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| Touchdown, Addis Ababa. |
There's cheering and applause and "thanks be to
Allah" all around. Just like our own OFWs (Overseas Filipino Workers) and
balikbayans (returning/ visiting Filipino expatriates) -- funny, I always
thought that this cheering on touchdown on the mother soil was uniquely
Filipino, or at least that's how it's projected by the media, by everbody back
home (stupid ignoramus, and I mean me!). But really, the relief and happiness
of the lady in black hijab (a worker from the Middle East, I surmised, kind
young lady, a girl, really, who offered me biscuits the moment we took off from
Dubai) seated beside me was electric.
After getting through the Ethiopian immigration, and
finally stepping out -- what pleasant weather, sunny but cool (only to find out
it gets too cold at night, like right now as I'm writing this) -- I was, to my
relief, met by a VSO Ethiopia staff (the driver, he said), kind, welcoming,
friendly but not pushy, who drove and dropped me at the Awraris Hotel, met with
the front desk and bid goodbye (welcome and goodbye really, with a weirdly
pleasant bear hug) after handing me a welcome letter from VSO Ethiopia. There I
was, just landed in a strange new country, continent, left to my own devices
for one whole afternoon and night before the In-Country Briefing the next day
-- adventure here we come. Naaah, sleep had me at hello.
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| Flying Emirates! |
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| Long-haul flight = Movie Marathon! |
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| Sometimes, the food's good (meaning, tolerable), but not just this time. |
The flight was uneventful, meaning smooth, normal.
(About 10 from Manila to Dubai. A few hours stopover there. And another 3 hours
from Dubai to Addis Ababa.) There's always a story to tell, of course.
Back in Manila.
I arrived quite early at NAIA (Ninoy Aquino
International Airport) with one big luggage and a backpack. My luggage was
super heavy, lugging it inside the terminal, even with the wheels, was a real
workout. And of course, the clumsy me, right after pulling past the security
scans and all and especially after hurdling past the humped/jagged floor by the
security doors, I noticed deep red spots on the floor, and what do you know -
they were my bloody mess. I'd cut my finger somehow, somewhere, I think from
the luggage handle. Blood was flowing profusely - ridiculous and embarrasing.
Good thing no one has noticed, yet. I rushed to a seat nearby and had to open
my bag for the medical kit where I had my Band-Aid's. Alright, first hurdle,
cleared.
You see, international travel could be a nightmare.
Especially at the airport. With all the security checks and queuing for
everything - check-in counter, the x-ray machines, the immigration, etc.
Philippine international airports are not the most pleasant. Especially, the
immigration people. And to their fellow Filipinos, they could be especially
sniffy and cranky. The predeparture briefing at VSO Bahaginan the day before
did not help. (Sorry, but really.)
I'm not a jetsetter, but I've travelled
internationally more than a few times, mostly to neighboring countries
(Thailand, China, Indonesia, Hong Kong), and I did work in Bahrain for nearly
two years in 2010 so I've experienced going through the immigration lines both
as an OFW and a travelling tourist. So, unprepared as I was on this Ethiopian
adventure, the expected airport annoyances didn't really worry me much. Well
not until the the pre-departure briefing. (Sorry again, but really.)
Did I know VSO Bahaginan's Executive Director (E.D.)?
Uhm, no.
You need to memorize her name. And the address and
these other names.
Are you kidding me?
How about PNVSCA? You need to know how to recite that
out. Philippine National Volunteer Service Coordinating Agency. VSO. Voluntary
Service Overseas. And memorize these VSO Ethiopia details, the Country
Director, address, etc.?
Holy shit.
The immigration official might ask you these and
we've had volunteers who were not allowed passage out because they couldn't
name our E.D.
What? What? What?
My actual response were all, of course, curt nods and
okay's.
But I digress. Off to the next task, checking in.
There were super long queues, obviously OFWs off to the Middle East, at the
other airlines. I came in earlier than check-in time, but I noticed that
there's already one or two people at the Emirates check-in counter. Great. So,
I waltz in (they had their own alcove-like corner at NAIA), presented my ticket
and passport, and hauled my one luggage on the scale/ conveyor. Super heavy
burden, done with. But not quite. "You have 40 kilos baggage allowance but
the maximum for one luggage is 32 kilos." Oooohkay. (Shit! Why didn't I
know this rule?) "Can I take some items out and transfer it to another
bag, then?" "Sure." So, I back out from the counter, considered
walking all the way back to the waiting areas, and arrange my shit in
semi-privacy but decided what the heck do these people care if I do this right
here? (Well, first off they would think that I'm this loser who didn't know
anything about baggage allowance - noob! Ugh. But what the heck, I'm going to
Ethi-effin-opia.) By the scales where
one weighs handcarries was not a bad place to open my luggage, take out one
extra bag (large, mailbag-type) and basically re-pack my stuff. So off came the
books, paper stuff (documents, sketch pads), toiletry and med kit bags, and
some other knicknacks from the large luggage and stuffed them all into the
smaller bag. With the rustied grunt of approval from the weighing scale nearby,
I again walk into the check-in counter, and it was all good.
"Check-through, okay?" "All the way, of course." "All
the way."
Third hurdle, on the way. The immigration queue. The
good thing is, there weren't any real lines, really. Less than ten people
waiting for their turn. The OFWs have their own counters, so the big crowd
outside that may come in anytime will not be a problem. But as I again remember
my pre-departure briefing, I clutch my small ticker notebook where I had listed
the names of the people and offices I had to memorize (I did, but the kodigo
gave me calm reassurance, no, really, that notebook, and the one on my phone
and on my head -- of course, my papers, that I was not supposed to show/carry
around, but tucked safely in my backpack, were all in order), and began
scanning for a kind-looking official (fresh, and pleasant-looking, no scowl in
his or her face when a passport is handed to him or her). There, that's my
girl. Because she was a girl, really, young and had a kind face, minimalist
make-up, and very brief encounters with her clients. My turn came. As
instructed in the pre-departure briefing, the occupation I'd written down was
"volunteer". "With WHO?" No, with VSO. "May I see your
ID, please?" "Of course." I gave her my VSO and PNVSCA ID cards.
Wrong move. Because, now she was confused. "Which is your employer,
then?" "VSO Bahaginan, but we are endorsed by PNVSCA." "Oh,
okay." And there goes the sweet stomp of her stamp. "Thank you!"
(Imaginary fist pump!)
So, off to the last hurdle. Final security check. No
drama there. By this time, I was getting fed up with pandering to fearful
anticipation and paranoia. This is it. No more turning back. I took a deep
break: Oh Shit. I'm really coming to Africa.
And here I am, less than twenty hours later, in
Ethiopia.
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