Sylvia's Journal

Exactly at 9PM I was picked up by the ICRC driver. I congratulated him on his punctuality. Going to the airport, in many developing countries, is a bit of a trust fall; in this case in particular since the next Air France flight wouldn’t be until 4 days later.

As we drove to the airport I noticed military everywhere. It was true that we drove by kilometers of barracks, but still, the police and military ought to have been behind the serpentine wired walls, not in front. The driver commented that it was possible that the president was either on his way into town from the airport or out of town to the airport. That worried me a bit.

“What happens when the president is on the road, and how would you know he is coming or going your way?” I asked. “We never know, you just find out when it happens. It’s simply bad timing. Everyone is stopped, whether in a car, on a bike, by foot. Even ambulances are stopped,” said the driver. “It can be a long as an hour wait.” That made me a bit nervous. I watched the police and military intently to see if the president was approaching. He obviously was not, because they did not look very alert, chatting with each other, checking their phones. I could relax.

I made the flight and the driver hurried back home as soon as I had been deposited.