I had brought the bare minimum with me – less than 33 lbs/15 kg of clothes with a few toiletries in a small soft-sided bag that could be smooshed into a small cargo compartment on a small plane.
Since this was a structured business trip and not a leisurely vacation, I would be leaving for the bush the next morning, spending only a night or two in each location. I knew my bag would never catch up with me. If it turned up, it would have to wait for me to return to Nairobi at the end of the week to claim it.
Plan B: My driver would have to take me shopping this afternoon. Some companies do provide a “shopping opportunity” after arrival so you can get completely outfitted before you head out.
This wasn’t a true disaster but it was irritatingly inconvenient. And I really didn’t want to buy a second set of new clothing. I already had perfectly nice clothes in my size in my tote bag.
Then, I could see the last batch of luggage approaching, snaking its way around the carousal. I crossed my fingers. Finally, I spied my little bag and breathed a sigh of deep relief.
Now to exit customs and find my driver Patrick.
Where’s my driver?
It was now an hour and a half after arrival. I stepped out to a sea of greeters holding paging boards with names. As I walked down the line, I recognized the names of about a dozen safari companies that I had considered. I didn’t see mine. I walked back a second time. I waited a few minutes and slowly paced the length again, reading each sign carefully.
No, my driver simply wasn’t there. I was stranded at the airport.
Was I ever going to get out to the countryside, to the good stuff?
