Dany Leriche & Jean Michel Fickinger : DONSO, les chasseurs de l’invisible
Eraan vooraf gaat de vraag wat verstaan we onder koloniseren. Welke voorwaarden moesten vervuld zijn om het mogelijk te maken, in welke vormen vond het plaats en met welk doel? Hoe werd het ideologisch en juridisch gelegitimeerd enz.
WHAT IS DECOLONISATION?
There’s more talk of decolonisation than ever, while true…
I am an expert at airports. This is the conclusion I reached as I sat on the cold, metal bench of the terminal. I have gone in and out of them more times than I would like to have done so, and I could quite easily inform you on how to go through each meticulous step in the process of preparing for a flight. I am an expert at airports, I thought to myself, but I am not an expert at flights.
In fact, if I were to add up the total number of times that I’ve travelled by such means, it would only be twice. I suppose as a result of this I am also an expert at goodbyes. Goodbyes for a month, goodbyes for a year…either or, I have endured it. This area of proficiency is only to be expected when you have a significant other who is a member of the armed forces. Two and a half out of the four years that we have been dating, he has been officially enlisted. Because of this, I was no rookie, and at this point in time I had already accepted that my relationship with airports would always be a complicated one. A rather complex, love-hate association that would all be dependent on the particular reason I was there. But, nevertheless, whether my visit is good or bad, I have stumbled upon an important realization—a conclusion that almost all of us airport “regulars” eventually reach in our time here: you never leave the same person you entered as.
Fortunately, on this particular day, the airport and I were on more than civil terms. It had been nine months, nine extensive, nerve-wracking months of being apart from him. Nine months of agonizing fear that I would get a life-changing phone call that would send my world crashing down. Finally, all that separated him from me was a mere twenty minutes of waiting—which I calmly accepted would be the longest twenty minutes I had ever endured. I glanced impatiently at the electronic schedule that listed all the arrival times and squinted my eyes in hopes of magically changing the flight status to “arrived.” Recognizing my failure early on in this weak attempt, I averted my gaze and promised myself I wouldn’t look at the clock again in order to maintain a shred of my sanity. I decided to people watch. A nervous mother scurried frantically after her three children, waving one long scrawny arm in front of her while the other lagged behind carrying a cart stacked with what I only assumed to be the luggage of an entire small nation. Her black heels clicked rhythmically on the white tiled floor and echoed for what seemed equivalent to minutes. Over the intercom a muffled voice shouted something pertaining to a boarding flight number. The mother let out panicky “Ahh!” and began running even faster than before. A few feet away a girl in a flowing grey and white dress paced back and forth, swiping her unnaturally golden hair out of her face. She looked nervous, but a type of nervous that I could relate to—a level of anticipation that is only the result of waiting. She fumbled with her necklace, as though grasping it would calm the internal tidal wave of emotions jumbling around inside her. She took a deep breath and anxiously moved closer to the gate. Maybe she assumed it would speed up the arrival of whomever she was waiting for.
I broke my promise and glanced at the clock. Ten minutes to go.
My heart began racing with excitement and I became impatient. It seemed as though none of my limbs could stay still for more than only a moment. I glanced at my surroundings again. Next to me sat a large contraption encased in glass; one of those Rube Goldberg machines in which a metal ball drops down a series loops and wiry pathways, only to be carried back up to the top and repeat the process over and over again. I watched this a few times through, but my restless mind soon began to wander. The other end of the airport bustled with activity as people rushed upstairs to the departure gate, stopping their hectic pace only to get their Dunkin Donuts on the way. I wondered where they were going and if they too were flying back to someone. I began to bite my nails, a disgusting, nervous habit I never really learned how to break, and sat down in a green plastic chair that was clearly not designed for comfort. My mother, whom I had brought along for moral support, watched me carefully and gave me a look that said, “Calm down, you’re making a scene.” I stuffed my hands under my thighs to restrain them, but as a result, my legs began swinging rapidly.
A moment later, I heard the joyful cheers of people on the terminal and my stomach continued in a serious of unnatural flips and turns. A large group, exhausted looking, lugged heavy luggage through the gate, but immediately their fatigued expressions transformed into bliss at the sight of their awaiting families. Children ran up to parents with ecstatic expressions, husbands and wives reunited, and businessmen jaunted happily towards the door pleased merely to be on land once again. It occurred to me at that moment that one truly doesn’t understand the ultimate level of happiness until they have been witness to an airport arrival gate. It’s a rather surreal and practically magical sensation. I stood up, pacing across the floor not letting my eyes leave the gate, still overflowing with those arriving. The seconds felt like minutes, and the minutes, like hours. Time was passing slower than it had ever passed before. I was sure the clock had either stopped or begun to move backwards.
I glanced back at my mother who was chuckling as she watched my squirmy motions. A moment later her gaze settled intensely behind me. Spinning around on my heels, I saw him. Nine months. He hadn’t changed much—the same quirky smirk on his face and the same distinct walk that sent his body swaying from side to side. It was the most comforting familiarity one can know. I collapsed into him as a stream of tears rolled down my face. I don’t know why, but at that moment a switch flicked inside me. Maybe it was because I hadn’t been in an arrivals gate in so long that I had forgotten how it felt to be reunited. The stresses that I had faced in the prior months melted away. Looking around, I felt connected with every person in the room. For they all were experts at airports, experts at waiting, experts at goodbyes. And because we were all experts, we knew one of the most important things one can know in this life.
The one thing that they never tell you is that enough time spent in an airport can change you. You spend enough time in an airport, and you begin to feel differently. Life simplifies. You’re either coming or going, or waiting or saying goodbye. There are no in-betweens. It becomes black and white in the most beautiful way. They are poetic in the sense that they hold the power to evoke the purest form of happiness but also the most deeply rooted sadness. It has seen me at my weakest but also watched over me as I shared the most joyful moments of my life. One thing they never tell you is this: airports are reminders.
- by Lydia Walker, 3rd Place in the CSC Library Writers Guild Contest
