Out of Africa

The flight to Casablanca was unexpectedly exhausting. For some reason I had thought that it would take three to four hours. I had always assumed that I had a certain gift in geography and, having made the Beirut-London and Beirut-Paris flights so many times, I should have known that Casablanca was a bit further away and therefore should have logically realized that the flight would take almost seven hours.

Anyway, the Beirut-Casablanca flight did in fact last almost seven hours. I was sleeping, waking up, sleeping, waking up and so on. Something I always hated to do. But eventually we reached Morocco. A beautiful country seen from above and no doubt the same from within. The airport was packed, mixing people from all nationalities, colors and backgrounds. After all, the city links Africa to Europe and Africa to the Americas.

Having an hour before taking off to Abidjan in Cote d’Ivoire, I had the worst coffee ever. In addition to that, I had the worst cigarette break ever. Like in most airports, I was squeezed in a small “prison cell” where I could barely see the other prisoners due to the thick smoke which seemed like the prison guard, and surely a ruthless one.

After having blamed myself for being a criminal – a smoker – it was almost time to check in for my next flight: Casablanca-Abidjan. It was the first time I found myself among so many dark people. I knew I was in Africa.

The flight to Abidjan was extremely easy though it was a five hour one. I slept through it all. I even woke up after landing. I looked outside of the window and saw that it was all dark. Africa was dark. At least until now.

I exited the airplane to see a civilian taking almost all passengers’ passports. We had to walk around following him, never realizing where we were heading. I was so lucky to spot my dear friend who was picking me up from the airport. Exactly knowing how things happen there, my friend had brought a policeman with him: Robert. Robert had few words with the civilian who had confiscated my passport, dropped some coins in his pocket and there I was: outside the airport, not even going through security. In his turn, Robert enjoyed some heavy coins in exchange for his very needed services.

Once we hit the road, I see a small light at distance going on and off. My friend pulls over and I see two policemen standing there. One of them says: “Y a pas le café?” Meaning: “Won’t you give me some money for my coffee?” Again, my friend drops him some coins.

Yes. Until now, this was Africa. Unfortunately. A civilization never realizing how much wonders it had. Sad I must say. Such a beautiful world sucked in by the Wild West.

I spent a beautiful week in Africa. I saw Africa, smelled it, breathed it and lived it. A mystery that sometimes people avoid. I was there standing on gold, blood diamonds and oil. I was watching Africans begging. They never bothered to look beneath them and see what was there. People were taken into the moment of striving to survive. Governments were kept by the West in exchange for their silence. The West digging in the ground and enjoying the fruits back home.

Sad.

I have seen tears in the eyes of every African. But I have also seen their joys. Everyday they celebrate their lives. They love the land which has given them nothing, but which remains their home. They probably know that true love is unconditional. I wish others could understand that as well.

I could write about Africa forever, but I’m going to cut it short and keep the rest in my heart. I don’t feel like taking them out. I am enjoying their presence. I want to live with the Africa which in a way I have become a part of and which has become a part of me.

Nine days after I had landed in Africa, I had to physically leave it. I took my window seat in the plane and kept looking outside. Few minutes later, the plane took off and I was still staring.

I was: Out of Africa.