a blur of sleep deprivation

Amsterdam……… another airport.  Another opportunity to wait out of my element.  Another opportunity to watch people from all over the world.  Donated my “children’s” scissors to the Schiphol security personnel.  Generally speaking, some people are gruff.  Bone grinding exhaustion.  I find my seat on the aisle.  My seat mates are cordial… on a trek for Climb for Children.  I took a little pill, pulled the blanket over my head and mercifully slept most of the way.  Interrupted only by the airline personnel for meals.

Arrival in Nairobi……. People on the airplane said that all connecting international flights must collect their bags at the baggage station and recheck for their departure.  Like a lemming, I stood in various lines… losing track of time orientation.  And of course, my bag never showed… well, at the moment, I am too tired and too hungry and too disappointed to describe all the details.  But tomorrow. When I can think again.  So, no shower, no rest, no privacy.  I will get there.

Overnight in Nairobi….

It was 10 pm already when I missed my flight.  I was hanging on by a thread, with the incentive that I would soon be in Moshi, soon be off the travel circuit.  But, when reserves are low, one finds a place to pull some more.  Determined NOT to commit another mistake like that one….. I resigned myself to holding my own overnight in the airport.  I paid $4.00 to call Richard, my friend who has negotiated my housing and transportation.  He asked me to text him to ensure accurate communication. He is on the Serengetti on safari and the cell connection is not the greatest.   I wandered up and down the hallway……. Gates 1-9.  Seated myself near some Somali gentlemen………. Judging by the interactions, the Kenya airways agent was talking to them, looking at documents and handling passports.  Then the KA agent would exit through an elevator and later return on the escalator…….. this went on for some time.  Eventually, I moved again….. walked up and down… Tried to use the internet… $2.00 for  15 minutes.  “The internet is VERY slow,” said the shopkeeper at the administrative/secretarial store.  What a bad joke, good racket.  Pitifully slow.  I tried to login to fb but without luck.  Lost patience in a hurry and abandoned that idea…… returned to the large salon and sat in another location.  Here I was joined by a fellow traveler whose name I do not know.  He is from Zimbabwe, has lived in Massachusetts, San Francisco and spent some time in a jail in Ottowa where he was eventually deported and was en route to Harare.  He was not allowed to go outside, apparently because of his “legal status”.  We made light conversation about world affairs, places travelled, etc.  He was good company.  Not  intrusive, only passing time.  Many people were sleeping in the grand salon….. two women dressed in attire that appeared to be Muslim,  with a child sleeping on the floor, several gentlemen wedged between rows of airport seats, women also, but mostly men.  In one corner was another gentleman, using his computer, a woman near him was sleeping on the floor.  I sat there as long as I could manage, my traveling companion wandered in another direction.  I walked up and down.  Tried to access internet.  No security code.   I bought a small water.  Sat near the women wearing Muslim attire.  I searched in my bag for a small bar, trying to be conscious of prying eyes all around me.  One of the women on the floor asked me for medicine for her nose.  Or something like that.  I ate my bar and then wandered again.  This time, liting in a different area for a time.  I watched the cleaning woman meticulously mop the floors by   rows and squares.  Her rhythm smooth and systematic, like a dance done in the dark with her eyes closed.  I wonder how much money she earns mopping this way.  Perhaps I will try to wash in the women’s room.  I enter the women’s room on the low gate # end……. To my delight and surprise, there is NO ONE in it and it is IMMACULTELY clean.  Yay, think I, I will toilet and wash my face, tidy a bit.  I lift my bag onto the sink/counter, just riffling around to locate a wash cloth and in comes one beautifully braided woman dressed in light blue. (I surmise later that the light blue colored uniforms denotes the personnel who clean the wash rooms.)  This lovely woman is followed by another, and another and another until there are five uniformed Kenyans in the ladies room with me…. I tried to explain that I was planning to wash abit in the ladies room, finding it so clean.  The woman who had just cleaned it smiled in a proprietary way.  She said the other cleaning lady needed to scrub the floor, meaning that I should pack up and move out.  She also offered to lead me to a shower, if I would like.  I hastily shoved things back into my roller bag and followed her through the catacombs of the airport…. Down the dimpled, slide stopping ramp, turn to the right, down a few steps to a landing then some more steps, to the right passed some folks in uniform, she confidently strode with wiping cloth in hand, I dutifully followed her roller bag in tow.  Next we went down a hallway, lined with people sleeping, some younger men were seated, softly chatting with each other. Along this hallway was labeled a “chapel” and a “mosque”…….  At the time we passed, no one seemed to be using either one.  We turned left past the mosque on the corner, more people sleeping on the floor.  Next right and up a ramp, through a door.  She beckons as we enter, some blue uniformed people disappeared as we walked in, through another door where the woman guiding me chats with the woman inside.  The second woman appeared to have been resting or sleeping on a large naughahide table apparatus, similar to a massage table, minus the u shape for the face.  Woman # 1  shows me the shower, which is also spotlessly clean.  I ask her what I should pay, she said, if you like, I gave her $2.00 american.  She disappeared, awkwardly, I negotiated disrobing and finding shower things, towel, shampoo by groping in my bag.  There is not really a place to put things out without going back to the “massage table” room in which woman # 2 is waiting for me so she can finish cleaning the bathroom before her shift is up.  I shower…. Cold but gloriously cleansing and refreshing.  As soon as I am out, woman # 2 enters to say that I must hurry so she can finish her work.  I hurry.  Once I am dressed (same dirty clothes minus my compression stockings) Woman # 2 tells me that it is ok for me to use the mirror in the room where the massage table is, no hurry, she said.  I comb my hair, sort of brush my teeth, do my eye makeup, scrounge in my bag for some kind of tip.  I leave her two Euros.  She asked if I could find my way back to the “grand salon”, I assured her that I could.  She started to assist me anyway but at that time her cell phone rang and shortly after two more people in light blue uniforms entered this area…. I found my way back, down the stairs turn left, rolling my bag past the sleeping people lined up on the floor outside of the mosque, (this time the mosque was in use), turn right, more people lined on the floor, down  the hall way, up the dimpled ramp way into the grand salon.  I am rejuvenated.  This time, the soap operas and the men watching them are gone.  I seat myself in front of the television (which is in English) to watch the Aljazeera newscast.