Just a Layover

When the man at the table asked me to join him, I scarcely gave it a thought. After all, I was just passing time on a layover, waiting for the real trip to begin. I wanted to get a good meal and a good night's rest, and that's about all I expected to happen.

I was en route to Namibia, a sparsely populated country in southwestern Africa. A dedicated outdoors enthusiast, I wanted to experience the wildlife and culture of Namibia's wild backcountry, far away from civilization. I had read of safaris since I was a kid, and I could scarcely contain my excitement that I finally had the chance to do it.

I decided to make the trip solo--no family, no friends, no tour group. I would meet my guide in Windhoek, the capital. To get there I had to spend a night in Johannesburg.

I love seeing new places, but my travel agent put me up in a hotel right next to the airport so that I wouldn't have to go into the city itself. A lot of people were still concerned with the turmoil in South Africa. Apartheid had just ended three months before, and though the election process had gone peacefully, many still believed that dangerous conditions could develop.

So, as an unseasoned traveler, I took my agent's advice and treated the stop as just a place to get a rest before heading off to my real vacation. Nothing more.

When I arrived at my hotel room, I felt exhausted from the fourteen-hour plane trip, yet I was too hungry to sleep. So I figured I would go to the hotel lounge, have a drink, eat dinner and then prepare for the next day. I would be back in my room in an hour.

I was sitting at the lounge with some other travelers, no one saying much, when a man asked me to his table. Two other African men were seated there. I decided to join them. As I sat down, I noticed that all three smiled at me in amazement.

"I invited you on a whim. I don't know why," said the man, smiling. "We really didn't think you would sit with us."

They introduced themselves: David, Darius, and Monte. They had come here--into this place that would have been off-limits just a short while before--and had not known what to expect. Yes, apartheid had ended, but old habits, old prejudices, don't just go away with a new government.

"It is time to celebrate. It is a good time in this country, and a good time for friends," proclaimed David. "Let us show you to dinner."

I wish I could say I had no apprehensions about heading off to dinner with three men who I had just met in a city seventy-five hundred miles from home. But I did. We walked into a large banquet hall serving a tremendous buffet of seafood and lamb dishes. We got our food and headed to a table.

I couldn't help but notice a dividing line, not marked but visible nonetheless. On one side of the line sat the white patrons, and on the other, the black. In the large hall, there wasn't one table where the two races shared a meal.

My newfound companions didn't seem to mind. I sat down and quickly felt comfortable with them: David, gregarious and loud; Darius, quieter but full of insight; and Monte, who appeared to think everything over before responding.

Our talk focused on our two countries and more basic misperceptions of each other. It was the kind of talk that fills every conversation when you meet someone from a fresh new place.

Continued on page 2: 'You are our brother!...' »