Freetown, Sierra Leone: Getting there

A handful of flights arrive and depart from Freetown International Airport, an airport that isn’t actually in Freetown; it’s in the town of Lungi. Both are on the coast, separated by the Sierra Leone River.

Coming from Europe, you can go via Brussels (Brussels Airlines) or via Istanbul (Turkish Airlines), the latter being the cheaper, longer, option. No prizes for guessing which we chose.

I spent too much of our three-hour layover in Istanbul wondering why people raved about the airport. But when our gate was finally announced and we moved from the F gates to the A gates, all was revealed. It’s the second-busiest airport in Europe after London Heathrow and seventh-busiest in the world serving 122 countries and more than 70 million passengers annually. It’s a work in progress and

…once fully completed by 2027, the airport will have six sets of runways (eight in total), 16 taxiways, and a total annual passenger capacity of 150 million passengers. […] 3,500 security personnel and a total of 1,850 police, including 750 immigration officers, provide the airport’s security.

It also has 181 shops and 108 restaurants and cafés, a museum, kids playgrounds, and a youth lounge. Mind-boggling stuff.

Our flight wasn’t full. We had exit-row seats on both legs. And we were fed well. Very well. As aeroplane good goes. There was no alcohol on the second leg though as we were stopping over in Ouagadougou, the capital of Burkina Faso, which is a Muslim country, so dry flights in and out.

We eventually arrived in Lungi, got through immigration without an issue, and headed to pick up our luggage.

But it wasn’t there.

Not only were our two cases missing, but so were 128 others. No luggage had been loaded in Istanbul.

We queued with the others at the lost property section. And while there was some heated bantering as some tried to skip the queue and indeed did skip it, unashamedly, I was surprised at how calm everyone was.

I was surprised at how calm I was.

We duly gave our details to Zachery who filled out our forms and apologised for the inconvenience on behalf of TA, taking it all in his stride as if it were an everyday occurrence. A fellow passenger assured us that while Turkish Airlines fails to deliver 90% of luggage they’ve never actually lost any. Ours would arrive … probably on Monday.

We had thought about taking the Sea Coach across to Freetown that night but opted instead to stay locally in the Lungi Airport Lodge. I was glad we had as it was now after 1 am and even with time differences, I was nearing the 24-hour-no-sleep mark. It had been a long day.

It says it’s 1km from the airport – and one reviewer said it’s walkable. And maybe it is, in daylight, with no bags, in winter… if there is a winter. Maybe there’s a walking path that isn’t the main road. I’d never have found it on my own.

We were lucky in that we had the lovely WJ meeting us. She’d organised it all. From paying our $25 airport tax and WhatsApping the QR codes to exchanging the dollars I’d sent ahead into local currency. They like dollars.

The first job on my agenda is to buy a new purse. What you see in the photo is about 450 dollars worth of Leones with the 20 being the largest denomination and worth about a dollar. Paying the bill for dinner would be interesting as unreliable internet makes card payments iffy at best. Everyone carries a bag – they have to.

The hotel manager, Michael, picked up us and opened the bar for us when we arrived. [In the local beer challenge, Star won out over Mützig, but the Mützig strapline of ‘never stop starting’ wins the slogan battle – just saying.] Breakfast the next morning had the much-anticipated fried plantain so I was happy. The rooms were clean and airconned. I’d recommend it.

We were aiming for the 8.15 am Sea Coach, the ferry that goes between Lungi and Freetown on a schedule that mirrors flight arrivals and departures. It was foggy – and we were still in our winter Hungarian clothes in a hot African December.

I was baking but calm.

We arrived at an empty terminal – no passengers but lots of staff. And that didn’t bode well.

The flight was delayed so the ferry was delayed, too. It’d be there at 10 am, a lovely man in a smart red blazer assured us.

He called a staff meeting later on – 14 of the 15 were men but that lone woman wasn’t backward about coming forward. And as all meetings do apparently, it started and ended with a minute of silence for people to pray in their own religion.

Or not.

As we’ve come to learn, Freetown is extremely tolerant of all religions.

The fog wasn’t lifting. The plane wasn’t coming. The ferry wasn’t going. But it didn’t stop the fishermen.

Our options were to wait until the next flight at 4 pm and hope it landed, take a taxi and drive the three hours it would take to go around the river, or get the government ferry from Tagrin.

WJ rang Michael and he came to get us to take us to the main ferry port. We had 45 minutes to get there and get sorted. [Note: If you’re coming to this part of the world, set yourself up with an e-sim or have a local number. Everyone uses WhatsApp.]

When we arrived, we were met by a bike race. The crowds were milling around to watch the start of a two-lap race hosted by the Lungi Kaffu Bullom Cycling Club. Some 50 junior and female cyclists had feet on the pedals ready to start when those in charge heard my prayer and decided to let the ferry passengers and cars through first.

I was getting the impression that schedules and plans are ephemeral beasts in this part of the world.

The ever-helpful Michael arranged tickets for the VIP lounge (a princely $7 for all 3 vs the $30/each for the Sea Coach – but in fairness, the Sea Coach ferry trip includes a ride to or from the airport). We had help loading WJ’s bags up rickety stairs to the top. There is no shortage of help here. The offers come in fast and furious but without pressure.

With prime window seats looking out at the orderly chaos going on, on the deck below, I wondered why people thought this was such a bad experience. Then it dawned on me. It wasn’t a drive-on drive-off – it was a drive-on, reverse-off job. And all those people on deck. Ye gads.

We made it across to Freetown safely, ready to beg, borrow, or steal some clean clothes.

Now, all we had to do was pray our bags arrived.