Baba VaTata started it. And he did it in a few words.
“Let’s go to the airport, you guys lack exposure, “ Baba VaTata said.
We all took the bait. Fatso and Rasta were too excited and hardly needed any persuasion. In other ways, Baba VaTata was right. Our lives revolved around Zororo Bar. It was either work or Zororo Bar.
“We can’t just go to the airport. We’re not accompanying anyone or receiving someone from abroad,”. I said. I tried to protest but everyone was for the idea.
“There’s a world out there guys. We need to broaden our horizon. Sometimes we need to escape from the ghetto. You never know whom you meet out there. Your destiny can change overnight,” Baba VaTata said.
I had never been to the airport before. Maybe Baba VaTata had a point. All the same it did not make sense to me to just go to the airport.
We all bundled in his car as Baba VaTata took to the wheel. At the back of my mind, I just told myself that there was nothing to lose.
When we arrived at the airport, there was quite a crowd of travellers and relatives or friends. Rasta who had once accompanied one of his cousins who went to Australia a few years ago led the way into the departure lounge. Here there were many people. Some people were sitting while others were standing in small groups.
- Ghetto dances: When love of money goes beyond bounds of sanctity
- Wynn targets medal winning swansong at Troutbeck
- International athletes troop in for Africa Triathlon Cup
- Ghetto dances: The long walk back home and I bumped into Rasta
Keep Reading
At the arrivals a plane had just arrived and there was a large contingent of Chinese visitors chattering excitedly among themselves.
We stood all by ourselves as my eyes took everything that was taking place. I was quite impressed by the designs at the airport.
A plane was scheduled to leave and a queue of travellers were passing through the checkpoint at the departure section. It all seemed normal to some people.
I suddenly realised that we were living in two different worlds. The haves and the have nots will always be there just as in medieval times. The young and old were all travelling.
And then I saw her. She was either European or American. She had a Gucci hand bag over her shoulder and a medium sized travelling bag. Although she looked confused, she exuded confidence. Our eyes suddenly met. She smiled at me and at the same time took a few steps towards where we were standing. All my friends were looking in the other direction where the contingent of Chinese visitors or tourists were standing. They actually needed a bus.
“Hi, my brother was supposed to wait for me and take me home,” She said. Her accent sounded middle Eastern European. She pronounced some of the consonants like “s” in a crisp way rather than softly and some of the sounds appeared to be swallowed in the mouth.
I was not sure she really wanted to talk to me. She wanted to hear the sound of her own voice after her long flight from wherever she was coming from.
At first I was confused she was talking to me. She was. And then a white guy appeared from nowhere and hugged her. It must be the brother, I was sure of it. And then they vanished out of the lounge, the brother wheeling the travelling bag. The white young woman only looked backwards at me once and melted my heart with her infectious smile.
It was just like a dream being rolled out on camera in real time.
“What is going on here?” Baba VaTata said. He had seen something. Fatso and Rasta had not noticed anything.
I rubbed my eyes. I always do that when I am in a state of disbelief.
“For once you were right,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing beats meeting different people from all over the world. It’s a good change than spend all our free time in the bar,” I said.
Baba VaTata shook his head. Maybe I was not making sense to him. After this, I was certain this was not my last trip to the airport. One day I will fly out just like many people who dream big.
Onie Ndoro
X@Onie90396982/[email protected]
