bout de papier, Vol. 18, No. 2 (2001) — Summer 2001 // Été 2001, p. 14
The Case of the Missing Suitcase — by Debra Scott
It was 1979, and we were being posted to Lagos, Nigeria. The whole family came to the airport to see us off. Upon check-in, to my horror, I realized that one of our suitcases had been left behind in my parents’ driveway. It wouldn’t have been such a disaster, except that it held all my clothes and our sea shipment wouldn’t arrive for months. My father left at breakneck speed to get home, pick up the bag and get back to the airport. The loud speaker kept blaring “last call” and everyone was trying to get us to check in, but I wasn’t going to Africa without saying goodbye to my dad. At the last second he arrived, and off we went to Paris where our adventure continued.
From Paris to Lagos, we were flying Air Afrique. Upon checkin we were told that our luggage was overweight (naturally, my suitcase was the culprit), so we would have to pay US$500.00 to get it to our final destination. Maybe it should just have been left on my parents’ driveway, I was thinking by this time. As our dog was also travelling with us and had already been checked in, I was going to do whatever I had to to get on this flight. I pondered this the whole way to Lagos, while my companion flying in the seat beside me carried a 20-inch TV on his lap.
We arrived in Lagos, collected our bags, and had a real learning experience getting through customs. It didn’t make matters any easier that the proper paperwork had not been filled out for our dog to enter the country. Officials were walking with whips and guns, and the airport was hot and humid. After much discussion, we were finally able to leave the airport. We went over to collect our bags – and my suitcase was missing. The same suitcase that sat on my parents’ driveway, the same suitcase that cost me US$500.00 to get on the flight to Lagos, was missing! I was beaten … I was tired … I just wanted out of the airport. We went back to the airport the following day to see if it had turned up. It was gone.
Six months later, Nigeria Airways called at the High Commission to tell us they had our suitcase. I was overjoyed – but what would I find inside? I remembered that I had packed some lovely French cheese and ham so we would have something to eat when we arrived. We flipped a coin to see who would open it up; would something crawl out? In the heat everything had mummified. But at least I had my suitcase back!
Le sac à jouets — par Jean-François Hubert-Rouleau
Je me rappelle un incident plutôt amusant qui nous étaient arrivés lorsque nous étions en poste à La Havane au cours des années 1990-1993. Jeune agent des visas et père de trois jeunes garçons, nous étions bien heureux de partir en ce mois de juillet à destination de Montréal pour profiter de vacances bien méritées. Or qui dit jeunes enfants dit aussi sacs à couches, sacs de vêtements de rechange, sacs de jouets, crayons de couleurs, etc. Tout ce qu’il faut pour survivre à un vol de cinq heures entre La Havane et Mirabel à l’époque.
Nous entendons enfin l’appel de notre vol et nous nous dirigeons tant bien que mal surchargés ma conjointe et moi vers l’autobus qui nous conduit à l’appareil. Rendus à bord, nous installons les enfants, sortons le nécessaire avant de prendre place à notre tour. On nous invite à s’assoir et… moment de panique, le cadet nous fait comprendre que nous avons oublié le sac à jouets dans la salle d’attente. Ceci au moment où la porte de l’appareil se ferme.
Conscient que le sac est perdu, je m’adresse tout de même à l’agent de bord et je lui fait part de la détresse de mon fils. Celle-ci ne fait ni une ni deux, entre la cabine de pilotage, en ressort, et, avec une radio communique à quelqu’un et voilà que l’escalier revient, que la porte s’ouvre.
On interrompt la circulation entre l’avion et l’aérogare et on m’escorte sur le tarmac jusqu’à la salle d’attente, ou bien en vue est le sac a jouets. Je prends celui-ci sur mon dos et je repars vers l’avion toujours escorté. À mon arrivée dans la carlingue les passagers m’ont applaudi et nous sommes finalement partis vers Montréal, mon épouse et moi croyant toujours que nous avions rêves.
Merci pour ce beau souvenir, Cubana de Aviacion.
View the original scanned pages / Voir les pages numérisées →
Originally published in / Publié à l’origine dans bout de papier, Vol. 18, No. 2 (2001) — Summer 2001 // Été 2001, p. 14. Read the rest of this issue / Lire le reste de ce numéro →
