2 - Getting Here

16 Apr 2010

Well it’s been an amazing journey, as usual. We left my parents’ house in New Jersey on Wednesday at 5:30 am and got on a short flight from Newark to Atlanta. Every time I leave my parents it gets harder. Of course, I’m always excited to go wherever we’re going, especially when it’s Zimbabwe, but it is very hard to think that I won’t be seeing my family for another little while, and it’s always harder when I’ve spent more than just a few days with them, as I had this time. This feeling generally fades the further I get from home and mellows from sadness into a more endurable missing-ness.

We arrived in Atlanta around 11 am and had quite a while to wait before our 7:45 pm direct flight to Johannesburg, so we performed the ritual we usually do on the day we’re leaving the country. We called all our family and friends and chatted and whiled the time away while catching up and letting everyone know our plans (there are generally less people in my family who actually know of any plans of ours than who don’t, and this usually helps them avoid any big surprises later on). We rechecked our bags after a few hours and again underwent the security check to get into the terminals. We found a nice seat by the windows, and in close proximity to the gate counter so we could hear when (and if) our names were called to get on the plane.

It’s become fairly easy for me to pick out which passengers waiting in the gate area are flying stand-by. They all generally congregate near the gate counter, and busy themselves reading or playing sudoku or something to keep their minds from being too worried about whether or not they’re actually going to get on their desired flight. As the time draws nearer, the papers and games are set aside and a look of dread and agitation appears on many of their faces. I know this look because I can often feel it on my own face while I am waiting to hear those words of fate spoken by the gate agent: “Paddock, Jennette.” I can also usually imagine that I feel small ulcers forming, and I do my best not to run to the counter and beg for mercy. Many people in the world think it’s so wonderful to be able to fly stand-by. The ability is no doubt wonderful, and in fact my life would probably be a great deal less eventful and exciting if it weren’t for my having this privilege. The actual experience, however, often leaves me wondering if it really is worth all the suffering and stress. When I don’t get on the plane, the answer to that wondering is usually no. But when I do get on, my thrill usually serves to dissipate every trace of trepidation and leave me feeling elated and kindly disposed towards all mankind.

We spent our waiting hours chatting with some brand-new missionaries and eating what was left of our Easter candy. I got up to take a walk and look at all the displays of illegal contraband that had been confiscated by the airport in order to take my mind away from the upcoming ordeal. The 12-foot rock python skin was especially impressive to me, and it was nearly an hour before I returned. When I did I found David in conversation with a middle-aged man with a kind face and moderately heavy southern accent, who actually turned out to be Johnny, the hunting client we were to be sharing the road to Zimbabwe with. We chatted with him for a while, and then it was nearly time to begin boarding.

However, the boarding did not begin at the usual half-hour before takeoff mark, as the plane had not made its way over from the hangar yet. Well, it took another hour and a half for the plane to be found and brought to the correct gate, and then it was go-time. David and I sat anxiously by the counter listening to the dread words that came from the agent’s lips: “Folks, we have a full flight here today and I’ll do my best to clear what standbys I can, but we need to make sure we don’t go over our weight limit.” David and I began to be prematurely crushed, and we sat silently waiting for the boarding of paying passengers to be complete. We decided that if I got a seat and David did not that I would go anyway and he would make it when he could. This was almost worse than not going at all in my mind, but I resigned myself to it. My name was called and the usual sense of elation was tempered with the knowledge that my David might not make it on the flight with me. However, it was given a little boost when I boarded the plane and found that my seat was in the business elite class, which had vastly improved since my last experience with it. I got to work right away figuring out how to make my seat lay all the way flat into a bed. However, I was not so carried away with my wonderful seat that I did not notice, with great relief, that David had also boarded the plane. He said only that he was in coach, but did not tell me which seat number, which excused me from going back there to find him during the flight.

The ride from Atlanta to Johannesburg was somewhere in the vicinity of 15 hours long, and would normally have seemed like an eternity. However, after I was served my 4-course dinner, I had but to lay my seat down, curl up in my nice warm blanket on my down pillow, and fall fast asleep. The next thing I knew the flight attendant was asking me if I’d like lunch. I sat up and there were only 2 hours remaining in the flight. Amazing. Apparently poor David was stuck in the middle of a zealously religious man going to Africa to save peoples’ souls, and a completely drunk philanderer. Needless to say this made for interesting conversation for David, but relatively little sleep. Hopefully we both get business elite class on the way home. And who knows, maybe by then there will be even more innovative improvements in comfort and luxury?

We landed in Joburg, retrieved our checked luggage and reattached ourselves to our hunting client. We walked out of the sliding doors and into the waiting arms of Tokkie.