Transition and Arrival

Walking down the aisle on board the aircraft, it was hard not to be curious about the other people sharing the flight. Most were Ghanaian, there were several old white men dotted around, one white British family and then there was a girl who was alone and looked several years younger than me. Maybe she was going to work for an organisation too, maybe she was visiting a parent diplomat, maybe she just fancied a holiday.

I was seated next to a large lady with a very cute wide eyed baby with gorgeous dark curls sprouting from its head. I knew not to be deceived of course- babies make raucous travel companions. The flight would only be 5 hours. The sky was lit with fiery golden beams and interspersed with the clouds and ground below. The baby started screaming.

They should have a soundproof crèche at the front of planes for all the babies to play in. Maybe airtight too...  At some point on the flight the mother went to the toilet and asked me to watch him. The baby behaved as though this was the most unbearable thing it had ever experienced. After a few moments a very attractive wide-smiled brunette air hostess with loving eyes came and took him. She bounced him around to ill-effect, but eventually found he liked the sensation of being on the food trolley and rolled back and forth. When the mother came back she was slightly bewildered as to why her baby was moving up and down the aircraft on a food trolley.

Eventually the tannoy announced it was time to land. Soon after twinkle lights spread across the city, crisscrossed and zigzagged. My eardrums were hurting from the baby’s vocalised discomfort and the descent. As we moved closer there were large box houses on neat streets with lamp posts. This was going to be nothing like Ethiopia.

The aircraft door was open and the queue of people entered the night air. Trees lined the airport walls and the beyond was thick with darkness. What is that smell? Like hot buns and roasting sesame seeds; like sweet dewy plants and hot air; breathe it in deeply just so you can be sure that it’s the Melegueta Pepper tickling your nose hair. That, my friend, is the smell of Africa.

Standing next to the conveyor belt, unfortunately one of the first things visible was how overweight people around me were. One particular mama had great big rolling hills like the Sahara desert around her stomach covered in bright attractively pattered fabric. Outside I was met by Isaac who would be my driver for the next month. He was friendly but I was quite tired and relieved there didn’t seem to be the need to talk too much at this stage, and we listened to incredibly cheesy soul ballads like ‘Lady in Red’.

To be honest, the lodgings were more basic than I was expecting. I knew it was going to be right in the city centre, and I would be living just off Oxford Street (which in some ways might parallel the one back home) in an area where foreigners often live.  So I was slightly surprised by the patchy white washed walls, the ad hoc bathroom, earthy half tiled floors and crumbly corners.

I went to sleep with the sound of a noisy generator and bright fluorescent lights shining through the window, with a view of the courtyard, in thankfully clean soft sheets.