Not in my wildest dreams
Okay, so I'm in Addis safely. There's a million soldiers on the streets, for security or to show off to the other African heads of states - I dunno. I arrived yesterday after being lucky with all my flights. Upon arrival the people going to the AU summit (like me) were shooed into a special bus and sent to the VIP arrivals hall. There, I was waved past immigration and security with not so much as a visa to my name. I had been told I could get one on arrival, but they weren't interested in giving me one. Now, I really hope they'll let me out!!!
Nice of them to fix up a fast lane for us. But not so clever to not tell us where our checked-in baggage had gone to. So I took the help of a local taxi driver and went to the arrivals hall where they guards told us we had to stand in a security line to get INTO the airport. It took time. Finally, I got my box of Research Africas and even managed to find the guy who was picking me up. Good since I didn't have any Ethiopian Birr to pay a taxi driver. it would have cost me 20 USD, which is the smallest note I have. Poor taxi driver, though.
I'm staying in the International Livestock Research Institute (ILRI) in Addis. Or just outside. It's nice and leafy as opposed to town, although what I save in rent I pay in taxi costs to take me the 20 minutes to the city centre. And that's on a sunday. God knows how long it will take tomorrow. I'll allow an hour.
This morning, I was at a complete loss. I managed to find this internet cafe, which is free of charge which makes it superior to the Sheratons and Holiday Inns. Then I managed to find some breakfast on credit, as I don't have any good money yet. Then I managed to find a phone I could borrow as the person selling credits for the hostel phones is not here for the weekend, and phoned the media contact at the AU. It was 10 am. "There's a media meeting today at 11," she says. Although, I need to at least get my security badge to access the place it's being held.
So off to the Ghion hotel for my security badge, for which I submitted my application on time on 17 January. By email. No sign of it in the pile of ready-made ones. So after a lot of asking around I'm told to go upstairs to the room where the photographer is. Eh? So it turns out you need to register for the badge, and that making it will take until evening. Are they hiring Japanese calligraphists to paint them or what? Until evening, that is, if your name is on their list. Mine isn't.
"Try the Ministry of Information," the info lady says in broken English. Ministry? On a Sunday? I ask, but am being whisked off by some chap with no badge saying that he's "Protocol" and he'll help me out. After fearing for my life at first I eventually realise that he's kosher, and then I spend a gruellingly hot 30 minutes in the courtyard of a very desolate ministry trying to explain to the guard and a rabble of people who may or may not work there what I need. Except I don't know what I need.
So I'm finally whisked into another car with this nice lady, who takes me - lo and behold - to this guy I need to see! I spend a good hour there, explaining my story and waiting for the four secretaries to, having taken charge of one quarter of the computer's keyboard each, are filling in some excel spreadsheet. I meet a couple of guys from Swedish television whose camera is still in customs at the airport. So it seems others are worse off than I.
Eventually we get our paperwork and off we go to the registration place. I'm picking it up later on today, before I go for dinner with Calestous Juma at the Sheraton. He's headlining tomorrow's lineup of speakers, and apparently he's had similar problems as me to the extent that he's been stuck in his hotel all today.
It seems touch and go as to whether you meet people good for your stories or find out when the press conferences are held. At least I'll have all my documents in order by tomorrow for the bigwig talks. Apparently Gadafi is speaking on the United States of Africa to the great chagrin of other leaders. Nah, now I'm going to try to get hold of the photographer who's snapping Calestous for my Guardian profile (out Tuesday week probably) and then I'm gonna stalk this Kenyan, Kiamba, who I want to talk to. I know which hotel he's at...
Nice of them to fix up a fast lane for us. But not so clever to not tell us where our checked-in baggage had gone to. So I took the help of a local taxi driver and went to the arrivals hall where they guards told us we had to stand in a security line to get INTO the airport. It took time. Finally, I got my box of Research Africas and even managed to find the guy who was picking me up. Good since I didn't have any Ethiopian Birr to pay a taxi driver. it would have cost me 20 USD, which is the smallest note I have. Poor taxi driver, though.
I'm staying in the International Livestock Research Institute (ILRI) in Addis. Or just outside. It's nice and leafy as opposed to town, although what I save in rent I pay in taxi costs to take me the 20 minutes to the city centre. And that's on a sunday. God knows how long it will take tomorrow. I'll allow an hour.
This morning, I was at a complete loss. I managed to find this internet cafe, which is free of charge which makes it superior to the Sheratons and Holiday Inns. Then I managed to find some breakfast on credit, as I don't have any good money yet. Then I managed to find a phone I could borrow as the person selling credits for the hostel phones is not here for the weekend, and phoned the media contact at the AU. It was 10 am. "There's a media meeting today at 11," she says. Although, I need to at least get my security badge to access the place it's being held.
So off to the Ghion hotel for my security badge, for which I submitted my application on time on 17 January. By email. No sign of it in the pile of ready-made ones. So after a lot of asking around I'm told to go upstairs to the room where the photographer is. Eh? So it turns out you need to register for the badge, and that making it will take until evening. Are they hiring Japanese calligraphists to paint them or what? Until evening, that is, if your name is on their list. Mine isn't.
"Try the Ministry of Information," the info lady says in broken English. Ministry? On a Sunday? I ask, but am being whisked off by some chap with no badge saying that he's "Protocol" and he'll help me out. After fearing for my life at first I eventually realise that he's kosher, and then I spend a gruellingly hot 30 minutes in the courtyard of a very desolate ministry trying to explain to the guard and a rabble of people who may or may not work there what I need. Except I don't know what I need.
So I'm finally whisked into another car with this nice lady, who takes me - lo and behold - to this guy I need to see! I spend a good hour there, explaining my story and waiting for the four secretaries to, having taken charge of one quarter of the computer's keyboard each, are filling in some excel spreadsheet. I meet a couple of guys from Swedish television whose camera is still in customs at the airport. So it seems others are worse off than I.
Eventually we get our paperwork and off we go to the registration place. I'm picking it up later on today, before I go for dinner with Calestous Juma at the Sheraton. He's headlining tomorrow's lineup of speakers, and apparently he's had similar problems as me to the extent that he's been stuck in his hotel all today.
It seems touch and go as to whether you meet people good for your stories or find out when the press conferences are held. At least I'll have all my documents in order by tomorrow for the bigwig talks. Apparently Gadafi is speaking on the United States of Africa to the great chagrin of other leaders. Nah, now I'm going to try to get hold of the photographer who's snapping Calestous for my Guardian profile (out Tuesday week probably) and then I'm gonna stalk this Kenyan, Kiamba, who I want to talk to. I know which hotel he's at...
posted by Linda at 15:24
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