Re-Entry
After a half-hour ride from the Serena Hotel, our driver stopped shy of the Nairobi airport.
“Everybody out!”, he insisted.
Perplexed at this odd order, we exchanged glances.
“Are we there?”, we wondered.
“No. You must walk thru security”, he said while pointing toward a roadside structure. “I’ll meet you on the other side.”
“Do we bring our bags?”
“No. Bring nothing.”
Confused, we walked off… realizing we’d left our passports and valuables with a total stranger on a Nairobi bus. I kept an eye on it as we entered the small building beside the road.
I’d retained my wallet and phone, which I placed on the conveyor as I walked thru the detector. As it did for everyone who preceded or followed me, the screener beeped incessantly… like a fire alarm in an active volcano. With nary a glance, the indifferent “guard” waved us thru.
Re-boarding the bus, we rode further… into a collection of cars resembling cattle crammed in a crowded chute.
Having ridden as far as we could, it was time to walk. We dragged our luggage around the lot, about half a mile toward the entrance to the airport.
At the door, we endured another checkpoint. Passports were examined. Shoes and belts had to come off. All possessions and bags went into a bin. Having entered the concourse, we checked our luggage, and proceeded toward the plane.
Around a corner, we scanned our boarding passes to clear a turnstile. After we did, we joined another line… which carried us thru security again!
Same drill: passports out, belts removed, shoes off, bags conveyed, pockets emptied, questions asked. Having passed thru, repacked our bags, and gotten re-dressed, we approached the last leg of this endless gauntlet.
At the gate, we were forced again to present passports and brandish boarding passes. Receiving clearance, we finally made our way on the plane. I half expected the stewardess to check ID before I could take my seat.
Twenty-three hours later… after a five-hour layover in Paris… we landed in Atlanta.
Sipping Sludge
We’ve spent several weeks assiduously avoiding the news. I was hoping that tendency would harden into a habit.
But… like a recovering alcoholic hopping off the wagon…. when we hit the tarmac I grabb
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