Visiting Djibouti… 2

Arrival in Addis

Come the morning of the next day, we call ahead of our arrival to be sure that our passports were ready. The lady we spoke to yesterday answers the phone and advises us to call back a bit later as the consul had not yet arrived at the Embassy and she had no access to our files. We did as we were told… we waited.
In the afternoon, we called the Embassy again. This time with more result to it. The Consul wanted to see us, because our stories weren’t clear to him. This might sound a bit scary to most, but we had a surprise up our sleeves which would surely guarantee us passage to Djibouti, or at least a Djiboutian prison.

When we arrived at the Embassy, we were invited to go up two floors and see the Consul. The Consul was a young man, his desk littered with papers and all sort of stuff making him look even more diplomatic than his over educated handshake and accompanying head gesture.
He said, he only had one question: “If we were in Security, why did we need to see the transit company that had invited us?”. Our response to this one was as educated as his head gesture, but it was the thing up our sleeve we were keeping well hidden just for this occasion. So my colleague replied, “Well, we don’t really need to explain, Mr. F. is like a cousin to you, you grew up together, went to the same school… we are like brothers… why are you asking us all these questions?”. The Consul went pale, looked down at our papers of invitation and apologized. “Please don’t tell F. it took me so long to get your passports… what will he think of me. Be back in the morning tomorrow and your passports will be ready and stamped.”.
We were on our way and we knew we were in good hands. Where were we going where somebody who had invited us had made the Consul go pale? It didn’t matter, we were this man’s brothers so to speak and apparently the law, however Democratic, was on our side.
It didn’t take long before we were heading towards Addis Abeba in Ethiopia on a very comfortable Ethiopian Airlines flight from Brussels. Short stop in Paris to pick up the rest of the passengers heading on to adventures in Africa.

Paris wasn’t much of an adventure, 60 minutes ground time to board the most complex collection of tourists and business folks alike. But what struck me most was when the stewardess came by with landing cards for Addis. We could see that most people were getting off in Addis, with Ethiopia being the final destination, at least for today. The ones in transit, all carried the same look and same looking handbags. Digital camouflage and the look of a hardened freelance soldier. We were going to a place that welcomed this kind of folk. We were this kind of folk, because them and us crossed eyes and respected each other for what we did. They just couldn’t figure out why the two of us weren’t speaking English to each other. We looked the part, but spoke something else. I was to find out soon enough that whatever language I spoke, I would become “the American”.
To be continued…