We finally made it! It still hasn't really sunk in...We're walking around in a daze. Are we really here?! It sure *looks* like Guinea. The landscape is as we remember it: green grasses and palm trees, red earth and dust. The people are speaking local languages that we recognize and respond to. The pounded cassava fluff with chicken and onion sauces tastes the same if not better and the heat is oppressive, heavy and sticky. We've worked so hard to get ourselves back here, though, that it's kind of unbelievable. Matt and I keep exchanging confused glances. Are we really here? It's exhilarating and confusing at once. And exhausting. Before we get too excited about being here we've got to sleep. We spent Thanksgiving night in a crowded, hot, florescent lit airport and are now looking down the barrel of a massive sleep debt.
Dakar, Senegal and Conakry, Guinea are a mere 420 miles apart and yet it took us much longer to make that trip than it did to cross the Atlantic. As you all know, we didn't hike, bike or drive to Conakry. Nor did we take a flight with a lot of layovers. Nope. After playing the standby game on Monday we went ahead and booked a direct flight from Dakar to Conakry, a *one hour and fifteen minute* flight. Our flight was to leave at 8:30am on Thursday morning (Thanksgiving). Finally, we thought, something easy. All we have to do is show up with our bags packed. No way to mess this one up.
Most people who fly have some (now) funny stories about ridiculous and/or frustrating airport experiences. Lord knows Matt and I do. But I have *never* *ever* spent so long in an airport. If I had to pick an airport to spend the night in, I probably wouldn't pick Dakar's Sanghor International Airport. There are a few small air-conditioning units scattered throughout the place but the cool air doesn't go far and to be honest I actually forgot they were even there. After just the first hour of our wait we were wet with sweat. I'm glad I didn't know how long we had to go. The food situation, though, is what really did me in. It could be that by the time I was even aware of a "food situation" it was one in the morning and if you're at an airport at one in the morning you're probably not doing so good anyway. So I was hungry. This airport is small (it's about the size of the Missoula International Airport) and once you get past customs and you're at the gate (there are 4 gates as far as I could tell) you have two food options. Both places served the same thing- sandwiches with ham, cheese and mustard that had been sitting for a long time, ice cream, and water, juice, coffee, and alcohol. None of this looked particularly appealing. By two o'clock we were desperate though and bought a sandwich to split. It was old and I gagged. Matt finished it up and I bought an ice cream bar. My stomach wasn't happy.
The part that made the whole thing worth it (aside from eventually making it here to Conakry) was the people. We all banded together out of frustration and misery. We watched from the hard metal seats as the spoiled passengers going to Paris and Madrid and Casablanca and Freetown and Lome boarded their planes happily and *on-time.* We all became restless as the hours passed. Soon we all began talking. Patrick, the black South Africa guy (who by the way, looked like he had just stepped out of a magazine despite it being 3 in the morning) wanted to start a revolution. Soon he got the Nigerian guy in on it and by 3:00am I was in as well. I had an in with Abdou, the Air Senegal attendant so I was the go-between. Patrick had some underground contact who gave him what he claimed was "the real" info. and I would test it out on Abdou to gage his reaction. There were all kinds of conspiracy theories circulating and by a certain time we had all given up on sleep and were indulging in in-depth discussions about the possibilities of fowl play. Had Air Senegal really known we'd have to wait so long and just didn't want to spring for hotel rooms for all of us? Is that why since 8:30 in the morning they had said each hour that we'd leave soon? Or, since there were a lot of empty seats were they trying to sell more tickets before leaving? Meanwhile, Matt started raising his fist in the air chanting "vol sept cent vingt" (or, flight 720). People loved it. We even had the bathroom attendant in on it. Each time one of us went to the bathroom he handed us our towels and said, "you're *still* here?!!). (And as a side note, what kind of place is this? A bathroom attendant and yet no food?!). When we boarded the plane at 4:30 am on Friday(!!!! yea, let that sink in) Matt walked down the aisle, lifted his fist and said in French, "flight 720 we're all a big family." People cheered. I think the funniest moment, though, was when we were finally going to get to board the plane and Abdou and his side-kick from Air Senegal ushered us in to a bus to take us to the plane. It took a good 15 minutes to get us all in and situated and we were packed in like sardines, all of us smelling pretty bad. Then the bus took a wide circle around the tarmac and brought us to the plane. What makes this ridiculous is that the plane was a mere 50 yards from the gate!! 50 yards!! Since one must go outside and walk up the stairs to the plane anyway (ie. there is no big mobile hallway connecting passengers to the plane directly from the gate waiting area like you find in bigger U.S. airports) this was extremely silly. What took almost 30 min. could have been a 5 minute (if that) walk in somewhat fresh air. After such a frustrating day and night having something to laugh about felt pretty good. Soon all of us revolutionaries were doubled over laughing, trying not to trip as we walked up the stairs to the plane.
We got to Conakry at around 6:30 in the morning on Friday- 24 hours after we had arrived at the airport in Dakar, Senegal the day before. We walked out of the airport with our new "flight 720" friend Mouctar and his puppy Mia just in time for all of us to catch the sunrise.
Dakar, Senegal and Conakry, Guinea are a mere 420 miles apart and yet it took us much longer to make that trip than it did to cross the Atlantic. As you all know, we didn't hike, bike or drive to Conakry. Nor did we take a flight with a lot of layovers. Nope. After playing the standby game on Monday we went ahead and booked a direct flight from Dakar to Conakry, a *one hour and fifteen minute* flight. Our flight was to leave at 8:30am on Thursday morning (Thanksgiving). Finally, we thought, something easy. All we have to do is show up with our bags packed. No way to mess this one up.
Most people who fly have some (now) funny stories about ridiculous and/or frustrating airport experiences. Lord knows Matt and I do. But I have *never* *ever* spent so long in an airport. If I had to pick an airport to spend the night in, I probably wouldn't pick Dakar's Sanghor International Airport. There are a few small air-conditioning units scattered throughout the place but the cool air doesn't go far and to be honest I actually forgot they were even there. After just the first hour of our wait we were wet with sweat. I'm glad I didn't know how long we had to go. The food situation, though, is what really did me in. It could be that by the time I was even aware of a "food situation" it was one in the morning and if you're at an airport at one in the morning you're probably not doing so good anyway. So I was hungry. This airport is small (it's about the size of the Missoula International Airport) and once you get past customs and you're at the gate (there are 4 gates as far as I could tell) you have two food options. Both places served the same thing- sandwiches with ham, cheese and mustard that had been sitting for a long time, ice cream, and water, juice, coffee, and alcohol. None of this looked particularly appealing. By two o'clock we were desperate though and bought a sandwich to split. It was old and I gagged. Matt finished it up and I bought an ice cream bar. My stomach wasn't happy.
The part that made the whole thing worth it (aside from eventually making it here to Conakry) was the people. We all banded together out of frustration and misery. We watched from the hard metal seats as the spoiled passengers going to Paris and Madrid and Casablanca and Freetown and Lome boarded their planes happily and *on-time.* We all became restless as the hours passed. Soon we all began talking. Patrick, the black South Africa guy (who by the way, looked like he had just stepped out of a magazine despite it being 3 in the morning) wanted to start a revolution. Soon he got the Nigerian guy in on it and by 3:00am I was in as well. I had an in with Abdou, the Air Senegal attendant so I was the go-between. Patrick had some underground contact who gave him what he claimed was "the real" info. and I would test it out on Abdou to gage his reaction. There were all kinds of conspiracy theories circulating and by a certain time we had all given up on sleep and were indulging in in-depth discussions about the possibilities of fowl play. Had Air Senegal really known we'd have to wait so long and just didn't want to spring for hotel rooms for all of us? Is that why since 8:30 in the morning they had said each hour that we'd leave soon? Or, since there were a lot of empty seats were they trying to sell more tickets before leaving? Meanwhile, Matt started raising his fist in the air chanting "vol sept cent vingt" (or, flight 720). People loved it. We even had the bathroom attendant in on it. Each time one of us went to the bathroom he handed us our towels and said, "you're *still* here?!!). (And as a side note, what kind of place is this? A bathroom attendant and yet no food?!). When we boarded the plane at 4:30 am on Friday(!!!! yea, let that sink in) Matt walked down the aisle, lifted his fist and said in French, "flight 720 we're all a big family." People cheered. I think the funniest moment, though, was when we were finally going to get to board the plane and Abdou and his side-kick from Air Senegal ushered us in to a bus to take us to the plane. It took a good 15 minutes to get us all in and situated and we were packed in like sardines, all of us smelling pretty bad. Then the bus took a wide circle around the tarmac and brought us to the plane. What makes this ridiculous is that the plane was a mere 50 yards from the gate!! 50 yards!! Since one must go outside and walk up the stairs to the plane anyway (ie. there is no big mobile hallway connecting passengers to the plane directly from the gate waiting area like you find in bigger U.S. airports) this was extremely silly. What took almost 30 min. could have been a 5 minute (if that) walk in somewhat fresh air. After such a frustrating day and night having something to laugh about felt pretty good. Soon all of us revolutionaries were doubled over laughing, trying not to trip as we walked up the stairs to the plane.
We got to Conakry at around 6:30 in the morning on Friday- 24 hours after we had arrived at the airport in Dakar, Senegal the day before. We walked out of the airport with our new "flight 720" friend Mouctar and his puppy Mia just in time for all of us to catch the sunrise.
3 comments:
Oh my ! You are both soooo strong. I have to hand it to you for hanging in there. Keep staying positive and before long you will be relaxing with family and friends laughing about the whole ordeal. I miss you and love you both very much! Love, Tulip
Sounds like the Philadelphia airport.
I heard on NPR yesterday that Dakar has one of the worst airports in the world (along with Baghdad) due to a complete lack of seats! What an ordeal to spend almost 24 hours there!
I'm so glad that you've finally made it to Guinea.
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