Day 1 (Part 2) in Ethiopia: Cliffhanger in Customs

As I went to exit the airport to find Alan, another security guard stopped me and told me that I had to go get in ANOTHER long line and put my bags through another machine just to get out of the airport. At this point, Alan had been waiting for me for close to 2 hours. I worried that he might leave thinking I missed my plane or something. He had no way of getting ahold of me, so how long is my friend’s poor husband expected to sit and wait for me before giving up? I started to find the end of the bag line and realized it stretched quite a ways back. I was never going to get out of this place! And if I did, was I even going to be able to find Alan?! And how was I going to be able to get back in and get my passport if I left without it? (I can already hear Ma in my head saying, “See? That’s what you get for making fun of your mother.") I looked across the packed luggage claim area where I could see people in the glass on the other side waiting for their loved ones. Just then, I thought I caught a glimpse of a white guy. I began waving my arms wildly while my vision came into focus…IT WAS ALAN!!! He finally saw me waving and I started speed-walking towards him, waiting to get stopped (or shot) by the guard who told me to get in line. I yelled to Alan that I needed his address because they wouldn’t let me leave without it. As Alan got closer and heard me, he looked highly agitated and said, “WHAT!? He then blew past the guards (flashing his red “Diplomat” card) and asked me who was asking for an address. We hurried back to Customs, past all the scary guards who didn’t seem to bat an eye at us since we walked with purpose ( and Alan flashing his super-power red card.) I took him to the booth of the Angry Ethiopian Customs Man, and Alan let him have it. Apparently no one has addresses here, and the guy was just giving me a hard time. But when Alan drilled him with questions, the angry guy suddenly turned into all smiles for Alan and kept answering Alan with “Ok. No problem. Ok. No problem.” And with that, we turned and left. I MADE IT AND I’M NOT DEAD (or lost and left for dead) IN ETHIOPIA! (First lesson learned: I really need to get me one of them there red cards.) P.S. I was also not injured or killed in the bombing that occurred right by the airport that night

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