Tag Archives: International travel

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Getting there

Friday, 24 September 2021

This should have been day two, but my favorite airline coupled with JetBlue, who delayed six times then cancelled my flight Thursday. When the JetBlue folks saw I had cargo bags to check, they politely informed me it would cost $1,000 to ship them rather than the $500 I had budgeted. Cindy and I busied ourselves in the airport lobby, sorting the clothes we had picked for the kids at RG, eliminating the least valuable half and fitting the most valuable into two bags of less than 50 pounds. During this pandemic, airlines are apparently making up lost airfares with insane baggage fees. After all that sorting, we were still sent home to wait for the another flight that would connect, but would depart one day late.

Tonight, however, we have the same problem. My connecting flight leaves JFK at 10:30, so my delayed JAX flight that won’t leave til 9:30, will never make it in time. I was encouraged to make the flight I can make and work out the resolution in New York. It means spending the night in JFK, but at least I’m on the way.

I’m getting nervous though, because my Covid test hasn’t resulted yet, and I should have paper proof of results to get aboard the international flight. I hope it results while I’m at JFK, and I can find a printer.

Sharlene “Shar” Davis, at the Just Ask desk at JFK helped me when no one else seemed able. The only solution for my missed connection was a flight 24 hours later. I was told my luggage would meet me, but that, just to be safe, I should go to Terminal One to be sure they make it to Terminal Eight, where I would depart to Doha, Qatar.

I decided to get a hotel, and was directed to the Air Train, which took me to Federal Circle, the hub for hotel shuttles. As I was walking around, alone, in New York at 2 AM, I thought it best to remove any sign of weakness, so I rolled my arm sling up and put it in my pocket. All the hotels with shuttles were booked, but I found Sleep Inn, a shady dive in a ghetto called Jamaica, which had rooms. I shared Lyft with a nice couple in the same predicament, then I shared a hotel lobby with a few drunks and what I’m sure were overnight escorts. The room, however, was surprisingly tidy and comfortable, and I got a good sleep. I also got to print my negative Covid test results just in time for the next flight.

Saturday, 25 September 2021

What a baggage fiasco! Last night I was instructed to come in early to make sure my bags were redirected from Terminal 1 to Terminal 8. They are like completely different airports at JFK. I did that, but the Qatar ticket counter at T8 was closed. I went to the JetBlue ticket counter at T5, but was told to check with the baggage office. I did that at T5, then T1, then T8, each with a ride on the air train and a long walk in between. Every office said they didn’t have my luggage, and to check the other office. When I ended up back at T5, they gave me a printout of the transfer of the bags to T1. About the time I thought I was going to have to lug all those bags myself with my gimpy arm, I finally made contact with Qatar Airlines, and they assured me they would take care of everything. They even offered to let me check in 5 hours early with the passengers of the 8:30 flight so I could get into the terminal and food court. Until then, the only seat available is the floor.

The Qatar folks bent over backwards to reassure me everything would be okay. The supervisor, Philip Richard, even let me check in five hours early so I could enjoy the comforts of the terminal rather than the floor of the lobby.

I found comfort in the New York Sports Bar, where I was allowed to use the remote to find the Florida - Tennessee game. I made myself such a fixture that, even as the Vols tried to narrow the margin of their Gator chomping, the bar manager left me in charge of the place while he left for a restroom break. I guess I seem trustworthy.

I joined my Fellow passengers at Gate 8 and waited for our flight to take off. I dozed off for awhile but awoke just in time to hear the boarding announcement. I ambled with the masked masses, and we started our journey. Philip had told me he was going to assign me a seat by myself but warned it may not stay that way. He was right, it didn’t, but the woman and I who shared the center section had one empty seat between us, just right for my arm sling and her oversized purse.

Sunday, 26 September 2021

So it was really Sunday when we boarded the plane and we stayed on it until arriving at Hamad International Airport in Doha, Qatar around 8:30 pm. I slept through breakfast and lunch, so I must have needed the rest.

Monday, 27 September 2021

The layover in Qatar seemed shorter than usual, and before I knew it, it was 1:00 am, time to board the plane for Entebbe, Uganda. The flight went quickly. I couldn’t sleep at all, but it was about two movies and a stick of gum long. I sat with a very friendly Muslim man who had the window seat While I manned the aisle, again with my broken wing in the empty seat between us. There were repeated opportunities to assist other passengers, so I made a few friends on this leg of the trip.

When we landed in Uganda, things felt familiar. I didn’t feel like a stranger visiting this time, well, at least not as much as the times before. I exchanged some money, and reactivated my Ugandan phone SIM, then waited at the baggage carousel until the handlers all came back in the building. I asked one, “Is that all of it?” and he told me it was. He said that if my bag was missing to file a report at the baggage office.

That took at least a half hour, and a painful one at that, as I realized I hadn’t packed any just-in-case clothes, and I checked all my toiletries. Sure, the airline would return all those donated clothes, but there are no XXXL clothes in Uganda. That is a very American size! I would wear what I had on until the airline reunited me with my luggage.

When I finally got outside, poor Isa, my driver, was patiently waiting, holding up his “Todd Lemmon” sign (even spelled right). I informed him there would be no luggage because it was all lost, and we set out for Karuma, in the northern district of Kiryandongo. On the way, Mama Janice (wife of the executive director of RG) called to explain this happens frequently, and the luggage return is the responsibility of the airline, so I shouldn’t have to pay for $300 cab fare to retrieve it.

As I neared RG my phone came alive as my friend, Robert, to whom I had sent some phone money, applied it to my newly reactivated account. I called him and then his wife, Zam, to tell them I was nearing. I called my “baby girl,” Janet, who told me she had been in the hospital since she took a fall Friday night. Instead of having the driver take me to Team House as usual, I had him drop me off at the hospital.

Dr. Robert, the Clinical Director of the hospital, and Fred, the X-ray technician, were at the gate when I arrived. It was good to see friendly faces!

Inside the hospital, it was shift change as I approached Janet. It was great to see Charge Nurse Miriam, my buddy Patrick, his wife Nancy, Betty, Doris, and Grace. They carried in so, the patients were amused as though I was some sort of celebrity. I might as well be Santa Claus, or Father Christmas as he is known here, for the white beard I’ve grown, the long hair I’ve shaved, and the weight I’ve put I. Since being here. Mucungwa (my Acholi name, pronounced Moo choong’ wa) has changed a lot, apparently. I also had to explain my arm sling and finally took it off to demonstrate my shoulder was, in fact, still attached. Then I got another round of hugs from everyone, because they wanted hugs with both arms. It was a warm greeting!

After visiting Robert and Zam, and saying hello to one of my Sponsoree children, Vivian, I found my way to Team House. It was like coming home. The vote over the Nike was just as amazing as before. I was assigned my old room, and it was comfortable. Even though Satan is persecuting me, I am safe, loved, moderately healthy, I have at least one set of clothes and a sheet called a lesu (lay’soo) that I can wrap myself in while my laundry dries. Even though I told him not to bother feeding me, Michael even brought me beef and chips (fries) which were out on the table when I woke up during the night. So I am well fed too. As I lay in bed listening to the hippos lowing in the Nile River below, I recognized I am in God’s hands, so even when I doubt it or want to turn back, I am where I am supposed to be.

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Tuesday, April 27

While I’m still sitting in a luxurious first world Western home with air conditioning, refrigeration, television, and hot water, I had what I would call a bad day. Worse, I’m afraid I didn’t handle the day’s disappointments with the grace of God. The plan included two simple things: get to my “Rapid PCR Covid test” appointment, and wash and pack the laundry.

Everything is worse when there is disharmony at home, and we struck a sour chord the echo of which is still ringing. With the bitter taste of disappointment already on my palate, I arrived at the Walgreens drive-through for my Covid test, only to find it was not the PCR test required by the Ugandan government. Since most PCR tests take three to five days to result, and mine must be no older than 120 hours when I arrive, my choices were limited. Online, I found grand promises, but each resulted in more disappointment. Since I am not too proud to ask directions, I called the local Travel Clinic for advice. I was informed that, while the Regency Square testing site states their PCR test can take three to five days, it usually results in two. I got that test done in just a few moments, and was promised a result in two to three days.

Not satisfied, I searched and found a local private lab that would do a PCR test. Doubling up increases my chances of one resulting in time, so I crossed town again to get that done. I was told that test result should be available “tomorrow,” so I had to confirm it was actually a PCR test and not an antigen test. First negative result wins.

The laundry had to be washed and dried before it could be treated with insect repellent, and by this time I was nearly out of daylight. I had enough solution to treat my pants, socks, and most of two shirts, so I packed everything else while I waited for the treatment to line-dry.

The 50-pound limit for my single suitcase made packing quite a puzzle. I have a carry-on backpack that contains my technical gear, but after I got all the weight figured out, I turned around and saw I had neglected to pack my nursing gear. It’s not much, but you can’t carry on shears, forceps, and some of the other tools I use, so I had to swap, pound-for-pound, everything I put in the suitcase. Answer: one “personal item.” Ladies carry purses. I’ve got a messenger bag with five pounds of clothes, my stethoscope, and other miscellany. The five pounds of clothes I chose are too important to shed if I get in trouble at the gate, but would suffice if something bad happened to my suitcase.

Overall, the day was disappointing but God provided a way when I saw no way. I’m sure I’ll look back at this post later and say something like, “Ah, first-world troubles.” I'm on the verge of launching, and I guess it's normal to be a little anxious at the edge of such a high dive.