Arrival!

I start with an early morning flight, just past the post-holiday returning rush. With 20+ hours flying time and several lay-overs, I'm bracing myself for fatigue, delays and general discomfort. Departing Seattle with connections through Dulles/Washington, D.C.; Bussels, Belgium, then onto Kigali, Rwanda. As far as travel to East Africa goes, it's about as direct as it gets. But still l-o-n-g. Across the aisle for the first leg is a military officer in fatigues. Everyone seems to recognize he is of rank, greeting him as they pass. An outgoing sort he strikes up a conversation immediately upon take-off. A general recently returned from Iraq, and soon to be traveling onto Afghanistan. I've never spoken to a general before. I'm intrigued by his job leading a team of consultants that assess operations, document best practices, conduct training and share lessons learned. It sounds oddly similar to my job. Weird. Departing Brussels it's a packed flight with your garden variety of families, aid workers and international travelers. It's surprisingly average looking. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I thought a bit more exotic perhaps. Despite delayed departure, all-in-all it's been relatively smooth. It's the last leg, and 8+ hours yet to go. Yet I'm surprised I haven't hit that discomfort limit where you just can't sit any longer and you just want them to stop the plane so you can get off. I'm seated next to a contract consultant assessing sanitation practices in rural villages. She describes her previous experience working in the Peace Corps in West Africa and several contracting assignments in Nicaragua and other parts of Africa. She's tough and knows it. So I ask her about staying healthy in the countryside. She speaks of bringing filters, drinking the water and just recognizing you're going to get sick. She eats at street vendors and tries to be smart about picking the right vendors. "Yeah, you'll get sick, but it's not like it will kill you." Somehow, that doesn't feel so reassuring. The jet touches down. My seatmate and I look at each other. She asks so honestly, "Are you excited to be in Africa?" "I will be tomorrow," I reply. And I will be. Right now I'm tired with the whir-r-r of jet engines still ringing in my ears. I still don't know where I'm sleeping or what it will take to get through the airport. It's a tiny airport where you walk down steps onto the tarmac. The big jetliner seems to dwarf the terminal. With surprising little direction, you wander across the tarmac into a semi-informal passport queue then into baggage claim. These flights are the largest of the day and at 3/week bring the bulk of westerners to Rwanda. One last hurdle still to pass, customs. Rwanda has taken the bold move to outlaw plastic bags. Despite having heard repeated warnings, it wan't clear what all was covered. We were told any plastic bags would be confiscated. While not your average contraband, I couldn't help but recognize the irony that the US required you to place any carry-on toiletries in a clear plastic bag and Rwanda might confiscate them. To say nothing of the packs, wrapped in plastics by the airlines to contain loose straps. As it turns out, most rules and limitations seemed optional as passengers ambled by with bags, to say nothing of wide-screen TVs and stereos in boxes. I'm not sure what the customs limits were, but seemed easily surpassed.