Ending Well…

When I heard -second hand- that my brother had helped embassy staff in Washington D.C. search through the outgoing mail in order to get his visa to West Africa, I knew we needed to have story time when I saw him next. 

I had been a little astonished to begin with to hear -again second hand- that Scott was flying to Ghana, West Africa just a few days before Christmas. I knew he was involved with accounting for a relief organization and I assumed the trip related to that.

On Friday, December 30, my dad’s 60th birthday, we all met for brunch in the private room of a restaurant. After a hearty chorus of happy birthday we settled at seats around the long table and began to sip coffee and water. After we ordered I looked across the table at my brother.

… both of my brothers…

“I want to hear the story of how you got your visa by sorting mail at the embassy,” I said. 

“You have to start with the trip to the airport,” Dad said. 

“No, you have to start with applying for the visas,” someone else advised.

“No, first you have to tell us why you were going on the trip,” another sibling interjected.

Thus bombarded with instructions, and reinforced with fresh coffee, Scott proceeded. (I have changed the name of his traveling companion, for his own privacy.)

“On short notice, it was decided to send the accounting director, James, and I to Ghana to help with their micro financing program. We needed to get visas, so James and I both sent our passports to the Ghanaian embassy in Washington DC. We both paid extra for a five day turnaround time because we were leaving the country in several weeks. The passports were supposed to arrive FedEx in plenty of time. However by Friday, two days before we were scheduled to fly out on a Monday, neither of us had received our passports.

“After discussion, James and I decided to get early flights to Washington DC and go directly to the embassy in hopes of picking up our passports there. After  we changed our tickets to early morning flights, however, James received an email notification that his passport was in transit, on the way to his house by FedEx.”

“But you didn’t know whether your passport was still at the embassy or on its way or even whether it was finished or not right?” someone around the table asked.

“Right,” he said.

We sipped our coffee anxiously.

“Priscilla was going to take me to Chicago,” Scott said, “but the flight was changed to early morning so Dad took me to Minneapolis. We left around 3:30. It had been snowing and the roads were terrible but we made decent time until we came upon an accident and the traffic completely stopped.”

“Just a few miles before the airport,” Dad interjected. 

“Right before the airport,” Scott agreed.

“Maybe you should’ve gotten out and walked,” someone around the table suggested brightly. 

“Well, eleven miles,” Scott clarified.

“Oh!”

“We rolled up to the front of the airport at quarter till seven and my flight was at seven,” Scott said, “so there was no hope of making it through security. I got in and the lines were endless and the horns of cheese I was taking with me attracted the attention of the TSA. He said they are so similar to bombs that they need to be checked, x-rayed and taste tested.  Then he said, ‘No just kidding we don’t actually have to taste it’. 

“A cheerful TSA official?”

“Yes, he was in a good mood,” Scott said. “Finally I got to the ticket counter and I explained my situation to the lady. I thought there would be multiple flights from Minneapolis to Washington DC throughout the day. But there were not many, and the ones that were available were full. The ticket agent suggested that I buy a ticket for the evening flight and wait on standby for the morning flight in hopes that an extra seat would be found.”

“Wait,” I said, “when was your flight leaving for Ghana from Washington?”

“At 5:40,” he said, “but the embassy closed at 3 PM. So I went to the gate for the morning flight (with my ticket for the evening flight) and I stood by the screen. I kept watching and it did appear that there was one extra seat on the screen. That extra seat stayed there and when it came time to board they let me on the plane.”

“That was a God thing,” Jeanie said, as we all sighed with relief. 

“The only problem was that this flight was not to Dulles but to Baltimore, about 40 minutes from the capital. We landed in Baltimore at about 1 PM. I went down to the information desk and asked them for the fastest way to Washington DC. Should I take the train? Should I take a taxi? I had to be at the embassy before 3 PM. They told me that a taxi could take anywhere from one hour to two hours and 45 minutes and that traffic really got bad at about 1 PM. But the train only ran every hour and I was not sure if I could make it to the station in time for the next train, so I decided to take a taxi. The taxi driver was a Russian man who said he could make no promises. However we pulled up to the Ghanaian embassy by about 2 PM.”

There was another sigh of relief around the table. Our waitress brought two cinnamon rolls and two peppermint hot chocolates. 

“I went up to the window. The embassy was just like being in Ghana with buzzers and gates and Ghanaian staff. I explained to the man that I had applied for a visa by mail but it had not arrived in time and so I was here to pick it up. He kept asking me for my ticket number thinking that I had brought the passport in person earlier. I explained again that I had mailed the passport and was here to pick it up.

“‘You can’t do that,’ he said. 

“Finally he said ‘OK write your information down and I’ll see what I can find out.’

“He handed me a Post-it note. I wrote my name and address and my tracking number on the note. I then wrote PLEASE HELP! and circled it.

“I grew even more discouraged as I began to talk to the other people waiting in line. One man had been in the embassy since 10 AM on a similar errand. The only difference was that he had sent his passport in days before I had. But he also had paid extra for the five day turn around time. After being in the embassy all day without success he was furious. 

“Another man waiting with us was a professional visa person who was hired to do the legwork for other people. Because of this he was at the embassy almost daily, so of course he knew the process inside and out. He asked the angry man when his flight was and the man replied that it was on December 22, several weeks away. 

“‘Oh good’, the professional said, ‘Just checking to make sure that you didn’t have a flight this evening or something, ha ha!'”

This humor, the ridiculous idea that someone would come looking for a visa the same day as their flight, was lost on my brother, who slumped in his seat. 

“However, after a few moments a man came to a side door and called my name,” Scott continued. “He said that he had found records that my passport was being packaged for outgoing mail that day.” 

“‘But I can’t find your passport,” he said regretfully.

“I told him that I would be happy to help him look for it,” Scott said. “So he let me back into a side room full of boxes. Hen directed me to a huge box, and we searched through each piece of mail. It was not there. However there were some other boxes in the room, and I began to search through another one. We were almost to the bottom of the second box when I caught a glimpse of my name. 

“‘There it is!’ I said.”

“Did the guy who had been waiting all day see you leave with your passport?” We asked nervously.

“Well I do think he said something like ‘Did you see mine back there?’

“It was nearly 3 PM and I was still not at the airport.  I asked again how to get a taxi but they said this was a bad area for taxis. However if I would walk to the main road I would be able to get one. So, luggage in hand, including the horns of cheese, I began to rush down the sidewalk.  Suddenly from behind me a taxi pulled up and the driver shouted, ‘Do you need a ride?’

“Did you see a halo on his head?” someone asked. 

“It was unusual,” my brother agreed. “He told me I could sit in the front seat. Then he began to discuss the fare.

“‘There are two ways we can do this,’ the taxi driver said. ‘We can start the meter, or you can tell me how much this is worth to you.’

Scott went with the second choice and gave the man a figure, which he did not share with us! Then they proceeded to chat as they drove to Dulles. 

“We had a great conversation,” Scott said, “even about spiritual things.

“He dropped me off at Dulles with about an hour and a half to spare. It was not quite the suggested time allotment for an international flight, but I was feeling good about my situation. However when I got inside the airport the lines were endless. Finally I made it through security. By this time I was starving so I grabbed a sandwich at Wendy’s, knowing I was close to my gate. I then proceeded to the gate. Most of the people were on board already but a few were still standing at the gate. James was already on board, having intercepted his passport at a FedEx stop somewhere between Washington and his home in Ohio.”

We sighed with relief.

“The next morning our flight landed in Ghana just on time at 8:30,” Scott said. “Completely routine.” 

The waitress rolled in with platters of omelets and pancakes. 

My sister-in-law Priscilla bounced her baby and got things out of her purse. It was a new purse, all the way from Africa. 

As the old saying goes, “All’s well that ends well!”

With the whole family together we ended the year, and my father’s 60th year with a wonderful day of games, food, smiles, and gifts for the birthday grandpa.

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Whether or not your year has been as exciting as my brother’s trip to the airport, I hope it is ending well. 

Here’s to 2017!