I Hate Airports

Spur of the moment, I decide I am going back to France, and, what do you know, my sister happens to have two tickets. There is no time to pack, we just leave.
I have no recollection of being on the first flight, but all of a sudden we are in an unknown airport where we must catch out second flight. I think it must be Dubai. There are no signs, only clocks, which tell me that it is 9:30 PM. I know we must be on the connecting flight my 9:40, but I do not know the number or airline because Laura has the tickets. She pulls them out and determines that the connecting flight is controlled by British Airways... but when we look at a list of airlines, British Airways does not operate out of this airport. Laura pulls me over to a phone booth and rifles through a packet of papers she finds there. It is some sort of airline code book, and she finally tells me that the Airline we are looking for is the national airline of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The packet also tells her that there is a fee of 250,000 Rand (South African currency) for the non-corresponding airlines, which I equate in my head to $4,000.
An Indian woman passing by overhears us and tells us that we've got it all wrong. She shows me a map of the airport, and shows me which desk I should go to to get my own map of the airport, which in turn will direct me to information. I'm pretty sure we missed our flight.