Chapter One: First Impressions - Part 1

It was three weeks before my departure date and I took every chance I could to spend as much time with family and friends. I also made sure I let all my enemies know where I was going, "To the United States of America -Land of the free and home of the brave. If I had known the chant at that juncture I would have run the streets naked chanting," USA! USA! USA!" It would have been just like in the1986 Olympics when USA defeated communist Russia. My parents were so proud of me. They considered putting a huge flag on top of the family vehicle with my big black face smiling, sporting a thumbs-up sign. I knew this was going to be embarrassing so I did the only reasonable thing, I burned the family vehicle.

Time slithered on until it viciously bit me on the back of my neck and before I realized it I was rushing to "Sir Seretse Khama Airport" in Gaborone, Botswana. An anxious sweat had made itself comfortable on my forehead. I stormed into the airport with my heavy luggage chasing me, breathing like a fugitive. I made haste to the airline counter to be greeted by the sound of an angry-faced man banging the keyboard of his computer with merciless savagery. He was angry often enough that his face spared him the trouble and developed stagnant wrinkles to convey his sour discourse. As a result, looking angry was his natural state. Strangely, I began to imagine him as the host of some obsolete children's afternoon TV show. A show that, in lieu of entertaining kids, gave them nightmares and caused them irreparable psychological damage.

"Hey monna [man]! The plane is about to go!" He bellowed in his mish-mash of Setswana and English.

"Hey relax man." I replied.

"Wa re relax? [You are telling me to relax?]

He snickered before proceeding to make me remove 90% of the possessions in my bag, 100 percent of which I had never seen. This was impossible! I had strategically packed for weeks. I had even used my patented "Ass Down, Sit down" space saving technique. No matter how full a suitcase is if you sit on in it like Buddha and let gravity take its course you can zip the 'unzippable'. I had used these advanced techniques to reduce my life into the contents of two 50 pound bags. I looked and the snickering man's scale and they weighed closer to 200 pounds each! What happened? This began to reek of the familiar odor of parental interference. This had my mother's handy work written all over it. She had obviously snuck in like a thief in the night and added things into my heavy laden suitcase making it into a behemoth of a bag. I zipped open the bag and began to remove items my mother had added to my bags that I "needed". Here is a list of my mother's "necessities":

1) 2 oversized mink Blankets total weight 8000 pounds.

2) Furry obsolete 40 year old mans sweater.

3) Enough Deodorant to last a full sized elephant 3 years (hint hint!)

4) Several pre 1890 shirts and pants which I have never worn, but for valid reasons.

5) Overtly feminine hair products and facial crème (hey but I'm keeping that!)

I sat in my airline seat deafened by the roar of the engines and pressed against the window like a stress ball. Flying Air France highlighted the reality that seats were ill-designed for people taller than about 3 foot 9 inches. It was as comfortable as riding a horse without a saddle for a few thousand miles - naked. The plane kicked into gear and I could see my little sister Maria's crocodile tears creating a puddle beneath her feet (NB: sibling positioning prevents me from ethically saying anything good about her). My father stood proud and tall with an inflated chest and my mother stared glassy-eyed, in disbelief that her only son was on his way to a distant, alien land. I looked back and I began to realize I would not see my family for a long time. (To be continued)