The Long Wait in Addis Ababa

The journey from Mombasa to Johannesburg should have been a straight line—a seamless connection through Addis Ababa, a quick stopover before continuing on to the summit. But like many things in life, the best-laid plans often go awry, and this trip was no exception. The turbulence that had nothing to do with the skies lay ahead in the airport lounge of Addis Ababa’s Bole International, where I was left with a gnawing uncertainty.

When I arrived at the Ethiopian Airlines counter, my plans began to unravel. The clerk behind the counter, with a polite but insistent smile, informed me that my flight to Johannesburg had been rescheduled to a late hour—11:35 pm. The words echoed in my ears as I processed the sudden change. "What now?" I asked myself, but no answer came. I was already at the mercy of the flight schedules, but now, I was at the mercy of time itself.

With nothing to do but wait, I was handed a hotel voucher to the Abyssinia Renaissance. "The village in me" began to protest. What could a hotel in a foreign land offer that the airport couldn’t? Airports, though not always comfortable, are known entities—familiar, sterile, reliable. But a hotel in a city I knew little about, in a language I didn’t understand? It felt like I was being sent off into the wild unknown.

I dragged my checked suitcase, the one that had already been checked in all the way to Johannesburg, to the exit where a shuttle awaited. The clerk had reassured me that everything had been arranged, but as I sat in the shuttle, I felt a creeping sense of discomfort. "I’m safer here," I thought, "in the airport, at least I can control my time. What if I can’t find my way back to the airport later?"

The shuttle ride took me through Addis Ababa’s bustling streets, a city vibrant with life but strange and foreign to me. It was as though the city were showing me her face, warts and all—crowded streets, the dust, the sharp contrast of old buildings beside new constructions. At times, it felt as if we were driving through the arteries of the city, each street pulsing with its own rhythm. And yet, I was uncomfortable—like a fish out of water, trying to breathe in an unfamiliar environment.

Upon arrival at the Abyssinia Renaissance, the receptionist handed me the key with a polite nod. The hotel was fine, in the way a business hotel is. Comfortable, clean, and… utterly forgettable. I tossed my bag onto the bed, sat for a while, and tried to summon the will to sleep. But sleep wouldn’t come. The discomfort lingered in the air, thick as smoke. My mind raced with thoughts of the summit, tomorrow’s events, and the nagging feeling that I wasn’t prepared for any of it.

The hours stretched like melted wax, and I did the only thing I could do—I watched TikTok videos to kill time. Time passed, but the tension didn’t fade. A call from the reception broke my silence. Dinner was ready. My stomach was tied in knots, but I knew I had to eat. I didn’t feel hungry, but like a clock ticking down, I knew I needed to fuel up for the day ahead.

At the restaurant, I forced myself to take a few bites, but my mind wasn’t there. It was with the summit, the unknowns, the things I hadn’t planned for. My stomach churned, not from hunger, but from the anticipation of what lay ahead. I could feel the weight of the hours ahead, the uncertainty pressing down on me like a heavy cloak. It was like waiting for the storm to pass, unsure of when it would end or if it ever would.

After dinner, I returned to my room and grabbed my handbag, still unsure of the hotel’s location and whether I could get back to the airport on time. "Is it worth it?" I asked myself, the question echoing like a warning. But the answer was clear—I had no choice. The summit awaited.

The shuttle ride back to the airport was uneventful, and I arrived well ahead of time. I walked through security like someone performing a ritual, the motions almost automatic now. At least the airport felt like home by this point. There were no surprises, no more unknowns. I found my gate, and, after a brief check-in, I made my way to board the flight to Johannesburg.

Once on board, I sank into my seat and closed my eyes. Sleep, sweet and comforting, took over. It was as though my body had been running on fumes, and now that I had the chance to rest, it seized it with a vengeance. I slept like a baby, unaware of the hours ticking by. The turbulence, both in the air and in my life, seemed to subside.

By the time we touched down in Johannesburg, I felt the world shift beneath me. I was no longer just a traveler caught in a waiting game. The reality of the summit was here, and with it came a strange sense of calm. My phone buzzed with a message from the organizer—the one who had been silently orchestrating the threads of this journey. She sent me the details of my pick-up and my accommodation, and, at last, I felt like I had a direction, a place to go.

The message brought with it a sense of relief, the kind that comes after the storm has passed. I could finally smile, the weight of uncertainty lifted, if only for a moment. And in that moment, the summit felt real again. The programme arrived soon after—11:00 am, a side event featuring my World Pulse sister Basudha, a name I hadn’t expected to see.

I felt the warmth of relief spread through me. Basudha had been one of the most vibrant trainers I had met in my journey, and the thought of seeing her at the summit, as a panelist no less, made me feel less alone in this strange city. My mind shifted from the long, exhausting hours of waiting to the excitement of meeting someone who shared my passion, my vision for a better world. Suddenly, the discomfort of the past few hours didn’t seem so important.

As I looked out the window of the shuttle on my way to the hotel, I couldn’t help but think of the many roads we all travel, often winding, unpredictable, and filled with uncertainty. But each twist and turn, each delay, had brought me closer to this moment—the moment when I would finally step into the summit and embrace the work that awaited. "Patience is a virtue," they say, and in the end, it was patience that led me here.