Gotta love native dress. I should maybe be ashamed of my shenanigans but it is for the greater good. I always dress in a dress the woman here in Nambale make for me. I have played this one act play so many times. It’s always a bit of a nail biter.
First there is the layering of clothing that must take place to go from snowy Boston to equatorial Africa. That means long underwear under the rather flashy green dress. As I hit Amsterdam, off go the bottoms of the long johns. The socks came off in the plane and just before we land, I dash into the minute bathroom and take off the rest of the under garments so I look fresh as a daisy.
I was carrying 5 brightly painted suitcases. That is a whole lot of stuff to be carrying, and despite covering the real stuff with either condoms or used Christian books for children; there is always the possibility they are going to make me open it up.
As I wend my way down to the luggage area, much to my delight my suitcases are swirling around the carousel. There was a woman immigration officer who commented on my outfit saying, “You look very smart”. Ringer, I’m in. I knew I could charm my way through customs by talking about my fetching painted luggage and reassuring her that they were Christian reading material and condoms. And that dear readers is how I got $16,000 worth of medications into the most corrupt country in Africa (not including Mugabe).
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