Destination Kinshasa!

Departing DC

My Super Shuttle Execucar Hybrid Sedan a.k.a Prius arrived at approximately 1:20 p.m. for my 1:30 p.m. pick-up to take me to the airport.

We were on the road by 1:28 p.m. and had an easy trip with minimal traffic. Upon arrival I grabbed a luggage cart, thanked my driver, and headed in with my mound of baggage. Surprisingly, the check-in line was quite short, and I waited no longer than 7 minutes to get to the counter where it was quickly noted that one of my bags was overweight. 

The airline rep suggested that I shuffle some things around and then come back, but knowing that there was no room to shuffle, I said that I would pay the overage charge. That's when she said, "It's $200."

Normally, I would have had a minor internal fit imagining Black Tuesday 1929 happening to my personal checking account, but not this time. I don't know if my previous months of spending had numbed me to this seemingly exorbitant fee, or if I was just in the zone, but I didn't even flinch before swiping my credit card. 

Before dropping my bags off, I inquired about having them wrapped. One of my classmates had recommended having it done as a deterrant from potential thievery. I hadn't realized having one's bags plastic wrapped was an option until I had received that piece of advice. I was informed that service was not offered and thus handed over my property with hopes of seeing it and all of its contents again in Kinshasa.

As I headed to security, I was feeling grateful that everything had gone smoothly, and I wasn't too far from sitting down and having something to eat and making some phone calls before I boarded my flight.

I followed a few other passengers down the escalator and ducked under the empty labryinth of stantions set up in a large holding area. As we left that area and entered another, that's when it appeared...the sea of people waiting to get through security. It was bound to happen. When you're in an airport that facilitates international and domestic flights, there's going to be a long line somewhere.

The wait wasn't horrible. I didn't look at my cell phone to see how long I waited, but I would guess it was approximately 40-45 minutes to get through security. It only took about 15-20 minutes for me to realize that the muscles in my back had tightened up so much from the weight of my backpack that it was time to take it off. 

During that time, I had my first opportunity to use my diplomatic passport which was surprisingly strange for a couple of reasons. When I took out my passport, I felt compelled to turn it over so that people wouldn't see that it was diplomatic. I'm not sure what that was about. Perhaps it was a reaction to the title "diplomatic passport." If I have a diplomatic passport, the implication is that I am a diplomat, and that's just ridiculous. What does that even mean? I'm still the exact same person I was before joining the DOS. I'm wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt for pete's sake. 

By 3:30 p.m., I had made my way through security, returned to pack mule status with my backpack strapped on, and found my gate. With two hours until my flight's departure, I had plenty of time to sitdown at Gordon Biersch and take in one last meal in the U.S. I do say that a BBQ Pulled Pork Sandwich and Garlic Fries made for an excellent departing meal. Meat and potatoes forever!!

Flight #1 (7 hrs. 40 min.)

Flight number one was smooth sailing. I had lovely father-daughter rowmates who were friendly but mostly kept to themselves. I remember regretting that my backpack would barely fit under the seat no matter how much I crammed it. It didn't leave much leg room for me. Hearing the announcements in both English and French was a nice slow transition into my new francophone world. I vaguely remember take off, and then I think I woke up when the flight attendants were coming around with food or drinks. I am so thankful that I can sleep almost anywhere.


My three and a half hour layover in Belgium flew by. By the time I had deboarded the plane, made it to the bathroom to freshen up and brush my teeth, checked the monitor to see where to find the gate for my next flight (saw your flight on the monitor Elizabeth), located the shuttle that took me to the correct terminal, and purchased some internet time at the terminal next to my gate, it was time to get in line for pre-boarding.

I had started feeling the pressure after arriving in the correct terminal for my second flight but not for the reasons that you might think. Suddenly, everyone wanted to talk to me in French, and it felt like I was taking that horrible French exam all over again. Vocabulary words and verb conjugations were floating through my brain at rapid speed as I searched for the correct words and phrases. That would be a theme on my next flight starting at pre-boarding where my passport was requested in French, and the primary language going forward would be...you guessed it, French.

Flight #2 (9 hrs. 50 min.)

Again, I had a nice rowmate. He was friendly but mostly kept to himself...perfect! I intentionally stayed awake for the first few hours of this flight. I reviewed some of my notes that I hadn't seen since the beginning of orientation, I watched 2.5 movies, I remember seeing Tombouctou, Mali on the flight tracker screen at one point (thought of you Kristen), and then I happily gave in to the Mr. Sandman's call. It seemed that every time I opened my eyes there was a snack on my tray awaiting my recognition. It was a pleasant way to wake up.

At some point, I had maxed out on sleep, and my joints were getting a little achy from the multiple sedentary hours spent in flight and the lack of foot room due to my mammoth backpack which I hadn't bothered to move to the overhead compartment. I took some time to get up, stretch a bit, and use the toilette before settling back in for BOREDOM. Now I have some comprehension and an ample amount of empathy/sympathy for those of you who cannot sleep on planes. I was over it with hours to go. I had books, and snacks, and a journal to write in, and I was having none of it.

Finally, after 9 hours, we arrived in Luanda, Angola. As soon as the passengers getting off in Luanda had exited the plane, I was up as was everyone else to do anything but sit. I believe we were on the ground for approximately an hour while the cleaning crew came onboard and then the new passengers boarded for our final 50 minute flight to Kinshasa.

There was no way that I was falling asleep for that flight, or at least I don't think I did. I was so excited to arrive in Kinshasa that the last leg is a blur. I did, however, manage to pry my folder from my backpack that had all of my paperwork, passports, yellow card (health record), and map and directions of where I was supposed to go, before I deboarded the plane.

When I saw the stairs rolled up to the plane door, I felt like I was back at Bob Hope Airport in Burbank, CA for about half a second. I marched down those stairs and followed my fellow passengers to an area where a tiny little shuttle pulled up. The shuttle couldn't have had room for more than 35 people, and there was no extra space for luggage, so I sat down, put my backpack on my lap and then my other carry-on bag on top of that. Thankfully, they didn't fill the shuttle all the way in the back, so I was able to move my carry-on to the floor. The shuttle took off, turned left, and stopped. We literally had moved maybe 100 ft. I laughed and joked with the guy sitting across from me because I couldn't believe that we couldn't have just walked, but when in Rome... NO, when in Africa... NO, when in the DRC...

N'Djili Airport

Following the crowd, I entered N'Djili Airport, and as instructed by my embassy documents, I went to the leftmost line that was marked for diplomatic passports. I handed over my documents, received my stamp, and moved on to the yellow card line where my information was reviewed and returned to me quickly. Between the two lines, I spent approximately 10 minutes, and then continued on to the baggage claim area where I spied my expeditors Mary and Eric holding a sign with my name on it.


I went over and introduced myself, and they accompanied me over to baggage claim. There, I started to take in my surroundings. Eric informed me that I shouldn't worry if I didn't see my bags right away because the luggage for passengers from Brussels was loaded first and thus would come out last.

There were a lot of people waiting for their luggage, but the scene was much like that of LAX baggage claim. I would call it organized chaos, but everyone was polite, and by the time my bags arrived, the crowd had thinned out considerably. Besides being relatively old and small for a city of Kinshasa's size, the airport just seemed like an airport with one exception, there was security everywhere. I'm not sure if they were policemen, security, or military, but they were ubiquitous.

One fellow did get slapped on the back of the head quite forcefully by one of the security guards, and then escorted out. I'm not sure what that was about, but that was the only curious behavior I witnessed on the inside of the airport.

Once Eric collected my bags, I handed my baggage claim tickets to Mary who presented them at the door before we could leave. Just as we were about to leave the building things started to get hectic. Suddenly, there were people everywhere. We made our way through the crowd, and headed toward the embassy vehicle where my sponsor, an ARSO (Assistant Regional Security Officer), the driver, and another passenger were waiting. We introduced ourselves, my bags were loaded, a few random people approached asking for money, and I thanked and tipped Eric for his help, and we were off.

It must have been around 10 or 10:30 p.m., and it was beautiful outside. The temperature felt like it must have been mid to low 70s. It was completely dark outside so it was difficult to see anything even the vehicles on the road that may or may not have had a tail light functioning. It was also disconcerting to see people darting across the highway in fast moving oncoming traffic. Safety does not come first in Kinshasa.

Home

After a relatively quick (20-30 min.) drive, we pulled up to a large metal gate, and the driver honked. A guard opened the gate to reveal my home for the next two years!


My sponsor offered to take me out to dinner or to order in, but because she had already done some preliminary shopping for me and it was getting late by that time, I opted to just get settled in and grab something to eat in my kitchen.

I thanked her for her generosity, and she said she would pick me up at 7:30 a.m. the next day for work.

After she left, I took some time to drag my bags into the bedroom and check out my apartment. It's by far the biggest apartment I've ever lived in. It's filled with what I've learned is the standard embassy housing furniture that is a bit dated, but seeing how I didn't receive one ounce of Betty Homemaker in my DNA, it doesn't really bother me. 

I could feel the fatigue starting to set in which was perfect timing, but I had one final task before I could go to sleep, and that was to let my dad, sister, and aunt Lory know that I had arrived. Thankfully, my sponsor brought me my work phone, which she had already programmed with essential embassy phone numbers (she's really that amazing), so when I had trouble dialing to the States, I shot her a text to ask if it's 001 or 011, or something else to dial to the U.S.

Unfortunately, every single local (Kinshasa) or international (U.S.) number I dialed or texted failed. Right as I was getting to the point that I could barely keep my eyes open, I decided to turn my personal cell on as a last ditch effort. Thank you, thank you unlocked cell phone for picking up some cell signal that is probably unbelievably expensive to use. I was able to text dad and give him the heads up that I had made it, and I would try to get in touch the next day (Friday).

To be continued...