Aliya and Heida in Africa: The Arrival

Four months ago, I got one of those "can't believe your eyes, too good to be true, must respond immediately in ALL CAPITAL LETTERS" emails. It was from Aliya, my best friend since elementary school*, and it went a little something like this:

So, just out of curiosity, if I was to look into a flight to Uganda...

1. Where would I look?

2. Could I get a flight for less than $2,000?

3. Would you even want me to come or would it be too much of a hassle (be honest!!!!!!!!!)?

4. When would be the best time to come?

Many exclamation points, several emails, the lucky addition of Heida, one of Aliya's nearest and dearest, and lots of immunizations later, the two of them landed in Uganda.

With their hostess absolutely no where to be found.

It wasn't intentional. Phil's girlfriend, Bethany, was coming in on the same flight, so Phil and I had planned our joint airport pick-up arrangements carefully. We had a vehicle, we had a driver, we had a meeting point for departure, we had a leave time an hour and a half before they were due to land for (what would normally be) a 45-minute drive. We had arrival signs made with their names on them. We had a short-cut.

An hour and 50 minutes after setting off, we hadn't even made it out of Kampala. Everyone in the city seemed to be privvy to our short-cut, and traffic was, quite literally, at a standstill (our car was off). After expressing concern over the fact that we had three Africa first-timers with no way to get in touch with us already on the ground and likely through customs - and we were still 40km away - Phil and I quickly realized there was nothing we could do but wait, and proceeded to sit in panicked silence, with fingers, toes and innards crossed.

I've never been so happy to get over 4km/hr.

When we finally got to Entebbe, Phil and I tumbled out of the car and dashed full speed ahead, dodging the masses exiting the airport and keeping our eyes peeled for our familiar faces, expecting to find them tear-streaked, furious, or missing in action.

We of little faith.

There were my two, bouncing down the walkway, fresh as can be, backpacks strapped on and suitcases in tow, visas in hand and smiles plastered across their faces. The months of electronic exclamation points erupted into verbal ones, and all was well with the world. Bethany was just as unscathed, and the five of us piled into the Pajero and chattered our way back to Kampala. In record time.

We didn't take the short-cut.

*Aliya and I later discovered, through photo documentation, that we were in the same pre-school class. However, we seem to have found each other quite unremarkable at age 4, and have absolutely no recollection of this.