There, the ace already shows more effect. After a phone call, it`s allowed to board the plane. Perhaps only because the ground staff think it is better to transport the people to their destination than to have them stuck at the airport in Dubai.
Good. That went well. Good, then it’s off to Senegal. The flight conditions are not so good this time. The plane is smaller than the one before. And full up to the roof. Nothing about keeping distance. And no information from the pilot that the air has changed within three minutes. Yes, with this model of aircraft there is even the question of whether it has air conditioning. Or whether the window is opened briefly for ventilation. Due to the check at the gate, the departure has been delayed. This already makes the long flight that follows even longer.
A nap alternates with watching films. Sometimes the two go hand in hand. But this cosiness comes to an end at the latest at the stopover in Guinea. The people who leave the plane here become restless. They start jostling and squeeze through the aisle, which is already far too narrow, with their suitcases and bags. I get one push after another. And some bums are heading straight for my face. Well, that’s the disadvantage of a seat next to the aisle.
It also seems that some passengers would like to stretch their legs and use this break to get off the plane. But passengers whose destination is “Senegal” are not allowed to do so. The only thing left to do is to be patient and to exercise the strained seat muscles even more. After all those who are staying in Guinea have left the plane, a cleaning crew comes on board. Until now, I thought the 45-minute maths lesson would be the longest example for me that time is relative. But you never stop learning. After what feels like an interminable period, the cleaning staff is finished and the new passengers take their seats. Of course, as befits a good passenger: pushing, shoving and making their opinions known. Preferably loudly. When I observe the hustle and bustle like this, I notice another thing that humans are simply not made for: flying. Is it subconsciously the stress hormones that drive a few people to extremely questionable actions? Is it the knowledge that for a few hours there will be no ground beneath the feet? Or the uncomfortable feeling of being in a confined space with many strangers? While I’m philosophising, the plane takes off. This last section then flies by. Well, if you’re not talking about a long flight like this one.
After landing in Dakar, we walk down the long corridors towards passport control. But there is a “traffic jam” in front of it. The airport staff check the PCR tests of all arrivals.
I no longer dare to look at my watch. The timetable of the flight was already completely destroyed in Dubai. The plane landed in Senegal so much later than expected. And now there is still a queue. But this queue is nothing compared to the queue at passport control. There is hardly any progress at all at the checkpoint. The body, tired from sitting, doesn’t enjoy standing around much more.
I look at the other travellers. Women with beautiful dresses made of African fabrics. Men with slippers they haven’t slipped into properly. Children staring tiredly at each other or acting up and fooling around with other children. Lots of people on mobile phones. Talking to each other in an African language. I assume the language is Wolof.
Watching the people. Perhaps catching a glimpse of what life is like in Senegal. Maybe it’s a way of picking up the mentality of the people. But maybe everyone is just exhausted from the journey and a mirage would emerge.
Finally it’s our turn at passport control. My man hands over our two passports. Now the negotiation begins. As if we were at the market and the price was being haggled over. The conversation goes our way. The employment contract was drawn and thus our strength was played out. The entry stamp in my man’s passport is already there. But then the tide turns. The passport inspector insists on the certificate from the Senegalese embassy. Great, we are now out of cards in this game. That’s all we have to show. A border policeman is called. He takes the passports and us. Including a warning that we are coming from Dubai and will be sent back there. I just think to myself “what a show”. Either I’m too tired to respond to the threat, or I don’t take the border police’s words seriously because they feel played up.
The policeman sits down at his desk, which is in the middle of the corridor to check the people entering the country once again. The passports, which had previously been placed on his desk, have meanwhile moved into the policeman’s trouser pocket. Our matter has moved to the background. He now looks after the people entering the country or is on the phone. Every now and then, a remark such as: “An “invitation” is required for entry”, “The employment contract is not a valid reason for entry”, “You must return to Dubai”.
To be continued.
