Heathrow

12/21/05

147 days ago, I was sitting right here, in Heathrow's Terminal 1, scared shitless about flying to Africa. And now, here I am again.

So, has anything changed? Me? The village? The answer, I think, fortunately, is Yes, but the modification, unfortunately, is Slightly. Kidogo.

But I've seen things, heard things, smelled them and tasted them, occasionally I even felt things; it wasn't always pleasant, occasionally it was even excruciating, and yet I still find myself infinitely grateful to have experienced them, though even more grateful to be out of Africa, senses in tact, still breathing, my heart still beating.

After the hours I spent bargaining bribing and begging in NBO so as to not get charged the $600 they wanted for my extra bags, after the sweat and the subdued frustration, after the stress of that combined with accumulated stress of five months of fear, as I was in the bridge and realized that I was finally home free (how fitting), when I realized that the two men standing at the door of the plane were Brits, real Brits, when I saw two framed black and white photographs of the Queen hanging on the wall of first class, as I walked back towards my seat and looked at small flat screen LCD screens and rolling carts I knew were loaded with free cold beer, I couldn't stop the massive stupid smile that stretched across my face. I couldn't help laughing in ultimate relief; I couldn't have cared less about what the people around me thought, what anyone in the world thought. I was too tired to care. Too tired, and god, too relieved.

And just my luck I got a cool smart guy that runs USAID's south Sudan peace/information project to sit next to for some good conversation and then the motherf-cking Wedding Crashers to zone out to.

And when I finally slept, it was only for a few hours, but god it was sweet.

And now I'm sitting in Heathrow's Terminal 1, sitting right where I was 147 days ago, and I'm drinking coffee, filtered coffee, and oh my, filtered coffee is so good… And its so hard for me to believe that everything worked out the way it has, and that now all I have to do for the next 21 hours is keep my eyes open to avoid the jetlag, and then, if the universe is so willing, I will be home, having done it, maybe not perfectly, but done it all the same.

And there is still so much to do, so many journals to type and pictures to post and obligations to fulfill and ideas to try, but that's okay, in fact that's good, in fact if it goes my way the list of things to do will never be complete.

BACK