If this story was a television series, most would classify it as adventure or drama. For me, it is also a love story.
Since the start of the pandemic and with increasing intensity over the past 20 long months, I have waited for the day that our borders would open and I could board a plane to my mother.
As a mother, there really is no perfect time to leave a family of 7 (including our dog) for a month. As a daughter I knew I needed to mother my mother as soon as I possibly could, even before direct flights resumed and with ‘the 4th wave’ on the horizon.
So with freezer filled and kids’ university exams 75 percent completed, 17 November was the magical date. Actually, there were 3 important dates etched in my brain, my departure 17 November, my return 17 December and somewhere in between, a 9 December release of a revamped season of Sex and the City.
‘And Just like That’ today is 6 December and I am writing from within the confines of my hotel room, doing a government mandated 14 day quarantine.
I am still processing how I got here emotionally, so I will begin with how I got here physically.
17 November – Sydney – Singapore
18 November – Singapore – Johannesburg – Cape Town
27 November – Cape Town – Johannesburg
28 November – Johannesburg – Boston – Atlanta
29 November – 1 December – Atlanta – Los Angeles – Sydney
Four continents and many time zones later, I am back to ‘girt by sea’ but not quite home yet.
My journey to and from The Mother City is my A story. Like in any well written series however, there are B and C and back stories and a series of vignettes which complete the picture fully. Without any training in script writing and drawing on binge watching as my only experience with series, here are a few of my most memorable scenes.
Scenes from the Airport
CAPE TOWN INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT PARKING LOT- DAY
Twenty four hours after South Africa introduced the world to the Omicron variant
The phone rings, I answer immediately, breathlessly…
TRAVEL MAGICIAN (PHONE)
Hi, I need you to leave the car and head for Kenya Airways. The flight is boarding soon so you may be too late….
I grab my handbag and put on my mask and run towards international check in, leaving my friend with my luggage. I join a very long, unmoving queue.
Friend follows a few minutes later pushing my luggage on a trolley.
The phone rings for a second time, I answer after the second ring.
TRAVEL MAGICIAN
Abort this plan and head to domestic departures and fly to Johannesburg. From there we may have more options. I have booked you on flight X and when you get there I will let you know the next step.
That ends my amateur attempt at script writing but was just the beginning of my flying time of 43 hours. Full travelling time stretched to 3.5 days with a few Covid-19 tests en route. The entire journey was navigated by a miracle worker, travel magician who provided me with each next step as I needed it, was available to me 24/7 and facilitated me following blindly but diligently.
Scenes from the Plane
I became teary taking off on the first local leg as I pondered if my own flight (not fight) response was as knee jerk a one as that of the international world with their border closures. Within moments however, an unfamiliar calm came over me and I felt secure in the knowledge that I would go to where I was most needed. If I was meant to return I would make the international flight and if not then I was meant to stay. That feeling stayed with me and gave me the confidence and strength to continue on my way.
The irony of leaving on Delta to escape Omicron as the last flight out (by 8 minutes), was not entirely lost on me. Nor was the whispered message from the only non-brash flight attendant on that leg. She heard my tale and told me to have faith and reminded me, unprompted, that I would be where I was meant to be.
Scenes from Special Health Accommodation
Not too many scenes here unless you count my view from the ambulance as they transported me here, whisked away as quickly as I arrived at border control or the view from my room on the 10th floor. I have frequent visits from faceless nurses hidden in their personal protective equipment (PPE) and quite a few calls from the nursing team and the diet and well-being team and the discharge team to name just a few. I still have some time here so might elaborate further if I become inspired.
Today without trying to sound overly dramatic (but sounding dramatic nevertheless), I feel like a band aid that was put on to heal me, was roughly ripped off without any warning. The trauma and shock of the experience are only softened slightly by my jet lagged induced brain fog. Pictures of my brief holiday captured on the camera roll of my phone, still feel too painful to look at but will be cherished in time.
I remind myself of the love story.
Love for a mother that made me brave enough to reach her;
Love of a friend who flew from another city to spend time with me;
Love for family that I could share brief moments with;
Love for people who are not related by blood but continue to be there; and
Love for a place nestled between the mountains and sea.
And so, just like that, if you flash forward to 9 December I will be donning one of my little black dresses that I had packed for a South African summer, slipping into heels, perhaps sipping on a glass of red wine (a Cosmopolitan would be too much effort to source in here) and sitting alone while I welcome back a few of my old friends. Not exactly how I’d imagined it would play out but when it feels too sore to think about I will draw on the feeling of holding and being held by my mother and that will sustain me.
In My Head 