Clean Underwear!

Saidu picked me up at 7am so I could make the 8am helicoptor ride to the Freetown airport. While we waited for helicopter, a comedian performed for tips. His jokes were lame, but his accents were excellent: he was Sierra Leonian, but could pull off British, Chinese, Indian, and American.

At the airport a "skycap" helped me. "You sit right there," he told me. "I'll take care of you. You are my friend." I was glad for the help, and trusted him. (That's usually my problem.) Everything went well—until I realized that he had gotten me to the front of the line in the same manner my friend David had been ranting about two days ago. He had even gotten me through customs without any effort on my own part. Whoops! (I'll avoid your judgment by not telling you how much I tipped him.)

No problems with the return flight to Monrovia. I even learned to push my way forward instead of politely waiting to be invited forward. (If you're polite here, you get pushed to the back of the line.) My flight was only a 1/2 hour late, I had no luggage, and I knew what to do this time, so I was smooching my baby again before noon.

Even better than that (sorry, Larry!), the guys had picked up our luggage from Brussels Airline and I could finally change my underwear!