"What a glorious morning for our country!" thought the newly appointed American diplomat to Ethiopia as he disembarked from his flight into Boles International Airport in Addis Ababa.
The flight had been longer than he expected because of a flight delay in Brussels. He mumbled to himself while walking up the jetway. "I thought this would be more glamorous. I realize I'm only an assistant to the ambassador, but still I think the Foreign Affairs Office should have sprung for a better accommodation." He had flown United Airlines from Washington to Brussels to Addis. "Economy Class... Cattle Class!" he muttered again. He kept his eyes pealed for anyone official who might be holding a sign with his name on it. "It would be nice to have someone to greet me and escort me to the front of the passport line." There were plenty of Ethiopian airport authority personnel in their sharp green uniforms, but none appeared to have any appointment with him.
The Boles Airport is not large. Robert Caldwell followed the crowd down an escalator which was only a couple of minutes from the jetway. It was a surprisingly long escalator since it bypassed the middle floor and at the bottom it opened into a scene of complete chaos. People were milling around aimlessly. Only one person of authority was nearby to provide assistance and she was overwhelmed with a crowd around her. She kept her cool and dealt with people one at a time. "Fill out a form at that table," as she pointed. "Visa On Arrival window is over there," and she'd point again. "Yellow Fever vaccination card is not required coming from Europe," she told an older woman who was waving her yellow paper in her face. Robert was feeling overwhelmed as well and felt the Ethiopian woman was handling the situation far better than himself. He waited to speak with her for some guidance and quickly made his way forward as she dispersed the queue around her efficiently.
"Good morning," he said to her in Amharic. He had spent the last 6 months in an immersive language class sponsored by the home office. He hadn't received much guidance or training, but at least it was something.
"Good morning," she replied in English with a smile and waited for him to continue.
"Where do I go for immigration control?" he asked in Amharic.
"Do you have a visa?" she responded in English.
"Yes." Again in Amharic.
"Over there." She pointed into a crowd that might have been a line. He had his doubts. It probably wasn't a line at all. Maybe a free for all to get to the front? Like that time he went on vacation in Jamaica.
He made his way past some rope barriers to what seemed like the back side of the mythical line. A uniformed figure was wandering around the backside of the crowd speaking to people randomly, reviewing their passports and returning them.
When he arrived at Robert he simple said, in English, "Passport please."
The anonymous officer reviewed the Robert's crisp new passport booklet. "Where is your visa?"
"It's on page 42," replied Robert.
"Diplomat visa. Your line is against the wall over there." And he pointed vaguely across the room.
Robert thought to himself, "Well, at least that's something. Hopefully I can skip this line." His spirits lifted when he arrived and saw a completely empty line leading to a passport control booth labeled "Diplomat".
The immigration officer took Robert's passport and quickly processed it. "Welcome to Addis Ababa Mr. Caldwell." Again in English.
"Amahsegenalu," replied Robert. Amharic for thank you.
He grabbed his sole carry-on bag and made his way to the exit. Already his expectations had been disappointed. He had expected glamor. He thought he was important now. "I was promoted because I'm resilient," he told himself. "Time to be resilient." With a positive attitude and hopefulness he strode through the door out of the airport. He was greeted by the sun on his face, a cool breeze, sounds of a busy metropolis in the distance, and a vista of beautiful mountains cradling the jewel of Ethiopia, Addis Ababa.
"Mr. Caldwell." He heard a woman's voice call him out of his revery. She was a young American woman, no more than thirty years old. Standing next to her was a hip-looking Ethiopian young man wearing skinny jeans. "I'm Anne, your assistant. This is our driver Quddis. How was your flight?"
"Not bad," he replied.
"Good to hear. You have a meeting with the Ambassador at one. Let's go to your office and I'll introduce you to the Embassy team."
"I need a beer," he told her. "Do they Sam Adams here?"
"Nope, but you'll love St. George. It's the local brew. Welcome to Ethiopia sir. You'll like it here."
Book: My passport. Page 42 has a quote at the top of the page, "What a glorious morning for our country - Samuel Adams" and my Ethiopia visa. I'm not a diplomat. I love WP and I've wanted to contribute for a long time.