In the wee hours this morning (dark thirty), I wheeled my 3 large suitcases to the security belt of Cairo International Airport. I have been through this airport many times…without incident. Until today. After I received a very thorough pat down from a security girl, I began retrieving my items off the x-ray belt…shoes, carry-on, purse and then the 3 bags. A porter, of sorts, came to help me and had a cart ready to go.
I would be traveling solo this time so I was happy for the assistance. I had packed these puppies to the final allowed ounce.
I started to walk toward the check-in counter when a security officer pointed to one of the bags. Ug. I couldn’t think of anything that would be an issue. The porter laid the bag on the floor and the officer signaled me to open it.
Of course, I had it locked, zip-tied and scientifically arranged. He didn’t care.
I opened the bag and waited for him to tell me what the questionable item was. He just started pointing.
I began pulling out boxes of tea, a belly dancing scarf (You never know!) and finally a small Nubian knife that had been given to us as a gift.
“Yes! Yes!” he said.
He took it from me and asked if I had any more. I did. 4 more.
He confiscated them all and clucked his tongue. This is where things began to unravel quickly.
Another man appeared and others until 7 men were circled around the knives discussing, asking and answering questions. I was not included. One man from the group glanced over at me and said, “Sit.”
I did.
I sat next to a man who was also being given the once over. He smiled sympathetically.
I couldn’t imagine what the discussion was. The knives were in my checked bags, not my carry-on. These were typical souvenirs from Upper Egypt. What. Was. The. Deal?!
One man in a white officer’s uniform and black beret asked me, “Where from? How much?”
“I’m from America,” I answered. “How much what?”
“How much did you pay for the knives?”
I stood and told him that 4 were given to us as gifts from the people in our village. The other one was purchased for $3 at a souvenir shop. I thought that would be that. I was very wrong.
He told me to sit again. I did. Sympathetic Smiler hadn’t moved either.
A “plain clothes” guy began making phone calls as he motioned for me to give him my passport. I wanted to ask, “Who are you? Why do you want my passport? You don’t even have an official uniform? Are you really the boss of me?”
However, I have watched my husband handle these situations successfully, so I simply handed him what he requested and smiled.
He grunted into the phone and walked away. With my passport.
The others had disbursed and were busting the chops of other fellow travelers. However, none had received the dedicated attention that I was.
I checked my paperwork to see if I was okay on time. I was, but it was getting tight.
The man returned with my passport and gave it to yet another officer who was sitting at a table. The officer began to write feverishly while flipping through the pages of the passport. I just couldn’t understand what the issue was.
Finally, one man said, “These are not ancient.”
“No, they aren’t,” I retorted.
Still thinking I would be waved on, I took a deep breath waiting for this to resolve. It didn’t.
A very stern, thin officer walked toward me and said, “Come.”
“Where?” I asked.
“With me,” he said matter of factly. He took my passport and the knives and began walking.
I didn’t know what to do. I’m traveling alone. He’s asking me to follow him somewhere and leave my luggage. I looked around at my options. I saw foreigners in line for various airline companies. I thought if I had to I would go totally ballistic and create a scene so at least I might be etched into the memory of some passersby.
I followed as my heart began beating faster.
I had a million thoughts in my head and one prayer, “Jesus, please let Jack Bauer be real.”
Okay. My real prayer was, “Jesus, help!”
We went to the far back corner of the airport that had a sign above it, “STAFF ONLY.” I stopped. He said, “We go.”
I didn’t move. I calmly said, “My husband is not with me. This is scaring me.”
For just a moment, the veneer faded. “Issokay. Issokay.” Something changed after that. He was on my side.
We walked through the double swinging doors down a stark hallway with the blinking fluorescent light overhead. Different men in the hallway walked to and fro. He motioned for me to step in the elevator.
As we rode up several floors so did my blood pressure. I could feel my heart pounding in my neck.
“This is the big one, Elizabeth!”
We walked down one more hallway where I was told again, “Sit.”
He took my passport and the knives into an office. Apparently, the people inside told him to sit. So he did. Periodically, a man would walk by and glance at the officer and then at me. I kept my eyes averted, but so desperately wanted to say, “YOU WAIT TIL MY EMBASSY HEARS ABOUT THIS!” However, prudence reminded me that empty threats would probably not go well.
I did pull out my phone and text John. The officer sitting nearby glanced at me, but didn’t stop me. John, of course, was upset by all that was happening. At least now he’d know where to start the search.
I had now been “in process” for over 40 minutes and not one person had explained to me what the issue was or what was happening. I had to surmise it all for myself.
Someone from inside the office yelled and told me to come in. I walked in to a small office with a desk to my left and one directly in front of me. “Sit,” one told me. I did.
I sat another five minutes in silence. One was writing furiously while the other perused my passport. One asked in English when I had come to Egypt. I answered. He would then translate my answer to the other man who grunted in response.
Various questions were asked.
“Where are you from?”
“What do you do?”
“Is your husband Egyptian?”
“When did you get to Egypt?”
When the questions began to loop, I realized he was checking the truthfulness of my answers.
Again silence fell and I sat with hands clasped to keep them from shaking and in automatic prayer mode.
One motioned for me to leave the room so I did. I stood in the hallway and yes…you know the drill now…I was told “Sit.” So I did.
It’s been an hour now and I’m wondering if I will make my flight…at this point I’m wondering if I’ll see the light of day again.
The two in the office yelled to the officer waiting with me. He went into the room and returned with my passport and knives.
Could this possibly be over?
He told me to follow him and I gladly did this time.
As we approached the elevator, he said, “You are finished!”
“Humdillilah! (Praise be to God!)” I answered.
He almost grinned.
We made our way back to my luggage which thankfully was still all there. He handed me the knives and walked away. I…um…can I….wait…MY PASSPORT!!!
The security officers who had started this whole thing saw the puzzled look on my face and said, “You keep! You keep!” as they pointed to the knives.
I put them in the suitcase and looked at the ticket counter. People were still checking in. That was a good sign.
No one seemed concerned or particularly motivated to let me know what was happening. A hipster-looking band had just gone through the x-ray machine and were now under scrutiny. Poor saps.
I continued to text John as I could. He was ready to give someone a talking to if need be, but I told him I’d like to save the “big guns” for the right moment.
Finally, the officer returned, handed me my passport, pointed to the ticket counter and said, “Welcome in Egypt!”
Although that was not my current sentiment, I smiled and responded, “Thank you.” I fairly ran to the ticket counter and begged for an upgrade for all the emotional trauma.
The man at the counter was also a sympathetic soul and promptly put me in seat 28A exactly 5 rows from the back. (He was kind, but I had no flight cred.)
As I boarded the plane, I took a deep breath and cleansing exhale. The adrenalin began to subside and I needed a moment to regain my equilibrium. My eyes may have leaked a little as well.
Still, you don’t need to pity me. Truly. I love to travel. This comes with the territory. I mean let’s think about this. I flew EGYPTAIR and would be flying through Istanbul. Both the company and location have had devastating trouble with terrorism.
Each of these airport workers are looking for “trouble needles” in haystacks. Lots and lots of haystacks. They are trying to protect their country and their economy. I get it. They could work on their form, but I have to at least appreciate their efforts.
I am now in Istanbul waiting for my next flight. Only 2 more legs to go. 36 hours total transit til I reach US soil. One of my favorite things in all the world is when the Passport Control Guy says, “Welcome home!” I hope he doesn’t mind hugs, because I just might not be able to contain myself any more.
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