. Apparently, I was let off easy – I only emptied my pockets, removed my shoes, and was frisked all over (I mean ALL over). In addition to such thorough searching, my companion was also asked to explain his camera (Photography 101) and to remove its battery. All lighters, matches, keys, pocketknives, fingernail clippers, etc., were confiscated and kept for safe keeping. Many Ethiopians spent as much as ten minutes in the tiny chambers. It was not until ten minutes before 2 o’clock that all passengers had passed inspection and we were ready to board.

One busload of passengers at a time was driven across the tarmac to the waiting plane. There we identified our checked luggage and watched the baggage handler load it onto the plane. I thought, “Finally we are getting somewhere!” until I noticed another line forming at the bottom of the airplane stairs. Every single passenger and every single piece of carry-on luggage was being searched, again. Men’s shoes were coming off, attaché cases were being opened, women’s purses were overturned, back-packers’ tents were unfolded, and everyone was searched ALL over, this time without the benefit of the privacy curtains. I was quite amazed at the calmness with which the Ethiopians accepted this invasion of privacy as part of travelling. Finally, at 2:30 the plane rolled onto the runway and we were off.

The steep climb afforded tremendous views of Addis Abeba. You could clearly see the entire sprawling city and the surrounding mountains. The captain, in perfect English as well as Amharic, informed us that the flying time would be 35 minutes, and invited us to sit back and relax. However, halfway to Bahir Dar we banked sharply to the left and seemed to be covering familiar territory.: the plane was returning to Addis due to mechanical difficulties.

Back on the ground, the time flew. I had met a young gentleman who was on a yearlong tour of the world, and we shared impressions and chit-chatted until 4:30 when the plane was again ready for departure. Working with Food for the Hungry, I was well aware that most people had not eaten anything since breakfast, including me. After all, we had expected to be in Bahir Dar (which means “near the lake”) by 12:30. Ethiopian Airlines had graciously provided a bag of peanuts and three tiny Danish butter cookies to stem our hunger.

This time we only flew about seven minutes before returning to our departure point. By this time everyone’s patience was exhausted. Back inside the terminal building, an official apologized for the delay and assured us it was all beyond the control of the airline. I reminded Walter that, in fact, it was Ethiopian Airlines who employed all of the mechanics. Nevertheless, all travelers were sent away for the night to return at six the next morning. We were assured the problem “will be fixed by tomorrow… hopefully.” The airline refused out-of-town travelers any hotel or meal compensation; luckily, I went home to my wife and my own comfortable bed just a short drive from the airport.