True story: I am all mushy with exhaustion of what feels like a million hours spent on various planes that brought me from Nigeria to North America. That mushiness has intensified an encounter I had with a Punjabi (how she identifies) woman sitting next to me on one of the planes
Checking in at Lagos airport, I’d asked airline agent for window seat bec I’d wanted to sleep as we crossed the Atlantic. As I boarded I realized I had middle seat in one of those rows that have 4 seats.Urgh. I asked flight attendant to let me know of any empty window/aisle seats
As soon as I sat down, the woman’s husband - I would say the couple are in their 70s - complimented my jacket saying “South Africa has beautiful fabrics. We just came from Cape Town.” They were returning home to Toronto after attending their nephew’s wedding in Cape Town.
I told them I’d bought my jacket from Joburg, and that I was returning home from Nigeria. We talked about their visits to my city & country of birth (Port Said, Egypt), my visits to theirs (India), and lamented the rise of authoritarians from Trump to Sisi to Modi to Saudi regime
They reminded me of my parents whose travel layovers are often via Frankfurt. I could imagine them talking with a woman like me sitting next to them. The flight was full so I couldn’t move to a window or aisle seat and soon after we took off, I was glad I hadn’t.
We entered turbulence. The captain asked the flight attendants to stop cabin service and take their seats as things became bumpy. I was watching a film with headphones on when I heard the woman next to me ask me “Aren’t you scared?”
I removed my headphones and she immediately reached for my hand. I cupped her hand in mine and stroked it as I tried to assure her that we would be ok. “I’m so scared,” she said a few times and then we sat in silence with her hand cupped between mine.
Every now and then she whispered what seemed a prayer. I tried to transmit assurance to her. It was the most present I have been in a long time.
When turbulence had passed,a ping signaling we could unbuckle seat belts broke the spell & she exhaled.”I am only sacred of flying,nothing else,” she said.Her husband leaned over to tell me she was the only one in their family sacred to fly & yet has flown alone to India 35 times
“Whenever I get sacred on board, I ask the person sitting next to me to hold my hand,”she told me. I was honoured to be that person. She reminded me of the courage to ask for help. The moments with her hand in mine were the most serene I’ve had in a long time. Thank you, Gurmeet.
I have been thinking about Gurmeet all day. I am quite bad at asking for help. I like to think I’m a courageous person but I don’t think enough about the courage it takes to ask for help. That reminder was Gurmeet’s gift to me on that exhausting day.Thank you for reading. The End
And I just now realized I misspelled “scared” as “sacred.” At first my eye compensated for the typo but now I realize the importance of making fear sacred. I am clearly jet lagged and happily incapable of fighting vulnerability. The gift of Gurmeet.
