Touchdown at 2010 hrs in Bamako!  The heat and humidity announced transition from northern to tropical latitudes as I  stepped from the plane - just in time to see sparks and hear loud clanking noises emanating from our left engine as it faltered to a  stop.  I whispered a little prayer for those continuing on to Ouagadougou.  

Inside the scene was straight from a Bogart movie.  A hot, smelly, dimly lit room full of people jostling to get past immigration officials.  Once stamped for entry all gathered about a moderately dilapidated luggage carousel and began the 45 minute wait for delivery of our precious cargo.  Through the plexiglas retaining wall I could see Kristie's head and arms occasionally flailing above the mass of waiting family and friends.

At last my 80 lbs. of duffel appeared along the clattering conveyor.  I pushed forward to retrieve and sling it over my shoulder.  Lacking any ability with French or Bambara could have been an issue at this juncture.  As I approached the two tables which funnelled us toward an apparent exit, I assumed a perplexed look and with a grunt gestured toward the opening.  One of several officials adorning the right-hand table waved me through.  I passed by other tormented immigrants, displaying the undergarments of their luggage to fascinated inspectors, and burst into the open arena of the main terminal.  

From there Don and Kristie whisked me away to a dinner at Campinards and then my first night under the mosquito netting on the roof of the Peace Corps Stage House.