Sometime In May

Far From Home

CHAPTER 1

Can I do this? Can I really leave? It was too late for her to contemplate or ask about that now. A typhoon of insurgent worry and doubt stormed inside her head as she took a deep breath. It is the first of May 1999. The sun stained every surface with heat and saturated the atmosphere accordingly as vehicles toured around the city toward their various destinations. The airport was a five-story cocoon of reinforced concrete with windows that permitted so many streaks of light. It was illuminating as any summery day in Cairo. Speakers in the terminal crackled with announcements as indistinct voices broke through the early morning chatter. Above, airplanes leisurely and simultaneously soared through the sky, leaving behind twin white trails.

"Due to heightened security measures, please keep your possessions and belongings with you, or unaccompanied luggage would be tagged, labelled, and confiscated." The instructor announced over the PA. As she approached the reception, her sea-green eyes examined the environment as she pushed the uneasiness within her. She dusted loose threads from her jade leaf-patterned shirt and scratched her cheeks where a small freckled spot of mahogany dots covered her caramel-coloured skin. By the counter, the tiles projected the reflection of her comely figure and round face; which was made up of widespread eyebrows, delicate sea-nymph ears framed by a button nose, and oxbow lips.

"Good morning, I would like a one-way ticket on the next flight to Casablanca, please." She heaved as she spoke in Egyptian-Moroccan Arabic. The passenger representative swiftly consulted her computer and clicked her tongue.

"I'm sorry, but we have cancelled all flights to Morocco today because of the bad weather forecast."

Her eyes narrowed. Mouth downturned. A streak of heat spread within her chest, growing into every inch of hope she possessed.

"What do you mean, cancelled? The weather report claimed everything was okay," She complained.

"For the safety of the passengers, those flights were postponed, but we can make an alternative plan for you tomorrow," the representative explained, calmly.

The arrival and departure schedule board showed that flights to anywhere else were unavailable except Lagos, Nigeria. Time was running out because the police were searching and coming. At this rate, it doesn't matter where she would end up. What mattered at the moment was to leave immediately. It was better to tolerate a diversion than risk the chances of freedom than get caught; after all, the greatest risk is not taking one. Maybe this was going to be good. Maybe it was going to be great, she thought. Perhaps start afresh. Leave those inimical deeds behind, start anew. Make amendments. Rewrite history. Create something new. She shifted from one foot to another. In the warm fog of her thoughts, she made her decision.

"What about the flight to Lagos?" She asked desperately.

"That will be Flight four-o-nine. We have one seat left." Explained the airline representative in a mellow tone.

"What time does the plane leave?" She asked again, patiently, a little helplessly.

"In sixteen minutes. You only have time to board."

"Okay." She nodded indulgently. "I'll take a last-minute ticket for Lagos."

"Passport please," an airline staff inquired, who looked as if she had materialised straight out of a soft-focus ad from a magazine.