Let me introduce you…
With much anticipation and I’m not going to lie, some fear
and uncertainty, I journeyed to Juba, South Sudan. While I’ve traveled to
(only) about 7 or 8 other African countries, I wasn’t entirely sure what to
expect when I arrived in Juba. I had been given some pretty clear instructions
on which line up to get into, what to write on the entry forms, and who would
be waiting, but one never knows what will really confront them on arrival.
And sitting in the airport in Nairobi, sipping my decaf,
soy, caramel machiatto at the famed Java House was not helping me mentally
prepare for all that Juba has to offer…
I finally made my way over to the waiting area at Gate 15
for the departure. As I sat, I played a little game in my head of trying to
guess the travel reason for all the other passengers in the lounge. It is
pretty easy to determine the reason for travel of other passengers when you
board a flight to Cuba or Mexico. But going to South Sudan is not quite as
straight forward as my vaccination nurse in Vancouver would have led you to
believe when she asked me, “Are you going for business or pleasure?”
While I am sure I will find much pleasure in South Sudan,
the passengers waiting in the lounge were not likely embarking on a relaxing vacation.
Still, guessing people’s purpose for travel was not as straight-forward as one
might think. Yes, there is the older man with the UN lanyard or the ones like
me with their NGO acronym splayed across their t-shirts. But then there were
the 3 teenage boys in baggy jeans and backward caps bopping to hip hop on their
ipods, or the young woman with striking makeup and 2 inch long fake finger
nails furiously tapping between her Samsung Galaxy and her iphone 6. Returning
home from a holiday? Visiting their parents on a school break? The guessing
game made the waiting time go faster.
Boarding commenced as it has in most African airports I’ve
been to (and European as well). You first all cram onto a bus to be driven far
down a tarmac, sometimes in seemingly random locations. I’m standing on the bus
when an older guy comes up to me and says “You must be Alida” – I was
suspicious at “You must be….” because it is not uncommon for unfamiliar men in
foreign countries to pretend to know me, so I immediately had a guard up (scam
artists fish around for information which they get you to unwittingly disclose
and then use the info to convince you that you know them and while your guard
is down, they are eyeing or stealing your phone, wallet etc). I guess I
shouldn’t have been so suspicious – I was on a bus in a secure location. How
far could a devious thief get?
No, it was a fellow colleague from Medair, who had heard
there was someone else on the same flight to Juba. And my “Medair” branded
t-shirt (which I was instructed to wear) gave me away… It turned out to be
handy and reassuring to have someone who was familiar with the airport
procedures guide me, rather than me trying to incognito read my tip sheet as I
passed through the steps.
As we circled for landing, I took in the landscape. The
familiar red soil, green trees and shrubs stretched for miles with small rocky
hills pocking the landscape. The Nile, meandering its way north (yes, the Nile
flows up to Egypt), and then the sprawling city of Juba.
On landing, you again realize you are not in an ordinary
African city. The only other commercial airplane was one from Egypt Air. Otherwise,
there are rows and rows of UN, WFP (World Food Program), and Red Cross
airplanes and helicopters. Our plane parked between a huge WFP plane waiting
for clearance, and some smaller UN planes. I bid goodbye to my beautifully
coiffed cabin crew on Kenyan Airways and welcomed the reality of South Sudan.
Or at least my sweat glands certainly did. I had been mentally preparing for 50
degree celcius heat and my first thought was “Oh, it’s not that bad, I can
handle this” but within a few short minutes (or seconds) I felt rivulets of
sweat streaming down my cheekbones and draining down my neck, meeting in the
middle as if they were tributaries. And I hadn’t even walked to the arrivals building
yet!
Before Arrivals, you have to walk through the Ebola
screening tent. I followed my colleague on a short-cut through some grass
towards a WHO (World Health Organization) tent, where for some reason I
expected a thorough and high tech environment. After all, how many times have I
quoted WHO in an academic paper I’ve written? I imagined anything inside a WHO
tent must be state of the art. Alas, there was a plastic white table at the far
end of the tent, a few tired and hot looking people lounging on the side, and
one older gentleman scanning everyone’s foreheads with an infrared thermometer.
Fortunately, the shock of heat did not raise my internal temperature and he
waved me through with a nod.
Next step was customs where I tried to absorb the mild chaos
of what was going on around me. I noticed the woman at the desk being asked for
multiple ID’s even though she had a visa, so when my colleague said “get out
your ID”, I had already mentally remembered where I packed it in my bag.
Fortunately the immigration official was satisfied with my visa and smiling
face, so we moved 15 feet to another official who then checked to make sure we
had actually received a stamp in our passport. A mere 5 feet away from this
check-point was a single luggage x-ray scanner. Once you find your luggage in a
big stack, you have it checked by yet some more officials. Most were men in
army fatigues but there was one woman, who was so exquisitely dressed in a
satin bodice dress with frilly sleeves made from traditional African fabric, I
thought she must have just come from a wedding. But then I remembered, African
women are always dressed this well and it is I who looks like an under dressed,
slovenly mess. I wonder what they must think of my faded linen pants, sweat
stained tshirt, and running shoes?
She was kind enough to take my word that there were only
clothes (no satin dresses!) in my bag and didn’t require me to open everything
up and spread it out.
A mere 5 feet from the baggage inspecting area, was another
gentleman who checked our baggage tags with our luggage before allowing us to
proceed. In a space of a couple hundred square feet, I had been checked 5 times.
They certainly are serious about passengers passing through their airport!
We finally we lurched out of the tiny airport with all our
bags and walked to the Medair vehicle. Again, I thought “Well, the heat isn’t
so bad” and then I caught a reflection of my face in the truck window – it was
100% glistening with sweat. To the point it looked like I just got out of a
swimming pool. I may need those ORS (Oral rehydration salts) sooner than later.
A short drive took us to the Medair compound where I
promptly met the base manager. She immediately took me round for a tour and
many friendly introductions. I’m the new one on the base and Juba is brand new
to me. Let me introduce you….