Ethiopian Airport. Peering out of the window during the descent, watching the dried out river beds and the roads that look like veins rather than grids grow larger as we reached nearer, a rush of calm washed over me. I somehow knew I was supposed to experience what the rest of the world, whose ignorance has prohibited them from experiencing the true beauty underneath its harsh shell, regards as the "dark continent."
When I had booked my ticket to Zambia a few months prior, its departure seem to creep up so slowly I had been convinced it would never come. Now it was here, and an unprecedented level of apprehension crept through my stomach, clammed up my palms and cut deep into my bones. This was the first time that a force other than my intuition had led me to a foreign land. This force was love, and I was simultaneously praying it would still be strong while attempting to minimize my expectations and become more freely open to the nature of fate.
Whatever a developing country presents as far as inconveniences and challenges, Africa provides to the extreme, and I was thrust into them. After boarding the plane from Addis Ababa to Lusaka, the flight attendants were offering up warm coca-cola in small, flimsy plastic cups, while the inquisitive Zambians and I struggled to find the faintest idea of why the plane was stalling its ascent. An hour later, we were instructed back into the airport due to the deicer falling out of commission, left with a lofty promise that an emergency plane would be acquired to transport us that same day. There was no way to reach Stefan to let him know I'd be late. So as our crew of passengers was trucked to a complementary buffet while the pilots struggled to come up with a contingency plan, all I could do was picture Stefan wringing his hands in anticipation and pacing through the airport, bemoaning Zambia for its logistical nightmares he spoke so often about. But like in most situations while travelling, there was nothing I could do, and a certain level of accepting was the only way to cope.
Four hours later, half of us boarded the plane to Lusaka. As soon as I walked outside from the plane to the doors of the airport, I barely had time to look up before I was being tackled to the wall, my hair clip breaking into pieces and falling to the floor in the process. And with it, so did every ounce of premonition that had over the days repeated itself in my mind. I had made it.
We had also almost arrived at the hotel missing two-thirds of my luggage, if it weren't for the humbly sized airport and kind-natured, God-fearing Zambians.
After a 30-minute taxi ride with Stefan's trustee Ba Lison, in which we spent the entire time completely enthralled at the sight of one another, we discovered that somewhere along the line my Ecuadorian duffel bag had failed to make it inside the trunk, and deduced that Stefan had let it down in the parking lot in an effort to hold one another closer.
I neglected to let Stefan know the contents of the bag, but once he inquires anything I am abashed to offer up the truth, so I admitted that my Nikon D3000 had been inside. He began beating himself in the head for his carelessness and figured all we could do was return to the airport on the off-chance it might still be sitting on the lonely curb in the parking lot. But as soon as we looped around the hotel parking lot, Stefan received a text message from the airport stating they had received my bag. If it weren't for my checked-in luggage failing to arrive, we would have never left a phone number, and who knows where this bag would have gone.
For those few stalled minutes, though, I had never seen Stefan so distraught. "I just want things to be perfect," he said. As I looked into his eyes, I saw that he might have been just as frightened as I was. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his face without a care in the world. In that instant, I realized everything would turn out alright.
As Stefan insisted he go back inside to retrieve my things, the lady who had handled the other missing baggage claim handed it back to him, shook her head and smiled. "You are far too much in love, sir."
When I had booked my ticket to Zambia a few months prior, its departure seem to creep up so slowly I had been convinced it would never come. Now it was here, and an unprecedented level of apprehension crept through my stomach, clammed up my palms and cut deep into my bones. This was the first time that a force other than my intuition had led me to a foreign land. This force was love, and I was simultaneously praying it would still be strong while attempting to minimize my expectations and become more freely open to the nature of fate.
Whatever a developing country presents as far as inconveniences and challenges, Africa provides to the extreme, and I was thrust into them. After boarding the plane from Addis Ababa to Lusaka, the flight attendants were offering up warm coca-cola in small, flimsy plastic cups, while the inquisitive Zambians and I struggled to find the faintest idea of why the plane was stalling its ascent. An hour later, we were instructed back into the airport due to the deicer falling out of commission, left with a lofty promise that an emergency plane would be acquired to transport us that same day. There was no way to reach Stefan to let him know I'd be late. So as our crew of passengers was trucked to a complementary buffet while the pilots struggled to come up with a contingency plan, all I could do was picture Stefan wringing his hands in anticipation and pacing through the airport, bemoaning Zambia for its logistical nightmares he spoke so often about. But like in most situations while travelling, there was nothing I could do, and a certain level of accepting was the only way to cope.
Four hours later, half of us boarded the plane to Lusaka. As soon as I walked outside from the plane to the doors of the airport, I barely had time to look up before I was being tackled to the wall, my hair clip breaking into pieces and falling to the floor in the process. And with it, so did every ounce of premonition that had over the days repeated itself in my mind. I had made it.
We had also almost arrived at the hotel missing two-thirds of my luggage, if it weren't for the humbly sized airport and kind-natured, God-fearing Zambians.
After a 30-minute taxi ride with Stefan's trustee Ba Lison, in which we spent the entire time completely enthralled at the sight of one another, we discovered that somewhere along the line my Ecuadorian duffel bag had failed to make it inside the trunk, and deduced that Stefan had let it down in the parking lot in an effort to hold one another closer.
I neglected to let Stefan know the contents of the bag, but once he inquires anything I am abashed to offer up the truth, so I admitted that my Nikon D3000 had been inside. He began beating himself in the head for his carelessness and figured all we could do was return to the airport on the off-chance it might still be sitting on the lonely curb in the parking lot. But as soon as we looped around the hotel parking lot, Stefan received a text message from the airport stating they had received my bag. If it weren't for my checked-in luggage failing to arrive, we would have never left a phone number, and who knows where this bag would have gone.
For those few stalled minutes, though, I had never seen Stefan so distraught. "I just want things to be perfect," he said. As I looked into his eyes, I saw that he might have been just as frightened as I was. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his face without a care in the world. In that instant, I realized everything would turn out alright.
As Stefan insisted he go back inside to retrieve my things, the lady who had handled the other missing baggage claim handed it back to him, shook her head and smiled. "You are far too much in love, sir."
***************
I never did receive my luggage until the day I departed, a few short days ago. The memories are already beginning to feel like a distant life, but I can confidently say this trip was one of the most impressionable experiences I've ever had, and will no doubt determine how I choose to make my next step. My worldview has once again become significantly changed.
So before I write any further, I just want to add that no matter what happens, thank you, Stefan.
Our one month spent in the village coming up...
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