Like many people, I get anxious before a trip. My particular anxieties might be less common -- they are almost entirely luggage-related (as opposed to crash-, hijack-, or SARS-related fears).

The first hurdle is checking in. A huge weight -- literally and psychologically -- is lifted once I have successfully handed over my baggage and have my boarding pass in hand (which is why I love Air France's 'pre-enregistrement' system, which (in Bamako at least) lets you check in between 10:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. on the day of your flight). The second hurdle is getting onto the plane with my carry-on luggage. Once I'm in my seat I'm as relaxed as can be.

I was more anxious than usual on Monday since I had more crap than usual, more than would even fit in my luggage. I crammed what I could into a large suitcase, a spiffy new duffel bag, an even spiffier new camera bag/daypack, and the rolling carry-on I got for Christmas.

My large suitcase was pushing the 70-pound limit. Oh, and I also had a 50-pound box of ethernet routers and water filters for Geekcorps.

At the Air France counter at Dulles, I mentioned the box (as my third piece of checked luggage I would have to pay extra) immediately, so as to distract the agents from my overweight suitcase. Nonetheless, there was a silent conversation of meaningful looks between the agent at the check-in counter (a pouty French woman who did not want to let it pass) and the baggage handler (who was content to let it pass). The baggage handler won without a word (thank you anonymous Air France baggage man!) and I felt (almost) home-free.

I happily paid for the extra box for Geekcorps, knowing that I would be reimbursed. (It's much cheaper for them to pay the $145 extra-baggage free than to pay for shipping to Mali.) My anxieties about that piece of luggage had more to do with the other end -- Malian customs.

At Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris, the second leg of my journey departed from Terminal 2E, the section of the airport that collapsed earlier this year. I feel like I've passed through every terminal of CDG but I hadn't seen this one yet. Although there were a couple of duty-free boutiques and a cafe open, it looked unfinished. I turned on my laptop and discovered there was wifi available -- for €10.00/hour. No thanks.

A friend from Bamako, who works at the Russian embassy, happened to be on my flight. He arranged to switch seats and sit next to me. I'm afraid after the red-eye flight from Washington I wasn't great company, but it was pleasant to have a familiar face on board.

Another Russian friend, there to pick up the friend from my flight, met us in Bamako, on the other side of passport control. They were kind enough to wait and make sure all my luggage arrived. It didn't. My spiffy new duffel bag (it looks like this, but in lime green) did not appear on the carousel.

As if that weren't troubling enough, the porter asked me what was in Geekcorps' large cardboard box and I knew he was going to steer me towards customs, where they would give me a hassle. Not because I was doing anything wrong (I wasn't) but just because they could.

Although computer equipment is exempt from customs duties in Mali, I was carrying a letter from Geekcorps authorizing me to carry the box into the country. Nonetheless, the customs agents tried to tell me that my letter wasn't official enough and to make things easier for everyone I should just give a 'cadeau.' I refused. If I had to, I would have left the box behind for someone from Geekcorps to pick up the next day. But I didn't have to.

Although E was stuck outside the airport, able to see me through a plate-glass window but unable to help, my Russian friends are diplomats, which means they are free to move in and out of the airport as they please. They came over to see what was going on and as soon as they joined me, the customs agent changed his tune. "I'm going to let you go!" he said, shaking his finger at me, as if that were a threat. "Do you understand?!" I started to shake my head no, because I didn't understand why he was suddenly letting me pass sans cadeau, but the Russians shook their heads quickly at me and gave me the international sign for "just keep your mouth shut and let's get out of here while we can."

So we did. I went straight to the Air France office to report my lost luggage. When I finally met up with E and got in the truck to head home, it was an hour and a half after my plane had landed.

But even though I was the very last passenger to leave the airport, and not one but two of my luggage-related fears had come true, everything worked out in the end. Even for the lost luggage: It arrived in Bamako on the next flight from Paris, and was delivered right to my door.