The Joy of Traveling, Part 2

Now I have to be honest. As much as I’ve moved around and traveled the last few years, I’ve been very fortunate. The only time I lost my luggage was on a flight from New York to Nashville on my way home from Burkina Faso for Christmas in 2008. And they got it to me a couple days later.

Now, I’d been traveling for two days, it’s 4 in the morning local time, and all I have are a backpack and messenger bag with me. I was planning on hopping a cab and heading to the bus station to begin the 9 hour journey to get to my village.

There was a group of about 30 of us who didn’t get their bags, and a line began to form outside the Bag Reclamation office. It took me a while to realize people were immediately lining up, so I was one of the last in line. Apparently in Burkina, the airport authorities handle missing bags, instead of the airlines directly. And this particular airport officer dealing with us didn’t seem too bothered to about our situation. Maybe it’s due to his prolonged exposure to upset customers at 4 in the morning.

Slowly, people began going in and making their claims. We were in a dusty hallway with little ventilation, but we all began talking to each other. Burkinabe French. French French. Canadian French. English. Moore. Jula. There all sorts of languages being spoken by different nationalities stuck in this predicament, and our mutual frustration seemed to erase all our differences as we became one cohesive unit supporting each other. Fatigue and frustration seemed to give way to cooperation and empathy as we realized each other’s predicaments. One young woman was on her way back to Burkina to get married, and all her wedding clothes, gifts, etc., that she brought were somewhere else. I definitely didn’t have it as bad as her. My godsons would be okay without one more sweater, should my bags not arrive in time.

I had to be at the bus station by 6:30 in order to not lose my reservation. The baggage line inched closer and closer to the office, but I’d been waiting 3 hours, and I wasn’t sure I would make my claim before I had to leave and get to the bus station. The apathetic worker wasn’t too motivated to move through these claims too fast.

Finally, with just a few minutes to spare, I made it in, and made my claim with him. I described my bags, and he told me to come back and check the next day. I explained that I was going to a village quite far from the capital, and he said, “What do you expect me to do?”

“I expect you to send my bags to me!” is what I thought. However, I know that while airlines are required by law to do this in America, there is no law to support this in Burkina, so the airline has no motivation to do this. Clearly, even contacting me when my bags arrived wasn’t even gonna happen. It’d been 7 months since I’d seen my two boys, Zoum, and everyone else, and I surely wasn’t gonna wait around for several days to get my bags. I finally talked him into giving me his phone number, which I would call to find out when my bags got in, and then figure something out.

So I went outside and realized the sun had already started to rise, revealing the layer of red dust that settled on everything during the night. I went to the airport ATM, got out some money, and hopped on the back of a motorcycle taxi. He said he knew where the bus station was, so we headed out. The fresh morning air felt good after all the hours on airplanes and then in the cramped hallway in the baggage line. Since I didn’t have any baggage, we moved quickly around the early traffic already building up. Men began setting up their street stands of food, ready to serve bread, coffee, and omelets to the many people heading to work around the city. Women in colorful clothes began sweeping off the dust on sidewalks, store fronts, and just about everything else.

I’ve never been a big fan of this crowded, dusty city, but smelling its familiar smells and hearing the familiar sounds got me excited as I thought about that little village I had missed so much and would be sleeping in that night.

Well, it turns out the taxi driver didn’t know where I was going, so we made a few wrong turns before we made it to the bus station just in time. I hopped on the bus, and quickly fell asleep as we headed toward the town of Bobo.

I rustled awake at the rest stop halfway on the trip. I was too tired to get anything to eat, so I stayed on board, and fell quickly asleep again. I woke up as we pulled into the bus station in Bobo, which meant I was getting ever nearer to Serekeni. I got down out of the bus, and shortly after, Zoum showed up. He’d made the 3.5 hour journey from the village that morning to meet me in Bobo and ride with me to the village on the new passenger truck that recently began running between Bobo and Serekeni. Despite the constant bumpiness of the road, I couldn’t stay awake. I didn’t know one could sleep while his head bounced from side to side. Apparently, it’s possible.

We finally pulled into Serekeni as the sun was just setting. I got out, and immediately began greeting the wonderful people of that village, who always make me feel as if I’m the most important person in the world.

I arrived at Zoum’s house, and my oldest godson, Payjay, was is now 3 ½, ran right past me before realizing I’d got there. When he realized I’d arrived, he came right over to me to give me a high five. He hardly left my side for the next couple weeks. Then Zenaibou, Zoum’s wife, came up with Mohamadou, their second born, who is now 11 months. I took his fat little self into my arms, and he immediately began giggling! He’s amazingly already walking like a champ, and actually has been doing so since he was 7 months old!

I spent nearly two and a half weeks relaxing there, including celebrating Christmas and New Year’s with them. While I missed being with my American family during the holidays, I definitely enjoyed the 95 degree weather I was in.

For the first few days, I tried calling the number the baggage man had given me, but it turns out this is not his actual number, so we finally gave up trying to call. Zoum is a good sport, and let me borrow clothes and everything I needed. While he claims he’s ‘much taller’ than me, he’s only about an inch taller, so his pants fit pretty well.

Luckily, Zoum’s brother-in-law works in Ouaga, and so graciously helped me out by continually going to the airport to check if my bags came. Finally, after two weeks, they arrived, and he arranged for them to pass through the many hands, ride on the back of various motorbikes and baggage bin of a bus, and finally make their way to the top of the van that made its way to my village. They arrived a few days before I was supposed to leave, with everything intact. I was finally able to spoil my two boys with everything I’d brought them, including their Christmas presents from my parents. They didn’t seem to care that they were a few days late!

After my time was up, I began the grueling process of saying goodbye, and then had to leave. Zenaibou left with to Ouaga, as she was gonna spend a couple weeks with her brother there. And Zoum came along to keep us company.

It is always hard to leave those people I love so much, but I had a new job in a new country, and I was really excited to be getting to Congo.

I made the long journey to Entebbe, Uganda, where I would be spending a few days before heading into Congo. Little did I know the long night ahead of me.