To Travels and Trunks

“To Travels and Trunks” is the name of the song that was playing on the PA when I disembarked at Seatac Airport on my way home. I thought is was nice subtle touch rather than playing generic elevator music. The song is a product of the Seattle band Hey Marseille and is, you guessed it, about traveling and trunks (of luggage—not elephants, because that would be weird).

Then when I left Seatac, I heard the song twice coming over the PA, so I came to the conclusion that there's just a looped tape that plays it over and over. The only thing fitting about the song was that it talks about luggage, and I lost my luggage. Twice

I'll start from the beginning, which is where many stories start. I will not, like David Copperfield, tell you how I was born, we're not going back that far. Lets go back to when I left to come to Seattle. I boarded an airplane to Maputo, to then go Maputo to Johannesburg, then eventually to Seattle. Thankfully, I have learned well from the misfortunes of others and was sure to pack absolutely nothing in my bag that, if lost or stolen, would really put me in a bind. That was good foresight on my part because I hadn't even made it to Johannesburg before my luggage was lost.

As it happened, I got off the plane in Maputo, the main int'l airport in Mozambique, making a connection to Joberg. It was a small plane and only about thirty of us on board—a full flight. As they started pulling checked baggage out of the plane, a group of about a dozen or so people that were not on the plane were checking luggage tags, grabbing bags, and leaving. I watched the workers pull all the bags off the plane, and did not see mine.

I found myself standing with about ten or so other passengers looking around wondering where our bags were also. As it was explained to us, the flight yesterday had about ten people whose bags were not put on the plane, and thus were sent today. That was the group of people that were waiting to receive the plane, to get their lost luggage from the day before.

For us, we were told, our luggage would be put on the next flight in a couple of days and we could come get it then. The shocked look on all their faces was only surpassed by the vitriol anger with spewed forth upon the lone representative of the airline. For myself, I was consumed by a singular thought: Just how long was Mozambique Airlines so over-stuffed with luggage that they just set aside certain bags to go on the next flight, thus taking the place of another ten or so people who will no doubt have their bags not boarded the next day, and each successive day? Just how long? Two days? A week? Years???

As it happened, I was leaving the same day on a flight for Johannesburg, and hours later would be on my way to Europe then Seattle. I did all I could and reasoned and begged the Airline to follow the instructions on my luggage tag and send it back to Nampla at the orphanage. The reason for my labeling by bag to the orphanage is twofold. One, I think it is less likely to get robbed by an airport worker that if it says AMERICA is big, bold letters. Two, I think I have more luck getting a rinky-dink airline to send it back to my little rinky-dink town than flying through three continents just to make it to Seattle.

So, after arriving for a layover in Amsterdam with the same clothes I'd been wearing the the last two-and-a-half days, I bought a new pair of clothes, then eleven long hours later landed in Seatac with my carry-on bag.

Luckily for me, I was staying with my folks the whole time back in Seattle, as were my brothers, who are both as freakishly tall as I am. I quickly instituted wearer's rights which is the same thing as squatter's rights except more wearing and less squatting.

Thus concludes part one of my saga. Part two is much less exciting. It involves the orphanage telling me that my bag was mailed back to the orphanage and waiting for me, which only meant that Value Village lost a very happy customer that would have had to replace most his wardrobe. It also involves me saying that when I got to Johannesburg on my return trip, I waited for me bags to come of the plane once again.

Then (because they are a little more on the ball in Joberg) my name came across the PA system with instructions to go to the customer service line at the baggage claim. I arrived and the informed me that my bags were not on the plane. I replied, “yeah, I figured that much out hearing my name called.” I asked when they would get here. The reply was simply, “when we find out where they are we will have a better understanding of when they will get to Johannesburg.” After some discussion between the customer service guys and much pointing at the computer. I determined with 100% certainty that the location of my bags, while not knows, was also not unknown. They were either in Seattle, in Europe, or at 35,000 feet. That narrowed down the search considerably.

I was assured that when (read: if) they arrived they would be sent directly to Nampula and I could pick them up on the 2:30 flight. If they were not there the first day, check back the next day on the 2:30 flight. And everyday after that until they get there. Well, I landed in Nampula on Friday and on Monday, the first flight of the week, I found my bag waiting for me at the airport, thankfully. Since all my stuff never left (ha) I was bringing back mainly stuff for the kids. And while I secretly hoped that my bag got mixed up somehow with a billionaire with the exact same bag and when he opened his he found my undies and deflated soccer balls I would open up mine and find gold ingots, that was not the case. Inspected my bag at the airport and found undies and soccer balls.

And that was about as exciting as the travels got. Oh, and there was also a HUUUUUUGE misunderstanding with airport security that a few people heard in person but will not be put online otherwise the governments will put me on their no-fly list.