Post-War Uganda, East Africa, Part 4 - The Welcome

Our arrival in Nairobi was relatively uneventful, although a different air prevailed. I observed for the first time, the military presence which was going to be a part of daily life for the duration of our trip. Soldiers on the tarmac, guarded and El Al plane as we exited into the terminal.

Some of us wandered the halls of Jomo Kenyatta Airport, then conserved enough energy to play a subdued game of "kick the ball" with some children while seated. The overall appearance of the airport was clean, and the people friendly.

A slight unrest settled in as the officials reviewed and refused to return both our airline tickets and passports. Tom reassured all of us, privately, that all would be well, he had been through this experience more than once, and I knew him to be very diplomatic.

Jerry couldn't be persuaded, and let his mouth get away from him a bit, which was unfortunate, and did not serve us well as a group. The airline personnel (Kenyan Airlines) were offended by his insistence that he be given a window seat. He seemed to have no clue that we were guests, and perhaps not welcome guests, as we were soon to find out.

We encouraged him to quietly seat himself and let Tom do the communicating. To our horror, we learned from Tom that our luggage had not accompanied us from either New York or Paris, due to the flight changes. That proved a problem to the officials, African government required that no travelers be allowed to enter the country without luggage.

Mercenaries had been a problem both during the war in Uganda, and afterwards, because of revenge for atrocities, they were often hired by fledgling unstable leaders or their enemies to flush out the remaining resistance. Learning that from some nationals in the airport who I was enjoying my conversation with, was hardly a comfort. The danger became closer to my reality.

I buried myself in my book for assurance, and prayed silently. They gave our passports and boarding passes back, and my focus changed. I noticed the women around me, many of whom were Muslim, and I had only seen hijabs in magazines.

What a sheltered life I had lived. I felt a sense of unity as women at that moment that translated to love and equality, as I watched them with their children and realized how alike we were as mothers.

I was halfway ashamed for believing what I had been taught in my earlier years in school, they were so different from us. Lies, I thought, perpetuated from unfounded fears.

I met a delightful woman from Burundi, a young mother named Jane, whom I helped as she struggled to carry her belongings off to change her infant son. Later she told me she would be traveling to an outpost near us, Semuto, with her brand new baby.

Jane's husband, who was from the Netherlands was with the International Labor Organization, and he, too was helping train the nationals to become self-sufficient. I never saw Jane in Semuto, as transportation was not all that available except for work-related issues.

Fuel was scarce, and required an 80 mile trip to obtain. It was essential that when it was used, it was worth the expenditures. Routes and trips were planned carefully and economically, in case of emergencies.

After everything was cleared, and we had our boarding passes, we were thoroughly searched by the Kenyan Security Police. Then we were brought through the terminal with military escort out on to the tarmac.

We were told to identify our luggage on the tarmac, and to pick it up and walk it to the airplane. We were confused at first, since we were already told that our luggage had not arrived.

They questioned us again as to what our purpose was in Entebbe and Kampala. We told them the truth, and they still seemed unsure of whether or not we would be allowed to board the plane. I realized they were trying to ascertain if one of us would tell a story that was different than they others on our team. Of course that didn't happen.

It was hot, sweltering hot, and I felt weak momentarily. We watched as all the other passengers boarded the plane, each with their luggage, including Jane. No one helped her. Then, when there was no luggage left, we were questioned again.

Finally, we were allowed to board the plane, wondering what would happen when we landed in Entebbe. The flight was bumpy as a rainstorm began after takeoff. Fortunately, it cleared somewhat before our landing which was on a strip at the edge of Lake Victoria.

It looked to me like we were going to land in the water we flew so low coming in, but the landing was on ground, albeit somewhat bumpy. The airplane was old, and rickety, Just like in the movies, I thought, just what I expected.

We stood in line with the rest of the foreigners, while Jane quickly moved through the residents line for African citizens. She expressed disappointment as we were detained, as she wanted me to meet her husband and friends, who were happily waving on the deck with the Danger's daughter Jamie, who I identified from the pictures.

I felt a strange sadness as I watched Jane disappear through the outer door. I had identified with her deeply, her gracious smile and our conversation was a treasure I could now only hold in my heart until heaven.

Tom and Jim quickly went through the customs line (along with all our money, which had been pooled for safety sake). This presented a problem, as we were questioned as to why we were in the country without luggage. Only Art had a bag, an overnight bag with clothing.

Tom produced a letter of invitation from Jay, and Jay was brought in to verify us as his guests and volunteers for the work project. They gave us 3-day visas which could be transferred when we were taken to the Embassy.

After filling out forms to locate our luggage and converting the required $150 US dollars into Ugandan shillings, we were finally on our way to our new home in Kabubu. It would be a 5 hour trip from Entebbe.

(Continue to Post-War Uganda Part 5).