Mission Journal Day 1 Part 1

I just had to get the story of the goat head soup posted first even though it was the last thing to happen to me on the trip. When I got back to the States everyone asked me two questions. How was your trip and did you get sick? Since everybody knows the answer to the first question, I decided to start my stories from Kenya with the answer to the second question. Starting with this post, I going to type in everything I wrote in my journal. In doing this, I will answer the first question beyond a reasonable doubt.

Mission Trip Day 1

Here we are, sitting on a Swiss Air jumbo jet, in New York waiting for our turn to take off. The captain just came over the intercom and said we were twenty-fifth in line to take a ride over the Atlantic. To save fuel, the captain explained, we have parked somewhere back from the gate in a holding area and powered down the massive engines hanging out side the tiny window I can see from my isle seat. The captain assured us that we should only have to stay in the holding area for ten or fifteen minutes and we shouldn’t be late arriving in Zurich. I hoped the captain was right because Grace and I only have about an hour to get off this plane and find the one leaving for Nairobi, Africa. It took us two hours to navigate through the crowded terminals of JFK airport to find the plane we were sitting in now. I really hoped Zurich wasn’t as easy to get lost in as JFK had been. But, I’ll write about getting lost a little later. I need to back up and start this journal entry from when I arrived at Charlotte Douglas. Things got very interesting very quickly.



When I planned for this much anticipated departure day, I figured the best place to meet Grace was at the boarding gate. The gate was the one place that we had to cross paths or come together at the airport. I was certain that we would arrive at different times and there really isn’t a good spot or landmark to meet around the endless rows of ticket counters. So, I believed the easiest place to meet would be in the waiting area of our gate.

Well, Grace informed me the Sunday before departure day that she would need me to help her check in her bags. Not only did she need some extra muscle to wrangle her bags to the ticket counter, she also needed me to claim one of them as my own. Wow, I thought, how much stuff was she going to take for two weeks? Her family still lives in Kenya and I wondered if she was taking a bag full of wonderful and exciting American merchandise home to the eagerly waiting family.

So, I wrote down Grace’s cellular phone number knowing that if we just picked a time and place someone would end up coming late or we might miss each other in the crowds of summer travelers. I believed that if I called and checked in with Grace sometime before the time we needed to be at the ticket counter I could get a better feel of the situation and make a smooth meeting.

My cellular phone idea worked. Grace was running about thirty minutes late. We had given ourselves plenty of time so thirty minutes was not a big deal. But, if I had just went to the terminal and sat around waiting for Grace not knowing how late she was going to be, I know I would have had a melt down before she arrived. I do not do very well in situations when I’m dealing with a lack of information. Heather and I sat in the cellular phone parking lot until Grace arrived.

Grace gave me a call when she turned into the entrance to the airport. We pulled out of the cellular phone lot and Heather dropped me at the curb to wait for Grace. A few moments later I saw Grace’s white mini van slide up to the drop-off area. A well executed plan for meeting in a fast moving, congested, airport terminal.

When Grace popped open the tailgate to the van, my anxiety level jumped a few notches. She dragged two large duffle bags and a bulging suitcase out onto the sidewalk. I already had my hands full with my rolling suitcase and the camera case. Before I could even think about grabbing a cart, she hailed the sky captain. Now, I don’t have much love for those uniformed cart pushers who hope to make much more than an hourly wage by carrying a few bags, maybe a hundred feet. I have also noticed that the sky captains are now charging two dollars per bag for check-in at the curb. Gut Grace said she had money so I figured I would let her run the show.

Turns out we were dropped off at the opposite end of the area designated for U.S. Airways. And, our sky captain couldn’t check in an international ticket at the curb. He would have to walk us in. Oh boy, here we go. Let our information deficit start draining our pocket in five, four, three, two, one seconds.

I thought maybe since he didn’t check us in at the curb we wouldn’t have to pay the two dollars per bag. We would just give him a tip and wait in line for the next available ticket clerk. How dumb was that? He dropped the bags and asked for “two dollars a bag”. Grace started counting out dollar bills and discovered she was two dollars short. She started to go digging in her bag for more cash, but in the interest of time, I jumped in and handed the man a twenty.

Uh oh, I must interrupt my story because the captain just came over to the intercom and said, “ladies and gentlemen, it is just one of those days here at JFK that requires a little patience by everyone”. We have been sitting in line to depart for close to an hour now. We have only moved from the twenty-fifth to the fifteenth in line. With only an hour to connect in Zurich I’m getting a sinking feeling that we may be staying in Zurich a little longer than planned. At the very least, our bag may not make it to Nairobi when we do. Ah, the joys of flying. Now back to our regularly scheduled program already in progress.

I handed the man a twenty because I wanted to get through security as soon as possible. In the past it has taken me a little longer to get through security because of the camera equipment. TSA likes to swab everything down to check for explosive residue. Against my better judgment, I tipped the guy because I know they expect it. I know I didn’t have to but for some reason, I care what the dude thinks about me even if I will never see him again. I’m not very thick-skinned am I?

Now we are at the ticket counter waiting in a very short line. I start to think we are going to get through this phase of our journey with some time to spare at the gate. That’s when Grace starts to wonder, out loud, if the massive bags at her feet are over the weight limit. “If they are”, she says to me, “we are going to have to take the stuff out”.

Oh boy, another situation that could eat up a ton of time and cause us to miss our flight. I have seen this happen before. My best friend, Jeff, and his new wife came to visit from Florida last year. They drove up in a rental car, but decided to fly back. I took them to the airport and watched as they had to somehow divide one enormous and overweight bag into something they wouldn’t have to fork over extra cash to get on a plane. The airline gave them a cardboard box and some packing tape.

Thank God, the captain just informed us that we would take off in two minutes. It’s only an hour and a half later than the original departure time so I guess we should consider ourselves lucky to get out of New York in a semi-timely fashion.

I have to say it was quit entertaining to watch my best friend Jeff and his wife dig clothes out of the over-weight bag and pack them into a cardboard box while impatient travelers pushed passed them to get to the ticket counter. I remember thinking to myself, man I’m glad I do not have to deal with a situation like that. Now I stood in the line wondering if I was going to beg the clerk at the counter for a cardboard box.

Tune in next week to see if we made our flight…