Return to Chad

I'm sitting in the lobby of the Meridien hotel in N'Djamena, capital of Chad, where we arrived last night. This trip is the culmination of a lot of hard work by SPANA in drawing up proposals at the request of UNHCR regarding refugees from Darfur who are sheltering in the East of the country, and the IDP's (Internally Displaced People actually Chadian villagers) who have themselves left their homes as a knock-on effect from the problems in Darfur.

But first of all we had to get here...

Someone once said that it is better to travel than to arrive. Personally I'd like to take that deluded individual and drag him or her screaming through some of the tortuous 21st century travel bureacracy that exists now as an obligatory requirement of getting anywhere.

In Heathrow I sailed through the x-ray machine with a Karabineer clip attached to my camera case with no problems. In the duty free I also bought some mouthwash and hair gel which I dutifully got sealed up in a security bag proving that it is not hydrochloric acid in anticipation of transit security at Paris airport. Of course, on arrival at the Paris transit desk my steel clip elicits sour looks from the x-ray operator, and a surly "Non." "Why? Porquoi? What's the problem?" I ask...

There is not an immediate response. The x-ray operator mutters to herself "Pourquoi? Pourquoi. Ah, well you may use it to punch someone with!"

The natural extension of such logic is that I should proffer my hands out to the representative of a nation that after all invented the guillotine and say "Alors! Then you must do away with these. I may after all punch someone with them but since it is the rules, I must comply." My steel clip was dropped into the bin with a clunk and a smug grin momentarily lit up the sour operators face, until she then happened upon my mouthwash and hair gel, after which she returned to a pensive frown.

"These are not allowed." she said.

"Yes they are. I bought them in duty free in Heathrow. Yes they are allowed..."

"No they are not!"

She became quite gleeful and began tearing the bag apart ready to drop then into the naughty bin, before Jeremy arrived and explained. At this point she became morose, and could barely look at me as she handed the bag back.

I might have said that I could have ignored this incident in light of the fact that on checking in at departure gate at Heathrow we were told we were going to be upgraded. I became quite elated at the prospect. You do hear about such things happening at random to fortunate individuals but it never seems to happen to you. I mentioned this to the check-in steward. "Ah yes" she replied "But unfortunately the seats you are being upgraded to are not as good as the ones you had originally." I'm still waiting for my brain to figure out the logic in this so if anyone can help me...

On the flight down to N'Djamena I sat next to a man who was wearing the latest fashion in eau de toilette. The advertising blurb for this might well have read "Stand out from the crowd. Leave a lasting impression. The new fragrance that's bound to create a stir - Eau de Stilton." So eager was he to share this new creation that he decided to unselfishly take up half my seat as well in an effort to impress on me the full effect of the aroma, which was particularly powerful at the moment he removed his shoes. Clearly he had also bathed his feet in it.

And on the flight to N'Djamena, Air France happily served up an excellent in-flight meal replete with a free bottle of wine (glass) and sharp knife (metal). I felt obliged somehow to point out to the cabin staff the potential harm that these could do to them in the hands of a crazed individual, and much more harm than someone armed with, say, a Karabineer clip. But instead, intoxicated by the subtle charms of my neighbours apres rasage, I just went to sleep.

Simon Pope