As fate would have it, my journey to Kenya unfolded like a plot twist in a captivating novel. Little did I know that Kenya had shuffled the deck, changing the rules of engagement. Once a cherished sanctuary I could saunter into sans visa, now demanded an elusive eTA, throwing me off balance.
The check-in staff's request for this mysterious eTA initially left me dumbfounded. In my mind's eye, I silently scoffed at the notion, convinced she was mistaken. "Me, needing an eTA for Kenya? Preposterous!" I thought, recalling the President's recent pledge of visa-free entry for Africans. Shouldn't they be rolling out the red carpet for me instead?
Reality hit hard when a list of exempt countries was unfurled, revealing Zimbabwe's absence among the favored few. No love for the countries starting with 'Z', it seemed, only a handful of East African nations basked in the exemption glow.
In any other circumstance, I would have opted for a later flight, but alas, this was Freetown, where the next flight to Nairobi was a distant Sunday away. The prospect of an unplanned weekend in a foreign city did little to tickle my fancy.
Cutting a long story short, I dove headfirst into the online eTA application, racing against the ticking clock. The fine print ominously warned of a 72-hour processing period, with an unexpected $32 processing fee adding insult to injury.
Faced with dwindling time, I stumbled upon a glimmer of hope in the form of 'customer service.' With a shrug, I decided to give it a whirl, penning a polite plea for leniency and highlighting my ignorance of the new protocol. An agent named Mary materialized, exchanging pleasantries and offering a sliver of hope amidst the chaos.
Hours turned into an agonizing wait, each passing moment a test of patience. Despite the mounting frustration, I persevered, refreshing the portal in a ritualistic dance of hope and despair. As the clock ticked, panic threatened to consume me, urging me to implore Mary once more for clemency.
With the deadline looming, negotiations hit a dead end, bureaucratic walls proving insurmountable. The check-in lady's proposed waiver plan was swiftly nixed, leaving me stranded in a sea of uncertainty. The clock mercilessly counted down, pushing me to the brink of acceptance - a weekend in Freetown seemed inevitable.
Yet, in a stroke of sheer luck, a last-minute miracle unfolded. My status shifted to 'approved,' a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. Relief washed over me, mingled with a tinge of frustration, as I finally secured my boarding pass and bid adieu to Freetown's temporary embrace.
As I soared towards Nairobi, the lingering question of Kenya's eTA scheme haunted my thoughts. Was it a mere bureaucratic shuffle, or a subtle revenue-generating ploy? The enigma remained unsolved, a puzzle I yearned to decipher amidst the whirlwind of emotions that defined my unforgettable journey.
