Alright, so I can safely say there is very little in the world that sucks more than stepping on to an airplane in a city full of wine and friends and beaches and jogging paths next to the water and concerts in the park at sunset and other wonderful things and stepping off that same plane in a city that smells of firewood and animal poo and hasn't ever heard of the concept of traffic laws.
Oh wait, there IS something worse, all those things and your luggage doesn't arrive.
I seriously spent four hours on the phone today with different people trying to find the bags that contain everything I own. I spoke with all the people in the head office, all the people in the ticketing offices, all the people at the checkins, all the people on the ground crews in Uganda and Jo'burg. At different points in the morning my luggage was: in Cape Town, in Jo'burg, in Kampala, in Nairobi, lost, stolen, with me and I was just trying to scam the airline, on and on and on.
Finally, I get Collin. Collin is in charge of the baggage guys at Jo'burg. Collin is talking to me on his cell phone, the number of which i shouldn't have but which someone gave me in a fit of frustration. Collin listened to my slightly hysterical story of not wanting to start my life in Juba with two pairs of underwear, one pair of jeans and a really bad chick lit novel. Collin made all his guys go search all the hangars until they found the bags hidden behind some boxes in the wrong part of the airport. Collin is a god.
I haven't gotten them yet, but I have faith in Collin. I fly out tomorrow and I believe they'll be there. Though, knowing me and my luck (tire falling off my car, anyone), they'll end up in Kuala Lampur instead of Kampala.