Epilogue

So getting home has been challenging to say the least.

Flying out of Dar gave me mixed emotions. It was a dreary day. We went to a Japanese restaurant with the office (only the ex-pats since it was Eid, the end of Ramadan, which is a holiday in Tanzania). I got some really fabulous gifts: a woodcarving that says "Karibu" (welcome) from Mwenge market, close to where I first lived in Dar; a festively colorful wrap, after borrowing one from my roommate all summer; and a Sun King Pro, the solar lantern that I tested and worked into our business plan this summer.

As we lifted off at dusk, it took me some time to get oriented to the city from the air. First I identified the major arterial streets. From there, I spotted the lush marsh/field right next to my house and the general location of the office. We kept moving northeast, allowing me to trace my way up the peninsula. But then, the clouds suddenly obstructed my view. I wanted just another glimpse. The Hash was happening as I flew overhead. I wanted to put myself in their shoes with a visual reference. But it was gone. My desperation and anxiety surprised me. Being preoccupied with holding onto the images of Tanzania seemed silly. Moments later a feeling of awe and amazement displaced this feeling of confusion when we broke free of the clouds. The tops of the clouds were majestic and powerful with the setting sun. I thought about how my parents have seen these sights so frequently from the cockpit. And also how often I've had the luxury of flying. And how so many people have never witnessed this beauty, not just those we were serving in rural low-income areas, but even my colleagues and acquaintances in Dar.

I was in a trance, so deep that I didn't realize that the air vent over my row (I had it to myself) was open in a way that made a deafening sound. The woman in the row behind me got up to shut it, and the absolute quiet shocked me.

Fast forward to Dubai. I didn't get on the standby flight, and my hopes were dwindling that I'd be able to make it home in the next week. Luckily my mom's friend (former Northwest, current Emirates pilot) lives there and generously offered me lodging. His place is on the 24th floor of a building just south of The Palm Jumeira. This is one of the most iconic images of Dubai: a completely fabricated community in the Persian Gulf from the ground to the tip of the Atlantis turrets. Such a contrast to Dar.

The accommodations were lovely. Chris jetted off to Melbourne in the morning, so I had the place to myself. The next morning I dreaded standby roulette, exhausted by the uncertainty and not feeling the thrills of getting a sweet deal. I quit. I bought a ticket from Dubai that would leave the next afternoon, laying over in Zurich for the night and then connecting in New York. Sigh. Relief. I'm coming home for real.

I don't really know how I spent my day. Other than wandering to the beach and changing some money, I didn't do much. I wanted to put this feeling of carefree lounging in a bottle, to be remembered during the upcoming stressful school year.

Knowing that I was departing on my birthday, I went to the beach in the morning, taking the bare necessities so that I could comfortably take a dip in the gulf. The water is almost uncomfortable warm, but it was nice to float around for a bit. The heat and the sun make the beach uncomfortable after an hour's time, so I packed up my stuff to head back to pack up and get out of town. I spotted a man and a couple camels. Birthday camel ride?? Yes please. I wondered how much it would cost. "50 AED" he told me (about $20). It was exactly the amount that I had carried with me. Seemed like the right thing to do. I don't think that he believed that it was my birthday, but I negotiated a bit of a longer trip so that he could drop me at the path back to the apartment. Success.

Flight to Zurich was fine. Night in Zurich was fine. Now comes the part where everything unravels.

I get seriously questioned at the airport about where I've been. I understand. My travels are complicated. I can't really explain them myself. Not a good start to the morning. Random check in security. Then flagged at the gate to get my bags searched. Nothing can disturb me. I'm going to be home in time for Fuqua Friday. I have a direct ride from the airport with Allison. I can. not. wait. to see her and the rest of my pals.

On board. Pushed back. Engine down! Not starting up. They are oversharing, and I can tell that we are not going to leave today. They say that they can get the part from London within the window of flight time for the crew. No way. They take us back to the gate. They take us off the plane. Then they tell us we won't be leaving until tomorrow at 8:30 AM. I'm initially one of the first in the line, but I get annoyed by the folks cutting us off. I sit. I blog. Thanks for giving me an outlet.

They'll put us up for the night. I figure that being one of the last to be helped, if I approach the agents calmly and respectfully, they will end this chaotic rebooking on a positive note. I also strategically think that they probably make the cheapest arrangements initially, and I might end up with a sweet deal. If I get the dregs, that's OK, too. Because I'm embracing these moments of carefree lounging. I'm recreating those views on my launch out of Dar and onto my next chapter. I'm savoring the moments. I just hope they feed me because I'm a broke-ass grad student.