Home at last

Well, that's it. I'm back in the US. It still is kind of hard to believe, since it just feels so normal, as if I hit the pause button on my life, went to Africa for a year, then came back and just resumed. Mali already feels like a world away, and yet I was there no more than 48 hours ago. It will take a little while to reconcile these two lives, I feel.

The trip went smoothly. Before going to the airport, I met Spencer and Jaimie at a wonderful restaurant right in the neighborhood of SIL called African Foods. Pretty generic name. But it was the best service I've gotten anywhere in Mali, and possibly some of the best, well, African food. I got a Cameroonian sauce of spinach and peanuts with plantains, along with my final Castel beer, which the waiter had to get next door since theirs wasn't cold. Just as I was done eating, I got a call on my cell phone from the embassy expeditor, who evidently had come to SIL to pick me up. Luckily, I had all my baggage with me, so the waiter just gave him directions and he picked me up directly from the restaurant.

Embassy expeditor is really an apt name. They do indeed expedite you through the airport process like some VIP, whisking you past authorities before depositing you in front of bag screening, the final step before the waiting room. I got a little teary sitting waiting for the plane. I mean, that was really it, it was over. But I felt giddy walking up the steps to the airplane. This was the longest time I'd gone without flying in years.

I watched the lights of Bamako shrink away as we took off. On the little flight locator map on the TV screen, I located my mountain by Douentza and watched as our digital plane glided past. Then I slept.

When I woke up, we were high above a glowing metropolis, somewhere in Spain, as my TV informed me. It was huge. We landed in Paris at dawn. Somehow in five hours' time, the Niger River had become the Seine.

I spent a relatively uneventful layover in Paris. I had my first little taste of culture shock, as I greeted the guy checking passports and asked how he was doing, in good Malian fashion, and he kind of laughed at me. I forgot that we don't really do greetings here. I did end up going through security and to the wrong set of gates, at one point. When we got in, the flight information for the Atlanta flight said terminal E only, no gate, so I randomly picked one of the two options and of course picked the wrong one, as I saw as soon as I got through security. No matter, I had time. The other unfortunate thing about Paris (and the US, I presume) is that you cannot exchange CFA at their currency exchange. Ridiculous! Now I have $60 worth of CFA just sitting around, being a souvenir. But my credit card hadn't been cancelled, so I got a pain au chocolat and some Orangina and celebrated the First World (even though you can find both of those things in Bamako).

They did security checks on our passports. The guy checking mine tried to swipe it, but lo and behold, it wouldn't swipe. He asked me if I'd put it through the washing machine. "No, just a bad bus ride in Mali."

The Atlanta flight was long, some 9 hours, and we didn't have individual TV screens. The main cabin screen played three movies, all of which I watched without sound (as I am wont to do), as well as several TV shows. I napped on my tray table some and continued to plow through Bill Bryson (which I finished on the Minneapolis flight). I was surrounded by my kinsmen at last. Americans are so boisterous. We're self-assured, we talk to strangers, and we just have a vibe about us that screams AMERICA. It's not a bad thing. It's just our culture, and it was funny to be confronted with it again.

It was a quick layover in Atlanta, just enough time to get through customs, recheck my bag, and get on the next flight. I was feeling a bit like a zombie at that point, but at least I was a homeward-bound zombie. At least it was a quick flight--only two hours; after the preceding 14-15 hours of flight, I was ready to be done.

Flying into Minnesota was a strange experience, not the least of which because it was unusually hazy. Hell, I could've been in Douentza for how much dust was in the air! It was due to unusual winds, winds that made landing a hair-raising experience. Once safely on the ground, I felt my excitement rise. I was really home. My parents were waiting at the bottom of the escalator to baggage claim, and oh, was it good to see them. I instantly felt more awake as we talked face to face for the first time in nearly 8 months.

We got some Mexican food for dinner (carnitas... pork... yes) and I unpacked some. Some things were broken in my luggage, but nothing irreparably. I skyped with Kevin on a real internet connection for a little bit then went to bed around 8:30 or 9. Jet lag so far hasn't been too bad. Yes, I got up at 6:45, which is unusual for me, but not totally unusual. I have a haircut today (much needed) and a dentist appointment tomorrow (not much wanted, but much needed). Time to start looking and feeling American again.

I will update once or twice more as I report on the adjustment process, but my friends, we are in the final stages of Pangolin Watch.