Last month I went to Uganda for two weeks, then flew back to Texas. On the way there, Uganda health inspectors checked us thoroughly. On the way home… the U.S. didn’t do a thing.
I kid you not. I looked at my dad who made the journey with me and said, “Seriously?”
The contrast was ridiculous. When we arrived in Uganda, health inspectors greeted us wearing masks and rubber gloves. After filling out a one-page questionnaire, they sprayed our hands with an antibacterial, then they took our temperature. I asked about the precautionary measures, “Isn’t the Ebola virus on the other side of the continent?”
“Yes. And we don’t want it on this side.” They replied with a smile.
After two weeks in Africa, we boarded our plane to Istanbul, our only stop before Texas. My dad and I both speculated, “I’m sure we’re going to be heavily screened in Istanbul, and even more so in Texas.”
We landed in Istanbul.
We shrugged our shoulders. “I’m guessing the big screening will happen in Texas.”
Twelve hours later we stepped off the plane unto American soil. Never been so happy to see an American flag. They led us through the normal customs checks. Not a single question about our health. No health inspectors, no questionnaires… nothing!
I turned to my dad and said, “I guess it won’t be long before Ebola is in the U.S.”
That was Thursday, September 25th.
I’ve never been one to say, “I told you so… but…”