We just returned from a great visit to the States. Some notes from the transit back to Pretoria:
At 33,000 feet above the Kalahari Desert, you can see the curvature of the earth. The desert runs forever beneath cotton clouds before blurring into the cloudy horizon and blue sky with the slight arc.
The blond, pudgy boy on the plane was built like a tank and waited until his mother went to the bathroom and then wrapped his red inflatable neck pillow over the top of his head so that it framed his pudgy, freckled face and then he abruptly appeared above the back of his seat and started swaying back and forth to his own song and dance. He looked like a fat, happy, red sunflower swaying in the breeze and every person who was awake behind him started laughing which delighted him into more dramatic dance moves until he saw ma returning and then he quickly disappeared behind the seat.
The westernmost tip of the African continent is Dakar, Senegal which at 4 a.m. is gently, sparsely lit and the peninsula stretches into the dark, featureless Atlantic Ocean like a constellation in the sky. I momentarily felt like I was on the ground looking up instead of watching the land grow more distinct. The pale line of beaches emerged in the cloudy night. The plane dropped low over dark adobe houses before touching down and the plane doors opened to admit careful security guards and the loose, humid, coastal air that smelled of diesel and the ocean.
Stunningly sharp-dressed African men boarded the plane late in Atlanta and remained in their grey suits, peach shirts and metallic ties for the entire 24-hour trip. Somehow they still looked good in Johannesburg. We resembled albino racoons.
On the way to the house in Pretoria, the setting sun seemed massive, bigger than I remembered and the almost-full moon faced the sun, both sitting low on their horizons. Geese flew out of cornfields toward the moon.
We got the dog out of hock at the kennel. He remembered us.
