Monday morning (June 11), in my hotel room, I watched SportsCenter (as opposed to SpohtsCentah, the version with cricket and soccer instead of baseball and American football) and felt all nervsy about flying and about my car being impounded. Everything fit in my luggage just fine, including the buttload of pottery, so I felt happy about that. I went downstairs with my bags, paid for the last four days, and then talked to Freddie until the driver came. I gave him my SIM card, since I no longer need it; I haven’t tried calling it to see if it works.
At work I sent a couple of emails, taped up the box with my surveys, and said goodbye to folks who were around. I think the secretary was bummed to see me go; she started working there just before I arrived and she’s gotten used to going home together.
I arrived at the airport, for in line, and had no problems with my bags. I was worried that they might be over the weight restrictions, but apparently not. I went through passport control (which had no line, but was very crowded later). I blew my remaining 500 kwacha on a tiny lunch and a bottle of water, but I got to sit in the fancy lounge and read an old newspaper. I used up my 5 free minutes of SkyBand internet and read my sister’s blog. I then beat the crowd through security. They asked me how much kwacha I was leaving the country with, and I was pleased to say none.
I’ve never been so excited to leave a place in my life. I was so giddy I could feel it all the way up in my shoulders. I’ve flown out of worse places – Minneapolis/St. Paul, for example, after we had to sleep there – but that was more a feeling of weariness than actual happiness to leave. I’ve been excited to land places. But this was really about being thrilled to say adios Lilongwe!
As we flew out, I could see Mchenzi, which is where we did a lot of the field work, so that was neat. I also finally got a good look at the statehouse, which is on the edge of the city. Lunch on SAA was okay. I got the vegetarian, which was probably a mistake. It was some sort of lentil mush with weird vegetables. It was much improved with salt. I was sort of in weird missionary land on the flight… there were a lot of people who’d been in Malawi for like a week or two and it was all very Jesusy. No one asked me why I was there, so I didn’t have to reveal that I was with the heathen condom peddlers. There was a lot of dumb hick intermixed with all this as well. The woman behind me was particularly dumb. As we flew toward Jo’burg, she was describing what she saw out the window to someone, and she said she just saw “a bunch of dirt or concrete, I dunno.” Hello, of course it’s dirt! They’re farms! There are big irrigation circles and rows! You live in Hicksville, I know this can’t be unfamiliar territory. There was also a lot of confusion about converting Celsius to Fahrenheit, esp since she thought freezing was 35F. Yikes.
In Jo’burg I totally couldn’t figure out where to go. I finally located the ticket counters, but Delta wasn’t listed on the big list. I wandered around and eventually sighted it in the corner. There was no line, so I guess I was the only person crazy enough to fly Delta home. They called to get my luggage transferred and they gave me a boarding pass through to Atlanta. I got in the big ass security line and went through the completely ineffectual security. The Delta agent told me I couldn’t buy any liquids, so I didn’t get any cheap Amarula, but that turned out to be totally false because I could have put it in my checked luggage once I got to ATL since I had to recheck it anyway. They have it at Wine Source, but it’s twice as much (still delicious, though, and Joey’s new favorite beverage).
Dinner on the flight was tasty; there was only fish left, so I didn’t have to choose, which was good, and they fish was good. The wine was good too. I napped fitfully after dinner to Dakar, and the flight was incredibly bumpy. It was actually a little scary at times. I’m generally cool with turbulence during the day, but I’m not a huge fan at night or in clouds. In Dakar they didn’t rummage through the plane like they had before, so we all prepared for nothing. I wheedled a snack out of the new crew so I could take my malarone under my carefully planned regime to take them every 20 hours instead of every 24 hours until they were timed back to EDT. Something from dinner or from the weeks of crappy food made my stomach feel ooky and gassy; I’m sure the turbulence didn’t help. I slept some more after Dakar and just felt weary.
We finally entered the USA. USA! USA! I’d never been so happy to be an American at home. We landed in Atlanta, and I was one of the last people off the plane, being in the back. I hit the can and then went to the customs line, getting in the slowest one, of course. Finally I got up to the guy, feeling home free. But then the guy typed my number into the computer and picked up the radio. Aw crap. But this is easy, right? They’re just going to ask me why my passport is different from the one I left with and I’ll be on my merry way, right? A man came over and escorted me to a room full of people who were either brown and/or foreigners, which is when I knew I had landed in customs jail. There was a group of Afghani men at the desk dealing with one guy’s complicated visa issues, and there was a woman I think was Spanish who had been wandering in and out of the US for months at a time apparently on travel, with no employment. Must be nice. I sat there for about an hour getting increasingly upset about how the mugging never seems to stop hassling me and how I probably wouldn’t be able to get on the earlier flight I wanted. I was unsuccessfully holding back tears. Finally one of the immigration officers rifled through the orange folders sitting there, and I heard her say, “US Citizen,” so I knew that had to be me. She asked if I had lost my passport, I told her I got mugged, words of condolences all around, stamp stamp and I was out of there. They really need to have a line for people with easy problems. Or just take care of it at the desk. Seriously. It’s not like she did anything extra to verify my tale.
I got my bags, which were easy to find given there were only like five on the now-stopped conveyor. The Delta ticket counter was totally abandoned, leading me to recognize that I probably got lucky by waiting in customs jail because instead of waiting in huge lines I got to sit (and be upset, but still). I managed to get on the early flight for a cool $25 (really, if it were an all-domestic flight it would have been free, because the flight was way empty) charged to the grant. I rechecked my bags (everyone wanted to know what was in the box, the least interesting piece of luggage) and went through security. I called Joey to tell him I was on the earlier flight, and he was super asleep after not really sleeping well all night. He sounded cute and groggy and glad that I was getting in early. He also told me the great news that my car was not impounded, just moved down the street with $82 in tickets. How unbelievable is that? I never would have thought the city would just move my car! I could kiss whoever made that call. Apparently it’s easier to rebuy your car at auction than it is to retrieve from city impound. So I was just really excited to go home.
I had an exit row seat and dutifully read what I needed to do in case of emergency. We got to BWI, and I could hardly breathe walking out of the terminal I was so excited. It was really weird to see Joey at first – he’d just been this disembodied voice for two months – but I quickly adjusted. :) I was really glad to have my trip be over.
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