We drive ourselves to the airport. My husband, Brian, my son, Will, and me. We have to be there at 5:40am. Dad, mom and sister Patty will pick up the car later. Brief panic at check in. “Where is Will’s passport?” Slow down. It’s right here. My heart is pounding. Tomorrow we’ll be in Ethiopia. There is lack of clarity around where we will sleep when we get there. I’m trusting a blog about the ease of hotel arrangements. ‘..everything in English…follow the signs….’. We board our flight, seated together, and all try to go back to sleep. Will is successful. Five hours later we land in DC. A five hour layover. Again, Will sleeps, stretched out on sheets I sewed for such a purpose. Brian and I walk around inside the terminal. Circulation feels good. Our flight posts: 3 1/2 hours to go. We find our gate. The line has already formed so we join it. Our African experience has begun. Our fellow passengers speak unrecognizable languages but greet us in English. We are the only Caucasians. The line doesn’t seem to move. The ‘pace’ has ground to a screeching halt. It takes an hour to process the family in front of us. Others around us roll their eyes and smile but the only people who seem openly concerned are the 4 other Caucasians who have joined the line. It takes work to be this patient. An hour late. We’re off!
None of us are in our assigned seats as several parties, including us, negotiated to sit with family. Brian, Will and I are all now seated together. Will has drawn the attention of a two year old, Martha, cruising the aisles under her mom’s watchful eye. Will and Martha quickly have a repertoire of games – pointing to each other, ‘up’ (Will picks her up and sets her down), peek-a-boo (self-explanatory) and looking at each other from funny angles. Her mom smiles and looks relieved. Will is impressively interactive. Overnight. Snatches of sleep.
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