I have been traveling for and least 27 hours now, I am totally exhausted and not home yet. I am entirely confused. I am not sure if I am coming or going. The weariness in my bones tells me I have been all over the place and the fact that there are different languages around prompts me to accept the fact that I am not in Africa anymore, but at the same time, I am not entirely sure. Cotonou, Paris, London, Chicago, Baltimore, I am almost to my final destination. Holy cow! Wow! All I can say is I have sure looked and smelled better in my life. Good thing I do not have a boyfriend waiting to greet me on the other end of my jet-lag, he would straight up disown me for my stench and my brain dead state of mind.
To my dismay, but as a convenient entertainment piece for others, a jet-lag haze hit me after merely completing the first 6 hours of my journey home to America. Apparently the flight from Benin to France took more out of me than I expected. I was slightly dazed and confused when we arrived in Paris, but I managed to find the correct gate for the next portion of my journey. I was tired and a little miffed when I walked down the jet-way toward the plane door, because I was certain, I could have had a more direct route home. Why did I have to go from Paris then to London to get to America? I think it had something to do with my ticket being for humanitarian aid workers… great… I was tired and just dreaming of being done with my anticipated 30 hours of travel when the Air France airline stewardess greeted me. She was really chipper and had a huge smile on her face as she welcomed me onto the plane. She put out her hand, greeted me, and I grabbed her hand to shake it- as per the African routine I have been following for the past 17 months. Everyone shakes hands in Africa and no business is conducted in Africa unless you great each other and shake hands first. Well, you can try to conduct business without greeting people first, but you don’t get very far and it isn’t suggested. -- But, back to the story at hand. I was sort of confused as to why the stewardess was shaking hands, but I just thought she was overly friendly and I would roll with it. As soon as my hand hit hers, there was an awkwardness, I thought maybe I didn’t grip her hand correctly, so I tried to shake it again, but that is when I realized she really didn’t want to shake my hand, she was putting her hand out to look at my ticket and direct me to my seat. Oops! I have been in Africa far too long, I felt like a small idiot, but when I finally got my act together and handed her my ticket so she could direct me to my seat, she had a huge smile on her face and all those around me had a good laugh.
I found my seat, threw my pillow on it, and headed to the bathroom before I settled in for the 9 hour flight from London to Chicago. The flight attendant had informed me that I had a window seat. I was pretty stoked about that. I love window seats because there I can sleep more comfortably, but I always feel awkward asking the isle person to move so I can go to the bathroom, so I decided to hit the bathroom before the flight took off. Upon returning from the bathroom, I was slightly irked to find a man had moved my pillow and he was sitting in my window seat! “What a punk,” I thought. I decided to be gracious or a “missionary doormat” and let the man sit in my seat, besides in my jet-lag state, I wasn’t actually sure I had read my ticket assignment correctly. I was getting ready for a snooze in my NON-window seat, when my “seat thief” decided to introduce himself. I really didn’t want to strike up a conversation with the man who nicked my seat, but then I paused for a minute… his accent sounded oddly familiar and comforting... It wasn’t a British accent, not French, not Australian… then it hit me. He had an IRISH accent! Oh, what comfort! For those of you who have forgotten, my dear friend, roommate, and best mate from the ship was Jane, an Irish girl! My travel seat companion was from Ireland. It was great to hear his accent. I feel as if God hand-picked my seat assignment and to help make my departure from the ship and best friend a little easier. I think it was God also smiling on the Irish man because had he been an American, I wouldn’t have tolerated his seat-thievery!
I made it safe and sound to Chicago. Praise God! I looked at my flight information on my ticket and my airplane to Baltimore was supposed to take off 50 minutes after I landed in Chicago. How in the world was I going to clear immigration, customs, gather my luggage, re-check my luggage, change terminals, go through security, and board my airplane in 50 minutes? I decided it was a good thing I had my running shoes on… by the way… I didn’t want to wear them, I hate shoes! I much prefer flip-flops, but my suitcases weighed too much, so I had to wear my heaviest shoes! So, once I left the airplane door. I started running.
My interactions in the Chicago airport were comical. It started with the immigration officer. He was staring at my passport photo trying to figure out if I was actually the person in the photo. For a passport photo, mine isn’t too bad, but the look on the immigration officer’s face spoke volumes. I just tried to smile to hurry the process. He just kept starring at me. I said, umm… and kept smiling. Maybe I shouldn’t have smiled… I probably had rancid breath. But, the officer kept staring. I said, “I know I look a little different right now.” That was an understatement. He said, “That’s okay, I am sort of old-fashioned, I think it is better when girls look natural, without all that make-up. That way when they get married and wake up next to their husband the next morning, he doesn’t say, ‘who the heck are you?’” Interesting…either way, I am glad the immigration officer approved of my “natural” wicked, tired look and stamped my passport so I could keep running to catch my airplane.
With haste, I gathered my luggage and headed toward customs with my custom’s form in hand. For those of you who haven’t traveled internationally, there is a custom’s form that everyone is required to fill out when traveling internationally. It has a bunch of questions about where you have been, if you are bringing weapons, money, or weird things into the United States. There is also a portion that asks if you were with animals, on a farm, or basically playing with creatures that might carry scary things like swine-flu or other diseases, while you were out of the country. I thought long and hard about this question, but considering almost every street in Benin had chickens and goats running around and I was certain I had stepped in their waste, not to mention the human waste all over the roads as well, I figured I better at least forewarn the custom’s officer. I could be carrying some interesting bacteria. I also spent some time volunteering and working on the farming project that Mercy Ships was developing in a village outside of Benin. I had no excuse, I couldn’t lie; my shoes and clothing had spent a large portion of time in goat and chicken land, and I most definitely rolled around in African dirt. I approached the custom’s officer and she looked at me and my form. She noted I had checked the section about being with animals and on farmland. She asked me where I had been. I told her, “Africa.” She said, “Explain.” I kindly told her, “Most of West Africa is a farm… with chickens and goats running all over the place.” She asked me a few more questions, I talked a little more about goats and chickens, she took my custom’s form, signed it, wrote “Goats,” in big letters on it, and waved me through. Good thing custom’s forms aren’t report cards because if they were, the only thing my report card for the past 9 months would say is… GOATS!
Immigration done, luggage gathered, customs cleared, luggage re-checked, terminals changed, crap… I had fifteen minutes until my airplane departed and I hadn’t gone through security yet. There were about 100 people in front of me in the security line. There was no way I would make my flight at that rate. I decided to get over my gracious “missionary-doormat” behavior and I politely, with the help of two security officers, moved my way to the front of the line. The last boarding call for my flight was being announced as I cleared security. I didn’t take time to put my sweatshirt back on, my shoes were untied, my belt was thrown over my shoulder, my pillow, with my computer tucked in it was under my arm, and my large backpack was hanging off my shoulder as I ran toward my departure gate. I wasn’t about to extend my travel time by missing my flight! Out of breathe, terribly sweaty, and looking like death, I made it onto the plane with NO minutes to spare.
I felt awkward walking down the plane isle with everyone staring at me. I was certain they were thinking…”stupid girl… holding the plane up… she should have managed her time better… I bet she is irresponsible… an un-fit mother…” okay, well they probably didn’t think that, but you get the idea. I felt bad for arriving late. Toward the rear of the plane, I found my seat. Well, another man had stolen my window seat again, but that was way beside the point. The stewardess stared at me, helped me find a place for my over-sized backpack, and told me to take my seat. I was still huffing and puffing from my marathon through the airport when I turned to get into my seat and dropped my passport and all my previous boarding passes all over the place. Oh, great. The stewardess kindly picked them up for me and then after looking at my boarding passes, exclaimed, “Wow, you have come a long way!” That was actually helpful, everyone around me heard her comment and I felt their stern faces, judging my capabilities in life, soften. I took a big deep breath and settled in for the flight.
At this point in time, all I really wanted to do was vomit, sleep, shower, sleep, shower, sleep, shower, sleep, and stop flying! I looked around at my seatmates and noted the man to my left was white and for that matter, most of the rest of the people on my flight were vanilla-skinned. But, the man to my right was black. For me that was a huge blessing! I love my chocolate skinned brothers and sisters in this world and I was already going through shock from being surrounded by a sea of white people. My seatmate was from Cameroon, we talked about Africa and I told him about my work with Mercy Ships all the way to BWI! He is a nurse too and expressed interest in volunteering with Mercy Ships in the future. Wow! God is awesome!
One of the Psalms in the Bible says the Lord watches over our coming and going both now and forevermore. How awesome! I have no doubt in my mind, God watched over every little detail of my time in Africa…and my return to the United States of America! Good is so good. After a final car ride from BWI to my brother’s apartment in Washington, D.C, I was reunited with my family. There was nothing more I wanted in that moment… well… except for a really long shower!