Clouds and Fog

For most of my life I've believed that there were few views better than that you could get from the window seat of an airplane. You can see all the little human beings building their roads and houses and shopping malls, rather like ants raising an anthill. You can see beautiful patterns of farmland and rivers and mountains.

But after being delayed an hour, Delta flight 1777 (with myself onboard) took off from Bluegrass Airport in Lexington, Kentucky, at 2:45 p.m. on May 19, 2013, (my 20th birthday) and as I stared out of the window from my window seat, I watched my magnificent view disappear. It was stolen by clouds.

And that was that. About 20 minutes after takeoff, I didn’t see the ground again until I landed in Atlanta. And the flight from Atlanta to Amsterdam was the very same. Eight hours flying across the Atlantic and I never once caught a glimpse of it. Even once we’d landed in the Netherlands, the fog was so thick that I could barely tell we weren't still flying. I had one relaxing hour in the airport, and then we were off again, this time for my final destination: Cape Town.

I really just wanted to be there already. I’d been waiting ten years to return to Africa, the land of my birth, and I was finally on my way, just a few hours left. Make that 11 hours strapped into a toddler’s high chair that had been mistaken for an airplane seat. At least I got a good view of the continent from north to south, right? Wrong! Clouds foiled my view again! For all I could tell, the plane had turned round and was dropping me off back in Kentucky! I had absolutely no evidence that I was anywhere near Africa, let alone the southern tip.

But this fog (that was apparently covering the entire globe) was also in my head. See, for months prior to my departure, my mind had been slowly unraveling itself into a shambles, a plate of spaghetti. I was bogged down by many anxieties of little importance, as well as some serious questions of identity and belonging. Not only that, but my body was in a poor state as well. I hadn't been taking care of myself, my life was unorganized and undisciplined, and it was catching up with me. In all, I was a pretty lost, and had been for a while. I hoped that this Cape Town trip would answer some questions, give me some direction and rid me of the fog in my head.

After 11 more delirious hours at incredible altitude, the plane dipped and began to circle around Cape Town to find the correct landing trajectory, or so the pilots announced. I still wasn't convinced we hadn't just flown over Tennessee and Georgia. But during the little loop around, I was given my first bit of evidence that I really was headed to Cape Town: for a few short seconds I saw the brilliant midnight lights outlining the bay. It was a view of unrivaled beauty. And then it was gone, obscured by clouds and fog. Surprise, surprise. But my two-second glimpse of the city had given me hope. Maybe it really was Cape Town.

Once we were finally off the plane, I got my second piece of evidence: a large poster welcoming me to Cape Town. My hopes rose, but still some doubt lingered. Anybody can put up a poster. Who knows to what lengths America will have gone to prevent me from leaving! The customs agent said, “Welcome to Cape Town, sir,” but perhaps he was a hired actor! You never know these days!

After customs, I stumbled, half-witted, into the public bathroom to freshen up and collect myself. Mind you, I had been on airplanes for 22 sleepless hours. My hair was greasy (fixed it with a hat), my clothes were baggy (changed pants) and I smelled stagnant (applied some deodorant). Then it was off to collect my suitcase. After some time, it rounded the bend at baggage claim and I collected it and began to head towards the exit. I was still unsure what to expect once I stepped out into Cape Town, if this indeed was Cape Town.

Then I was ambushed! A woman stepped out of the crowd and accosted me! ...with a hug. She wasn't some government thug come to drag me back to Kentucky. She was Mrs. Wendy Hudson. Our families had been friends since the early 1990s when we all lived in Maun, Botswana. I was four years old last she saw me, and she was here at the airport to pick me up all these years later. She was the last bit of evidence I needed. I was definitely in Africa, definitely in Cape Town.

She drove me back to her home, where she and her children have been so kind enough to let me stay until I move into my internship housing in Observatory. On the way, she gave me something of an informal tour of the place, pointing into the dark fogginess and saying things like, “You can’t see anything over there now, but there’s a mountain back there, I promise.” But I really did learn quite a bit in just the short drive. All the while she was driving on the left side of the road, which I had to keep reminding myself was the proper way in South Africa.

After Mrs. Hudson fixed me a cup of real South African Rooibos tea and a slice of coconut cake (which I couldn't refuse – it was coconut, after all), I went to bed and got some much-needed sleep.

Truth be told, I slept for 13 hours, but I don’t feel too bad about it. The trip had been long and tiring. You try sitting in a puny chair, sleepless, for 22 hours, traveling across no fewer than six time zones. It takes it out of you. So once I finally woke up, it was midday and everyone was about their business.

Once I’d showered and eaten, I stepped outside and right into a couple of realizations. For one, I saw that the fog around the mountains was gone, and the peaks truly were there. Equally as important, the fog in my head had disappeared as well. I wasn't anxious. My thoughts weren't running away from me - no more spaghetti. I reckon it was likely eaten by the Hudsons’ enormous Rhodesian Ridgebacks.

A day later, I’m where I want to be with people I want to be with, and the fog in my head is still gone, even if the fog outside has returned. I’m well on my way to achieving my African transformation into a healthy human being. Perhaps I can figure out a bit more about where I'm from and where I'm going while I'm at it.