Back in Arusha, 2017

Arusha, Thursday, January 12, 2017

This has not been our usual trip from Spokane to Arusha. For some reason, I simply did not monitor my packing as carefully as usual and made no lists of what I had packed in which suitcase.  So, I soon began to think of items I had undoubtedly left behind, e.g., tennis shoes, a glasses repair kit, extra plastic containers, and on and on. I did pack enough clothing this time and plenty of insect repellent, so we’ll be fine.  I may even be able to buy some of the “luxury” items I’d like at Nakumatt later this week.

Because of the heavy show in Spokane, we had Luke drive us out to the Ramada Inn at the airport so we would be sure to make out flight Tuesday morning at 9:20 a,m, That all went well, and we had plenty of time the next morning to get ready, have a nice breakfast, and get to the airport far ahead of time—which turned out to be absolutely crucial.  John had never heard of the rule that one must have at least 6 months of validity left on a passport to travel to Tanzania, as well as many other countries. In all our years of flying all over, we had never heard of this, and since John had only exactly 5 months left on his passport, Delta would not check him in to Arusha even though they had supposedly checked his passport when they sold us our tickets. John went all banty rooster berserk for awhile, and called up the Delta chain of command to no avail. He could not understand why they had sold him a ticket they clearly knew they would not honor. To make his dilemma all the more maddening, he could not find his phone and had to rely on the kindness of the Delta counter crew to make his calls. Things only got worse, when one of the security men told John to leave his carry on luggage with his daughter (me), while he returned to check in his big suitcase, which he had been told would be “pink ticketed” at the gate and carried on. More erroneous directions from Delta.

Finally, we decided that I would fly all the way by myself, and John would go as far as Seattle and then apply for an expedited passport there.  So, after, some repacking and checking in separately, we were off.  John went with me to my gate in Seattle and then left for downtown and the immigration office.  My flight to Amsterdam, while tedious, was the usual: reading and eating an unusual amount of snacks and meals.  I lost count.  My seatmate was a young man from Hawaii who was flying to Nuremberg to lead a course on how to maintain Striker vehicles for the Army.  He had been in Iraq but is now a private contractor and makes much more money. We talked about the privatization of the military and how while it avoids the problems that come with recruiting or a draft, it costs the taxpayers much more. I was surprised that he also expressed concern about what might happen under the new administration.

During the hours I was in air, John had rushed to downtown Seattle to find the immigration office and see how to get an expedited passport so he could be on a plane on Wednesday.  Fortunately, this process did not take endless hours though it did cost a pretty penny.  Better yet, as the security staff was searching John’s luggage before he entered the offices, they found his missing cell phone, right in his shaving kit, where any man would stow his phone. Once, John got his new passport, he called Rob and Carol Wilson, friends in Seattle, to see if they would rescue him for the night. Of course they did, so it was almost as if John was rewarded for messing up our day so amazingly.

No one does better with disabled services than the KLM staff at Amsterdam, and they aren’t even allowed to take tips. Their professionalism and diligence always impress me.  So, I had no problem at all getting from my arrival to departure gates. Once on the plane again (Why do we say “the plane”?), I found I was fortunate fortune enough to be in a row of three seats with no one in the middle.  Better yet, my seat mate was a retired elementary school principal from Massachusetts, who was going on a 12-day African safari.  She was lovely, and we soon found out that we were both distressed about Trump, against charter schools, and concerned about the inequity among public school budgets. Also, it was good for me to be with someone who was obviously very excited about going to game parks since I have become so weary and jaded about them.

We arrived at the Kilimanjaro International Airport soon after 9:00 p.m. which meant it was 
7:00 or 8:00 a.m. (I still haven’t figured this all out again) in Spokane. Then, the long, sweaty visa process began.  Since we no longer have valid multiple-entry visas, I had to get in the long line for a new tourist visa. All one has to do is fill out a simple form and pay $100, but the waiting seemed never ending. I spent my time in line chatting with a young French couple who were coming to Arusha to climb Mount Meru, not Kilimanjaro. Mount Meru is right behind us here in Arusha, and while it is not at high at Kilimanjaro, it is reputed to be more difficult to climb.

Finally, we reached window #1, paid our $100 (a crisp new bill is necessary), and then were told to go to window #2.  What?  I could see no reason for another wait in line, but there was nothing else to do.  Slowly we progressed to the window, and the man there took our photo and put a sticker visa form in our passports and told us to go to window #3. Good grief! By this time I was dripping in sweat and likely smelling like a septic tank cleaner. The wait for window #3 was shorter than at the first two, so after the man there looked all through our passports, as had the previous two, and then stamped them, we were free to go retrieve our luggage.  I had my carry-on and an additional two big, very heavy suitcases, but as usual, a nice young man helped me get the big ones onto a luggage cart, and I was set to leave. But wait! We now had to go  through a scanner before we exited.  This machine had never been operational any other time we’ve come through this airport and should have been used for scanning incoming luggage, not outgoing.  I was knew I could not sling my luggage up on the table, so I beckoned over a young Tanzanian airport worker and told him I’d give him $5 if he lifted up my suitcases for me. He was super happy to both lift them up, put them through the scanner, and then reload my cart. I was super happy to have that handled so well. And, no one paid any attention to what did or didn’t go through the scanner anyway. I decided that all those windows and the scanner must be part of some new employment program since almost none of it had any other possible purpose.

In spite of the long, hot wait in lines and the ridiculous scanner procedure, I still love this airport, as the Tanzanians are uniformly polite, well-intentioned, and honest.  More remarkable for  an African airport, we never have to worry about our luggage being rummaged through or stolen before we retrieve it. For me the airport sets the tone for our stay in Arusha: One should never expect everything to work quickly, but in general everyone does their best and means well.

Ray and his wife and children were waiting for me outside. It was wonderful to see them again, and there were greetings and hugs all around.  Anita and Good Luck hung on to me, and Priskilla presented me with an elaborate arrangement of roses.  Of course, they were very surprised that John was not with me, but Ray will go back to the airport to get him tonight. On the ride into Arusha, I caught up on the children’s school activities and the general political and economic situation for the common people in Tanzania.  Ray’s perspective is that the President is doing his best to clean up corruption and reform many agencies, but it is slow going again entrenched bureaucracy. Economically, things are tight for the general citizens, while the wealthy are doing very well.  I told Ray that this is much the same in America, too. Ray then expressed his condolences for the Trump election.  People here cannot figure out why America, the supposed land of equality and democracy, would elect such an obvious liar and charlatan. They are concerned about how this will affect the global economy and international relations.

It was very late when we arrived at Kundayo. The highway project the Chinese have been working on for several years has now reached its absolutely most disruptive stage right at the entrance of Kundayo Road, so driving in was like navigating an obstacle course. It was probably good that it was too dark for me to see the full extent of the chaos. I have no idea how we are going to walk out to the main road and catch Dolla-dollas or walk down to the road to Phillips Corner and the Impala Hotel. I’ll leave all that for John to figure out once he is here.

Maso was waiting for me, but there was no welcome by the staff as there has been in the past. (I sense that there may be some downsizing of the staff, as I found out at breakfast that Agape, my favorite staff member, is no longer here.) I was so addled by the time I got into our apartment that I couldn’t figure out what I was doing and mulled through all my suitcases with no particular plan in mind.  Finally, I quit whatever I was doing, took a shower, and went to bed soon after 3:00 a.m,. I slept until nearly 9:00 and then got up, dressed and went for my complimentary breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, fruit, fruit juice, and coffee.

I tried to connect to wifi during breakfast without any success, so I couldn’t let John know that I have arrived successfully.  I’ll try again soon, but something is not functioning correctly at the moment. I was miraculously able to figure out the TV remotes correctly and now have MSNC on. I’ve just learned that Donald Trump wouldn’t have had carnal relations in Russia because he is a “germaphobe.” I am very happy to be out of country at the moment.

We have once again been placed in Apartment S, the same one we were in last year.  I prefer the apartment next door, apartment W, but John thinks the steps up to the bathroom are too dangerous for me to use.  This apartment does have the advantage of having a table and chairs on the front terrace, which is great for visits, so I’m satisfied with this placement. However, this year, the always minimal kitchen and cooking utensils are more minimal than ever.  Since things had been fairly decent last year, I didn’t bring some items such as a funnel or extra plastic containers, which are not here at all this year. We have only two plates, three drinking glasses, and several mismatched bowls, plus a small skillet and two small cooking pans. As alway I brought a can opener, vegetable peeler, and assorted spoons, knives and forks from the thrift shop, but I did not bring a funnel, small plunger (for laundry), and a good paring knife, all of which I need to operate well. We’ll have to see what we can find in town.

I am now so fuzzy headed I need to stop writing and find some other way for staying awake during the day here while it’s night back in Spokane.