You guys’, Heathrow airport is huge like this.
It is oba the size of Soroti city?
You haven’t been to Soroti city? What’s your excuse? I will wait.
If you have friends from Soroti and you’ve not visited their
home…
You know where I’m going with that, in fact, let me go
there. My absence shouldn’t be an excuse for you not to visit my home, to check
on my people. In fact, you my Ugandan friend should make the trip to Serere - check
on my zeyi’s give me updates.
Whoosh!!! I went deep there and no, I’m not joking.
Okay back to the size of Heathrow airport. The surface area
is like a combination of Soroti flying school, Soroti airport, Soroti sports field,
Soroti rock, Soroti Nurses’ quarters…you know?! As in if you clear everything; buildings,
trees, petrol stations… then add Soroti market, yup! Large area like this.
Era at Heathrow airport, if your flight is at gate No. 62, get
ready. You’ll take the elevator, get to the underground terminal, then you’ll
take a train (okay it’s a cart but as if a train), you’ll take another elevator
and then scan the boards for directions. If you are bad with math, I don’t know
how to help you. Those days when you fumed at Mr. Kasisiri as he taught increasing
and decreasing numbers and then grumbled how you didn’t see math’s relevance in
your big life, well…the kuku comes home to roost.
There are several departure gate sections; - A, B, C, D –
each a cluster of an even larger section of gates - you had better know your destination.
If you are running late, may the powers be with you otherwise you may start
humming “Oh I wish I had wings like an angel, like an angel that ever did fly.”
Mr. Isabirye taught us this song in P4. “I would fly to the hands of my darling…”
Yo, yo!! Didn’t the class experience bu little tornadoes that twirled around
each desk?! Big words like “darling” were unmentionable. In fact, some pupils didn’t
recover.
Mr. Isabirye looked stunned, he wondered what the excitement was all
about. Some sober students (usually the goody two shoes at the front) explained
to him how “darling” was in the category of bad words. He was undeterred. He
had to finish the song “for I’m tired of living alone.” Disorganization just. So,
we learned the song but in place of darling we said “mm mm”.
But I’m still telling you about Heathrow.
I got intricately familiar with Heathrow airport one fine
day on a layover to Glasgow. In the end I was done. Enough! Even me I said,
this whole idea of seeking new experiences? Simanyi adventure, simanyi
exploration…I don’t want. Just tell me the gate number well in advance nga I
know where to go and sit. I will read a book, listen to music, watch family travel
vibes, couple coordinates, lone travelers, people with infants ... byona. Just situate
me in one place. But no, Heathrow airport would not have it.
First, one has to gulp down or pour away drinks in containers
larger than the recommended size for carry-on luggage. Era for those of you who
carry Uganda Wa, oba Scotch, oba Johnnie Walker - those ones - in your hand
luggage just know it’s going in the bin oba you’ll stand there and set your
throat on fire. Mpozi nga you have the mini bottles - there you’re sawa. Place contents
in see-through zip lock bag (kaveera) nga the machine scans and everybody knows
that this one is not a teetotaler.
Empathy guys, it’s all empathy, you know I don’t drink this
stuff. But yeah, the liquids have to go at the security check point before you
enter the terminals - that’s if you have a connecting flight.
The waiting area is like a sophisticated market; screens,
escalators, duty free shops, coffee shops, restaurants, mini bars… every
possible bright electronic color screams - see me. But that’s not the worst of
it. Travelers pack like sardines in the foyer - at least ko sardines are
stationary - travelers are wiggly, they pace, they are pensive, others are strewn
in chairs like exhausted marathoners. Meanwhile Maaso ku lutimbe as they wait
for their gate numbers to flash on one of the digital screens suspended in the
air.
I think some humans go through the airport with the sole or
soul purpose of finding their people. It’s in the eyes. Guys be looking
around like, “Are you the one?”, “Maybe?”, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”.
I learned not to make eye contact. Don’t idly look around. The questions change
to “Yes?”, “I mean, you know?”, “Why not?”, “Let’s talk about this”.
At this point, I lengthen the handle of my carryon case and
roll to another location. 😂😂😂😂
Back to gate numbers. This is where my problems begun. I was
accustomed to having all details on my boarding pass: Flight Number, airline,
time of departure, gate number - awo I knew the plan. Mama! My flight through
Heathrow airport? Perhaps doing things cheap-cheap was half the problem, nanti
they say you get what you pay for but yo! One never knows the gate until like
an hour before boarding time. Then there’s a mad dash - like a real rat race - era
just watch the movie Rat Race to familiarize yourself with the concept. People
trip, jog, knock others as they attempt to get to their gate on time.
What is this game Heathrow airport, really? Making grown
humans run around like…
This is how things unraveled. My first flight was delayed,
as a result I missed my connection – domino effect. The smart and delightful British
airways staff rescheduled my booking but, you guessed it - no gate number. So,
I was hovering, not sure whether I should stay nearby or go to the middle just
to have a vantage point - nanti maalo. Era maalo may be my undoing in this
life. 🤦🏾♀️
Let’s first have a moment of silence right there.
Then I over relaxed – nanti 4 hours - lost in thought and fascinated
by technology. I didn’t get to the gate in time. I huffed, panicked paka my
heart was like oba I just come out and beat double-double on the outside. Eh!
It was too loud.
I explained to the flight attendant on ground. “I’m going
to… the gate number… I missed the connection.” The lady listened, nodded her
head like yeah, what’s new?
I was placed on another flight, given a new boarding pass
and yeah! Life continued. I calmed down but I also gave myself a pep talk -
that kind of stress is unnecessary. What was I going to do? Did life stop? Free
stress just to move from one place to another. Ah! Airports.
That’s how I toured Heathrow airport looking for my gate; up
the escalator, down the escalator, through the terminal, onto the train, out of
the train, up another escalator. Nkugambye!!
Naye on my return I real confirmed Heathrow airport is about
as large as my beloved Soroti city. This time I got the gate right - I can also
be a ninja please 😎. But there was a twist.
Where usually, you show your boarding pass and get ushered onto the plane, this
time we went through the doors and were told we’d get onto buses waiting on the
ground. The bus would drive us to the plane. I was like sawa, just a quick ride
to the plane.
Gundi, we went, as if on the main road (but this was on
airport grounds), through more terminals, round a bend and another - like we’d
gone into a new district. I was like ka le we are being driven to America. You
may say, but Mary how? Nange simanyi. I was not the only one thinking things.
The young lady at the front of the bus turned to her
neighbor and asked in an East European accent: We are taking a flight to Baltimore,
right?
Her neighbor nodded and smiled.
I laughed.
I had company. Ka le Heathrow!
Anyways we weaved around several stationary British Airways
planes. Each time we thought we’d found our plane the bus driver drove on. We
gave up and just waited for him to stop. Then it was off the bus on to the
plane. Naye Heathrow!
Just to say I hahad.
New experiences can be fun but also unnerving when things
are out of your control, in unfamiliar territory. It builds faith and trust
muscles. But as you can see my Ugandan village genes are still strong.
The ultimate expression of trust is boarding the plane,
storing away your hand luggage, buckling your seatbelt and believing that this
monstrous machine is going to somehow balance in the air, and you will land in
the city of your destination.
The irony of it all.
