TIA - This Is Africa
TIA. Anyone who has spent more than a few hours on the continent has certainly heard some variation of that phrase. It’s a catchall for when things do not go as planned, when one document you were just told you needed is no longer needed - that one is needed. It’s said with frustration, exasperation, humor, love - any emotion can be imparted on it.
Saturday’s “TIA” came while standing in Addis Ababa’s Bole International Airport. Jackie and I had landed at 6:00 AM and was we walked down to the stairs of the plane, a sign with our names greeted us on the landing. After being bussed over to the terminal, we were notified that our 37 bags - 35 of which held donations of clothing, school supplies, blankets, shoes - was going to be held at the airport, unless of course, we paid. The issue with is we did pay, nearly $4,000 USD to be exact, to get all of the boxes and our baggage from Newark to Goma, DR Congo. And we had the receipts to prove it.
Except according to the Ethiopian Airlines agent, we didn’t have receipts. Those pieces of paper - the ones with receipt printed clearly on them! - were not receipts. As such, and because Ethiopian Airlines’ system could not interface properly with United Airlines’ system, a choice was presented: pay nearly $7,500 to get the bags to Goma or strand them in Ethiopia. Neither of these options were acceptable and The Kivu Project’s accounts do not have that money. So the next three hours were spent pleading with the staff in Ethiopia, trying to get enough wifi to work it out with a United agent through their app (which didn’t work, though they did admit their mistake in the course of our conversation), and making expensive international phone calls to the airlines trying to come up with a solution. All of our efforts failed.
As boarding time neared and the hope of reaching a solution gone, we made the decision to spend the $7,500 out of our own pockets, hopeful that United Airlines would refund us once presented with documentation of their mistake. So many people had contributed to not only provide all the materials in the boxes but to ship the boxes that far. We have an obligation to get them to the children of North and South Kivu.
A couple of hours later we were standing in the dimly lit and humid arrival hall in Goma, counting and stacking boxes. They were all there. Prior to our arrival we had made arrangements to ensure our smooth exit with our boxes. But “TIA”. Different customs officials would not let us leave without us further expressing our desire to have our items. Of course that desire would need to be expressed in US dollars. We waited and negotiated until finally these officials decided our boxes would need to go to the customs warehouse next to the arrivals building for inspection. So the porters which hang around for the once-daily flight were impressed into service to haul the boxes into the warehouse. Immediately we were informed that they would be inspecting a box or two, and if nothing suspicious was found, we’d be free to go. Out came the knife and the first box was opened to reveal neatly packed sandals. You could sense the frustration and disappointment of the official who waved his hands and dismissed us. Like that our boxes were rushed to the waiting truck as the sky opened up and poured on us as if on cue. Finally our boxes would be going into storage until the trek to Mushaki.
This is Africa.
