COMING FOR AMERICA
THE TURBULENCE
Andayi Mushenye
FIRST CHAPTER 1
Touchdown USA: The Unforgettable Arrival
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The movements of flight attendants in the aisles collecting trash and shutting the overhead compartments woke me. I moved about haphazardly, as if freeing myself from a dream, and wiped the remaining sleep from my eyes. That is when I noticed that the crew had distributed landing cards during the flight, and I quickly filled mine out.
Unbeknownst to me, my seat light was blinking. One of the attendants came by to make sure the belt was secure. She pushed her hair back from her face, snapped my food tray into place, and positioned my seat upright. When the other stewards finished inspecting the aisles and checking all the seats, a cheerful voice came over the intercom.
“This is your pilot speaking. We have been cleared to land and are about to descend into Detroit Metropolitan Airport. Please buckle up; we are beginning our final approach.”
When I heard the pilot’s announcement, thrilled blood cruised in my veins—a feeling of excitement. In less than a minute, exhilaration flowed like warm water during freezing temperatures. The thought of finally landing in America caused an endless joy to sparkle on my eager face. I was about to make it in life from the best place I dreamt of and plotted for a month of Sundays.
The moment I felt the wheels of the Boeing touch the runway, the seams of my skin threatened to burst from the uncontainable restlessness. The plane roared along the track, then slowed down and started to coast to my final stop without a hurry. It was hard to suppress the howl of victory threatening to crack out of my chest. The journey that had looked to be impossible was finally ending.
Not so fast; the plane seemed to be moving at a snail’s pace toward its parking zone. Throughout the flight, I had exceeded the quota of my composure, and now I was a basket case of anxiety. It was evident that Airbus, Boeing, or Bombardier had not manufactured a supersonic jetliner designed to get me to my final stop in America in the quickest way possible. If there had been a way to get out and push the jumbo jet to arrive at my destination faster, I would not have wasted a nanosecond.
Before I had much time to weigh this thought, I heard the aircraft slowly but surely come to its final stop. It was the actual authentication—I had, without question, landed in the greatest country in the world, the motherland of all freedoms. This last part of the flight was the second-most-thrilling point since taking off from Nairobi, Kenya. Feeling more electrified than I had ever thought possible, I had only one thought running through my mind; if you don’t spread your wings, you cannot discover how far you can fly.
Without wasting time, I was up and out of my seat quicker than everybody else, ready to get off the plane and step onto American soil. A voice came over the plane’s intercom.
“Thanks for flying with British Airways.”
“You are welcome!” I hollered boisterously and gave the pilot two thumbs up to see me from his just-opened cabin.
Several passengers turned to look in my direction with their eyebrows raised in question. However, I was an impatient young man feeling the onrush and vividness of a brand-new life. When I got up, high spirits had painted my new razzle-dazzle world with beautiful roses. Nevertheless, I couldn’t get off the jumbo right away. Fellow passengers had already pulled their carry-on luggage from the overhead compartments and had blocked the aisle.
I was unable to wait any longer, impatience combusting inside me. With each passing second, the blood in my veins grew hotter, but I could not move any farther. Exasperated by the holdup, I leaned on the headrest in front of me, looking like a restless baby standing and impatiently holding on to the crib railing, ready to climb out, take the first step, and explore the new world forever and ever.
My restlessness would not let me play the waiting game. Since I had no carry-on bag, I forced my way out toward the exit. In a matter of seconds, I was the first one at the exit door, waiting for the plane crew to come and show me where the Nairobi airport loading crew had put my suitcase in the belly of the airplane. It had not occurred that I’d confused plane travel with our bus system, where passenger luggage was placed in accessible compartments in the underside of the bus. Usually, any time a traveler arrived at a destination, they’d get off the bus and wait for the crew so that they could point out their belongings to be unloaded.
Locked into that mindset, I stood at the exit, unaware I was blocking other passengers. Before long, no one was moving, and the aisle started to get jam-packed. I thought nothing of it because I rationalized that I was the first one out and, therefore, would be the first to pick up my luggage right outside the plane. The plane hostess speedily approached me with the most charming smile of the entire voyage.
“Sir, may I help you?”
I was surprised at how fresh her face looked after such a long flight. She seemed so well-primed and put together that I doubted her job description included lifting and unloading heavy luggage for passengers.
I revealed, “I’m waiting for someone to unload my suitcase for me.”
She smiled as if she had seen the likes of me before. “No, sir, you will find your luggage in baggage pickup.”
My body language demonstrated that I did not comprehend what she had just divulged.
She asked, “Could you please step slightly to the side?”
Unsure of where I should move, I obliged reluctantly. She beckoned me out of the way of the impatient passengers, and I parked myself.
When the long queue eased, she returned promptly and requested, “Follow me, please.”
We deplaned and entered the airport, where she gestured ahead and asked, “Do you see that arrow sign up there that says, ‘Baggage Claim’?” I nodded, and she instructed, “Just follow the arrows on each sign, and it will take you to the area. Your flight number and arrival time will be displayed on the monitoring screen there, which looks like a television, and you can pick up your luggage from the carousel it indicates.”
Although I failed to understand how my suitcase was already ahead of me when the airplane landed barely a few minutes ago, she seemed sure of what she was saying. I thanked her and started to go, carefully following the signs. When I turned the corner, I was astounded when I saw the people ahead of me just standing but moving up and down in opposite directions without walking. Intrigued, I picked up speed to see how in the world this was possible.
After a few steps, I was standing next to a moving staircase. The first thing that crossed my mind was that those steps could flatten, and everyone would go sliding and tumbling down. That wary thought caused me to hesitate before getting on it. When I looked around to see if anyone was paying my dilemma any attention, I saw a posted sign that read:
‘Pets must be carried on this escalator.’
Having been told Americans love the companionship of their cats and dogs so much they pay for a seat to comfortably travel with them, I stood still, flummoxed by my newest reality. Nonetheless, a multitude of hurried travelers just kept passing by me.
I exhaled and mumbled, ‘Phew! Americans must truly love their dogs and cats.’
I had no pet and realized I could not get on the contraption. I walked back to look around for other ways, for those who didn’t have the cherished tamed animals. To my surprise, the other passengers from various airlines passed by me, heading for the escalator with no pets.
Since I had seen no sign that didn’t prohibit toddlers and other young kids from riding alone, it felt foolish for an adult like me to second guess my capacity to ride. With that thought, I turned back and followed to see what they would do. They got onto the escalator without any hesitation. I quickly ran after the pet-free group, followed suit, and practically leaped onto the moving stairway before it left without me.
Although the ascending ride flowed smoothly, it didn’t stop me from marveling at how I would get off this moving chain of stairs without sliding and falling. With each breath, that thought caused my chest to rise slightly more than usual. My restless toes followed suit, beginning to tighten and wiggle in preparation for the leap-off. This fretfulness caused my fingers to clamp tight on the handrails and get clammy. I feared my grip might slip as I neared the top, causing me to fall backward and knock everyone down.
With no time to think of any other solution, I paid close attention to the five passengers ahead of me, quietly studying how each stepped off. When my turn came, I bounced off my toes and landed on the floor more firmly than I had anticipated. When I looked back, an awe-inspiring hoo-hah had embellished my previously worrisome face. I was so proud of myself for flawlessly pulling off such an intricate act in America on my first try.
For a little while, I remained motionless, studying the area and looking around for the baggage pickup area sign. When I finally got moving, slowly but surely, I felt subtly egged on by the people walking too close behind me. I could sense the pressure from other extra-hurried travelers behind me to shuffle my feet a little faster. Since I had fleetingly blocked their way, some passengers passed by me, and I could hear their sighs and feel their signs of impatience.
The polite ones said, “Excuse me” or “Pardon me.”
When I moved barely an inch on the side, they practically zoomed past me at full tilt.
Others who were angry seethed, “Jesus Christ!”
Feeling as if I had slowed the whole day for everyone, I eased back, pondering why these people were calling the name of Jesus in such a chagrined tone. These minor but significant incidents were the first time I sensed America was a fast-paced world.
After another thorough visual sweep of my surroundings in an airport so squeaky clean, a luminous baggage pickup pictogram came into view, and my march picked up. What was perceptible was that despite the hustle and bustle of Detroit Metropolitan Airport, I felt lost and alone. In that instant, a loud announcement over the airport’s public address system interrupted my lonesomeness.
“Passengers are reminded that they must always keep their luggage with them. Any unattended items will be treated as suspicious and confiscated.”
The thought of my unattended luggage ahead somewhere in the baggage pickup area struck me, and I broke into a fast jog. When I saw my flight number on one of the monitoring screens, I was huffing and puffing for air. Leaning forward, with both hands on my knees, I looked about and saw the familiar faces of passengers who’d been on the same plane as me. They were standing next to a long, large, motionless belt that encircled the center of the area. To double-check, I looked up at the scrolling screen one more time. I was sure I was in the right spot when I saw the British Airways flight number I had memorized in case I lost my way.
To confirm what was expected to happen, I asked a fellow passenger, “Excuse me, where is our luggage?”
Without saying a word, he pointed at the end of the belt with a sizable dark opening. How could the tiny hole of space fit the crew that would come through carrying our entire luggage from the plane? I wondered silently. Unconvinced my luggage would come from that opening, I moved to the next passenger and asked again, “Where will our bags be coming from?”
He looked like he empathized with my inexperience and elaborated, “Basically, the airport computerized baggage system, which is supposed to shorten waiting times at luggage carousels, automatically gets loaded and conveys our luggage to where we are standing right now.”
He saw I had no clue what he meant, so he expanded, “This service makes airports work better because passengers are not struggling with their luggage through the lines.”
He was quick to read my discernable greenness. “Be extremely careful next time on that escalator.”
The dire warning caught me off guard, “What?”
“That moving staircase that you jumped on.”
“And why should I be careful?”
“Your shoelaces are loose.”
I looked down, and my shoes, indeed, were unfastened. Filled with immense excitement upon arrival, I’d forgotten to tie them back up after loosening them to relax my feet for the long flight. When I looked up, he finished his thought. “They could get caught in the escalator, and you might get your foot trapped and decapitated.”
As I bent down to tie my shoes, the giant belt suddenly started to move, startling me. I nearly jumped out of my skin and toppled over because back in my village, I had seen a usually worn-out conveyor belt of a maize miller, also referred to as a posho mill, instantly reach top speed, tearing away from the pulley and slashing someone’s face.
By this time, I was struggling to rein in my jolted nerves, and the rotating carousel was moving and delivering one piece of luggage after another. Fellow passengers stepped up without a word and picked up their bags. When I stabilized, I stood there intrigued, wondering how these beautiful and loaded bags found their way from the airplane to this large and crowded airport to where we were without getting lost or stolen en route. Other travelers, unaware of the wetness behind my ears, continued to step forward to grab their bags and depart in a hurry.
Soon, my beat-up high school suitcase appeared among the expensive name-brand luggage. Copying everyone else, I stepped forward, picked it up, and headed toward the immigration desk, where I would be officially authenticated to begin my bright future.
Once I neared the big signboard designated “Arrivals,” I stalled long enough to fall behind everyone. I intended to follow, see how they processed through, and then do what they did. I joined the queue, and in a few minutes, it was my turn. The U.S. Airport Customs Officer quickly checked my student visa and stamped my passport.
When I left the booth, the last gate to America had officially and finally been flung wide open. Feeling the immortalized sparkle of my life, I could smell the new country and the dreams, money, and bliss it promised. The country with more wealth than any other had allowed me to come and earn any amount the work of my hands could produce.
Struggling to come to reality and believe what had just happened, I glanced at my passport again. When I saw the official entry stamp confirming my arrival in the USA was real, I became hypnotized and hyperventilated vibrantly. Unable to get ahold of myself and feeling like I was on the verge of starting something so big, I began to hum and snap my fingers to the tune of Michael Jackson’s Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin.’
Full of vim and vigor, it took another virtual bullhead to dissuade me from stopping to pull my shirt sleeves to my elbows, tug the hem of my trousers into my socks, do a 360-degree spin that would initiate a nonstop moonwalk backward, glide toward the airport exit, and continue till my heated feet kissed the American ground outside. I had to bite my index knuckle hard to stop myself.
When I nipped off and began walking steadily, my finger had slight tooth marks. Somehow, the sight of the indentation put more bounce in my vivacious footsteps, causing a gleeful smile to plaster my face. With the happy-go-lucky bliss of the late morning, the only thing that came to mind was, if you pursue what you want with determination, one day, your thrilled rooster might even lay an egg just for you.
Table of Contents
Synopsis
Midmost Chapter 18
Last Chapter 35