Last summer vacation, I blogged a little about the trips (not so much the actual destinations). [You can read them here: Flight #1, Flight #2, Bus Ride, Dubai.] I just thought I’d do something similar for this flight.
First of all,
Why I hate airports, especially Kotoka.
- People got no chill. Heck, Ghanaians got no chill. They’re either all just rushing around, having time for nobody in there, or completely distracted and STILL having no time for you. And it’s not like the airport is terribly well-organized too. I was confused AND getting shoved by people who just couldn’t chill.
- The whole security check thing – that’s basically everybody stripping bare and increasing the risk of losing something important. And once again, there’s the issue of people not chilling so much that they man-handle your stuff. Like “Yo, you can’t just be throwing that computer around! It’s a Mac-freaking-book!”
I ain’t got no dang scissors!
They passed my backpack (my only hand luggage, btw) through the machine thing and stopped me because apparently, I had scissors. So they pulled me aside, right? And I’m there, trying to explain to this big old, bald, Ga woman who ALSO has no chill, that I have no scissors.
They said maybe I do, but I just forgot. I conceded. So while I’m hustling, trying to put my sneakers and jacket back on, they pass the bag through the machine again, right, and they are INSISTING that I have scissors. In the exact words of the man at the machine, “Yes! Beeg wan!” (“Yes, big one!”) And I’m there like “Oh my God!”
So they make me unpack every part of my bag, and mind you, it has life five or six compartments, depending on how you look at it. Did I forget to mention that these guys had no chill? (What? I’ve said it three times already?!) She was freaking dumping everything out as if my gadgets and chargers were made out of rubber. Well. All that time I spent carefully arranging things in my bag? Wasted.
After they emptied EVERYTHING in my bag, they FINALLY realized that I had no scissors and aforementioned Ga woman began yelling at me to pack my stuff and get out of there because I was late. In my head, I was like, “Oh yeah? Really?” *Insert VERY sarcastic picture of my face here.*
Mr. Dyslexia & Kid
So, that done, I boarded the plane (unaccompanied minors ain’t got no business waiting in lines, y’naa’mean?) and got to my seat, only to find some dude and some kid occupying my seat and the one beside it, respectively. So, of course, I started trying to explain, “Excuse me, sir, but I’m supposed to be in seat 56C…”
He looked at his boarding pass, and what did he see? 65C, printed boldly right there. So he moved, bashfully, and the kid remained.
He could have been nine or ten, but it’s alright, he wasn’t annoying. He didn’t speak English either, only French. (If you’re waiting for me to begin thanking IGCSE French for my ability to ‘comprehend and conversate’ (no, that’s not a word) in this language, keep waiting…No offence, Monsieur Gilbert. 😉 ) Je pense que il était Ivoirien, parce que, he didn’t have a Togolese accent. The actual irritating bit about sitting next to him was that all the cabin crew thought we were related and kept asking me what my “brother” wanted. So that’s that.
I had absolutely no trouble at Jo’burg. Immigration was totally straightforward, I read all the signs, boom, outta there when my aunt and cousin came to pick me up…Okay fine, I got lost once. But it was entirely my fault, because I misinterpreted a sign. But that’s not important.
About the weather? Yes, it’s kind of cold, but hot enough for me to survive in a shirt without a sweater outside. Time to change all of my hashtags from #Summer2k14 to #Winter2k14. Haha. Actually, I don’t even use these hashtags.