We illuminated tiny Austrian towns with our headlights this morning, speeding through the country side on the way to the airport.
I sat next to the gray haired man with kind eyes on the flight to Toronto. His name was Jobran. Shortly after take-off he turned to me and said, "I prayed to God that I would sit next to a blonde woman on the plane today." We got to talking after the fasten seat belt sign had been switched off. He was returning from business in Cameroon, he said. Finding some common ground in African travel, I asked his impressions and business. He told me how he had once owned diamond mines, but that he'd lost them in a bad business deal and now brokered fine African wood for furniture manufacturing. He told me all about the best way to make money in Africa: buy construction equipment in Canada, ship it over and rent it out. Very lucrative, apparently. I told him to invest in coltan. We compared emigrant experiences: he said Canada was a fine country, "But, it is like a dish made with good ingredients, but lacking in salt." I convinced him to watch The Town on his movie screen, but he turned it off 10 minutes in, claiming it was boring. He reminisced about the days when you could smoke on planes and repeatedly turned to me throughout the course of the flight, bringing his hand to his mouth, pretending to inhale and then leaning back in his seat and exhaling with a look of satisfaction on his face.
We talked more business. I asked him to take me under his wing and give me an 'in' into the cocoa industry, but he refused, saying he could tell I didn't have a head for business. When I asked him how he could tell, he said that he had looked at my hands. Since the tip of my baby finger does not reach up to the second joint on my ring finger, I am lost cause in the business-head department.
In the customs line, Jobran asked the man managing the cordons if he could bribe him to get to the front of the line. "It works in Africa", he said. I laughed.
We claimed our respective baggage and said goodbye at the carrousel.
And that was that.
And here I am, home at last.
And so, this is the last letter. I hardly know how to end! Really, I'd just like to say thanks for being my constant companion and confidant, I hope these letters have given you a little window into, a miniature painting of, these glorious past weeks.
I sat next to the gray haired man with kind eyes on the flight to Toronto. His name was Jobran. Shortly after take-off he turned to me and said, "I prayed to God that I would sit next to a blonde woman on the plane today." We got to talking after the fasten seat belt sign had been switched off. He was returning from business in Cameroon, he said. Finding some common ground in African travel, I asked his impressions and business. He told me how he had once owned diamond mines, but that he'd lost them in a bad business deal and now brokered fine African wood for furniture manufacturing. He told me all about the best way to make money in Africa: buy construction equipment in Canada, ship it over and rent it out. Very lucrative, apparently. I told him to invest in coltan. We compared emigrant experiences: he said Canada was a fine country, "But, it is like a dish made with good ingredients, but lacking in salt." I convinced him to watch The Town on his movie screen, but he turned it off 10 minutes in, claiming it was boring. He reminisced about the days when you could smoke on planes and repeatedly turned to me throughout the course of the flight, bringing his hand to his mouth, pretending to inhale and then leaning back in his seat and exhaling with a look of satisfaction on his face.
We talked more business. I asked him to take me under his wing and give me an 'in' into the cocoa industry, but he refused, saying he could tell I didn't have a head for business. When I asked him how he could tell, he said that he had looked at my hands. Since the tip of my baby finger does not reach up to the second joint on my ring finger, I am lost cause in the business-head department.
In the customs line, Jobran asked the man managing the cordons if he could bribe him to get to the front of the line. "It works in Africa", he said. I laughed.
We claimed our respective baggage and said goodbye at the carrousel.
And that was that.
And here I am, home at last.
And so, this is the last letter. I hardly know how to end! Really, I'd just like to say thanks for being my constant companion and confidant, I hope these letters have given you a little window into, a miniature painting of, these glorious past weeks.
Yours,
Dominika
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