From Hungover to Hopeful

The assault on her olfactory sense was almost too much for Brianna to bear. Odorless disinfectant, my ass, she thought as she walked to her seat in the very last row at the back of the plane. Great, I’m right next door to the lavatory too. The flight was full to capacity so asking to change seats would have been a waste of the reserve energy she was functioning on. Had it not been for Kayla waking her up, Brianna would certainly not have made it to the airport on time.

“Excuse me,” Brianna motioned towards the flight attendant while trying to read her name badge through the extra dark glasses she’d grabbed off the dresser. “Could I get a Bloody Mary, please. Or a beer? It doesn’t matter. Whatever’s at closest reach.”

“Drinks service will open when the flight is at cruising altitude, Ma’am. The Captain Smith is waiting for permission from Air Traffic Control to take off.”

Seriously! We’re still on the ground? I feel like I’m flying!

Brianna studied a few of her fellow passengers, trying to peg where they might be from through their accents. There were some West Africans, Brittons, a few South Africans like herself, but many of the passengers, mostly elderly, hailed from a country that spoke what sounded like a Cyrillic language. The woman next to her sat slightly hunched over, a scarf covering her silver-grey hair. Her skin was fair.

Brianna extended her hand to the old lady, “Hello, I’m Brianna. What’s your name? Where are you from?”

Shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head, the old woman replied, “No understand,” as she fussed with the clasp of her seat belt.

The intercom buzzed. “Cabin crew, please prepare for take-off.”

At last!

Brianna never did get her hair of the dog. She was jolted awake as packed flight turned in preparation for landing, allowing Brianna a glimpse of Victoria Falls. The dream that had hatched in her heart at the impressionable age of ten was finally coming true thirty years later. She stifled a sob in her throat, but a pool of tears ran down her cheeks in silent stealth. Rummaging through her bag she found everything except a tissue. Even though her neighbor didn’t understand English, she smiled gently, handing Brianna a serviette, gesturing to her to dry her eyes. Brianna mouthed ‘thank-you’ to the old lady, who then promptly handed her a pen, the mandatory immigration form and her Polish passport. So that’s where you’re from, Brianna smiled, as she completed the document for Ewa Dabrowski.

The intercom buzzed a final time. “Cabin crew, please prepare for landing. Ladies and gentlemen, the temperature in Livingstone, Zambia, is thirty-one degrees Celsius. On behalf of myself, Captain Matthew Smith, my co-pilot Henry Jones, and the rest of our crew, we thank you for travelling with British Airways.”

Even though Brianna hailed from the African Continent, she was not prepared for the wave of heat that punched her squarely in the chest when she exited the plane on the tarmac, which smelled like a mixture of petrol and peat. Man, it’s hot. Ugh, I am sticky. And I’m sure I stink. I can’t wait to get to the lodge just to freshen up and change my clothes.

As she walked toward the arrivals terminal of Harry Mwanga Nkumbula International Airport, she noticed a few men wearing tattered yellow reflector bibs offloading passenger suitcases onto modified wheelbarrows and pushing them inside the building.

“Next please,” shouted the large Customs official. “Welcome to Zambia. What is the purpose of your visit?” She asked Brianna while studying her versus her passport photo.

Brianna’s mouth felt like the Sahara, yet the rest of her body was covered in an invisible film of perspiration.

“Transit to Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe side. Holidaying there for four days.” Brianna said.

The official stamped her passport, hollering for the next person to come forward.

After an arduous bus journey with many other passengers, Brianna finally arrived at a recently opened five-star lodge, her home for the next few days. She was met by various members of the staff, one with a hot towel in hand, the other with a welcome cocktail. Check-in formalities completed, she headed off to her luxury tented chalet on the banks of the mighty Zambezi River. She was awestruck, overwhelmed by a myriad of emotions.

How I wish I’d been able to cruise the Med with Alexander like he promised. How I wish she’d never entered his life, stealing him away and sending me into a downward spiral. In that moment Brianna heard her mother’s voice filling her mind. “If wishes were horses, my girl, beggars would ride.” At least I got to use the money I’d saved for that trip on something I’ve always wanted to do. I’m happy to be here, but I wish I wasn’t here alone.

A soft tap on the frosted double-glazed glass door interrupted Brianna’s reverie. “Hello Ma’am, I’m Malachi, the duty manager.” His white-toothed grin sparkled against his chocolate complexion. “The transport to your excursion this evening will be leaving in fifteen minutes. I understand that dinner will be served on the train, so we will not cater for you this evening.”

Brianna looked at her tired reflection in the mirror, regretting that fourth bottle of wine she’d shared with Kayla and Caryn. She sighed, meeting the friendly young man at the door, “Hello Malachi, I hope there isn’t a dress code tonight, because I don’t have time to change,” she said as she looked down at her creased shorts, “and please, call me Brianna.”

The jovial driver, Mosi, regaled Brianna with tales of his life growing up in the small village of Victoria Falls. He parked the van underneath a large tree, heavily burdened with its crop of green mangoes. “You know Miss. Brianna, when these mangoes are ready, the elephants come and eat them all off. They strip the tree.”

Brianna still wanted to reply, but Mosi told her he would be back around half past eight to pick her up. “You just go up those little stairs over there onto the platform,” he said, pointing in a general direction. “The Bush Tracks Express will arrive just now.”

As Brianna climbed out of the white van, she was grateful that the heat had abated a bit. She walked in the direction Mosi had shown, finding a break in the palisade fencing with five slightly rotting wooden steps, which she climbed with no hesitation whatsoever.

Brianna was pleasantly surprised at the state of the station. The building was in a sound structural condition, although admittedly the faded lemon-yellow walls could have done with a lick of new paint. Lush, tropical green plants, brightened up the slate grey platform, which unlike some in South Africa, were free of holes and seedy, criminal-looking types.

Despite Zimbabwe’s reputation for being a country plundered by incompetent, greedy leadership, Victoria Falls’ residents really paid mind to just how important tourism was to their long-term sustainability.

Walking back down the platform again, toward the entrance, Brianna saw a busker who hadn’t been there when she’d arrived. Clad in worker’s boots, jeans, a white t-shirt, plastic-framed sunglasses and a cap, the grey-bearded man entertained the few onlookers with bluesy tunes on his saxophone. He was playing for the love of the music, and the appreciation of his ‘fans’. There was no expectation in his eyes or demeanor that he expected a tip for playing his music; in fact, he didn’t even have a hat or open sax case at his feet to catch loose change or the odd banknote.

When he began playing her dad’s favorite Satchmo song, What a Wonderful World, Brianna felt a pang of mixed emotions, because in that moment she not only missed her parents, but Alexander too, even though she knew she’d never see him again. She also felt something she’d not felt in a long, long time: hope… for herself, her journey to healing, for those around her, hope for a wonderful world.