Do you recall eruptions of Eyjafjallaj̦kull Рone of the great frenzies and news stories of last year? Gazillions of stranded passengers due to a single volcano choosing to lose its temper? One of those stories that happen on the telly and you say to yourself you are glad not to be part of? Well, only this time it was different. This time I paid my dues and took part in delays and misinformation surrounding this particular volcanic ash eruption.
As expected it all started very unsuspiciously. I was sitting on a plastic stul on the beach with a bottle of La Gazelle in my hand gazing over the open sea in front of me when the news arrived. Words about a cloud of ash floating around good old Europe. Basking in the evening Senegalese sun I wasn’t ready to grasp the meaning or influence of such news on me. After all I was surrounded by clear sky and such problems seemed to be from another planet.
Two days latter I was sitting in Dakar’s airport lounge sipping coffee while waiting for a way to early flight taking me back to Bamako, Mali. By the time the first words of grounded airplanes had reached me but in Yoff, where Dakar’s airport is, it all seemed a bit blown out of proportions. After all I was about to join a bunch of Americans from one of the big gold digging companies and a large group of Chinese trade officials and board the plane. And a bunch of other flights was about to take off in various directions.
The first indication that nonetheless something might be going on popped up while taxiing on the runway at Bamako airport towards the terminal building. Right in front of that terminal building was parked an aircraft. Not just any aircraft. This was an Air France aircraft. With covers over its engines. And you never see the Air France Airbus parked at Bamako airport as they fly in in the evening and also they fly out straight away the same evening. But still I was not ready to believe it and simply brushed such a minor detail away.
But it all downed on me the moment I hopped out of a taxi and made my way to Almou’s house where everybody was gathered around TV5 news channel reporting on closure of air space around Europe. It would not be such a big deal to me but for my flight back home. After almost four months on the road I was eager to fly back home in few days. With grounding of more and more flights I was facing a forced and prolonged stay in baking hot and increasingly dusty Bamako.
Air France’s staff was trying to be as helpful as they could be without any real information on when the first flight out would be. In hands of higher power it was. And me in a queue in front of AF office in downtown Bamako together with about half of expat population of Mali. All that long wait was in vane as lady at the counter couldn’t answer either of my questions. Granted the first one was as stupid as a question in such a situation could be – when does she reckon the first flight out would be? Yeah right! Like she would tell me even if she knew it. 😉
The second one was – at least to me – more straight to the point. When there eventually will be a flight who will be on it? Do the people holding tickets for that exact date have priority over the hordes that had their flights cancelled or not? And surprisingly enough that one turned blank too. The only upside to my little trip down to AF office was fluke discovery of a good albeit small and quiet coffee place right opposite the main AF office entrance. In a city which does not boast many good coffee places this one stands out. They serve proper Italian espresso. And a nice older owner that is willing to chat away with you if and only when you feel like it.
Having come back from this fruitless trip downtown I was left with no choice but to phone in daily and check whether they have by any chance started flying. With a lot of good karma and even more luck on my side the first flight back was the day before my scheduled fly-out time. And as it turned out I was to be on my booked flight provided I would turn out at the Air France office during morning working hours to go trough an early baggage check in. Dully obliging I was standing in a bloody long queue on that Wednesday morning not really minding the baking hot Malian sun but just happy to be finally sure I am going back home. And with my backpack finally checked in and a ticket in my hand I hopped across the street for a last cup of that delicious espresso.
