Since I was the very last passenger on the flight from Atlanta to Johannesburg I ended up in a very uncomfortable seat. Six inches less leg-room and a seatback that barely reclined, it’s the seat they hope not to have to put someone in. However, the other unlucky fellow that was my seat-mate was a handsome, intelligent, and charming young man with the Botswana air force on a return trip to his country, having just finished some training with the American military in Seattle.

 

At first I believe Archie was a bit uncomfortable with a white American woman (me) being so friendly and chatty but he warmed up well enough and we ended up quite chummy. It wasn’t uncomfortable at all that our arms and legs were smashed against each other for much of the flight. At some point I used his shoulder as a pillow. We woke each other for meals, and I learned a lot about his wonderful country. He was very polite and caring and though it wasn’t quite the same as having Bob in the seat next to me it was a close second as he worried over my comfort and helped to make what could have been a miserable flight as pleasant as it could be. Of course we exchanged email addresses and he was effusive that Bob and I try to make it to Botswana so he can show us around.

Because our plane sat on the ground for two hours in Atlanta before departing, with all of us hot and miserable, I missed my connection in Johannesburg to Cape Town. I was stranded at the airport without my luggage, which appears to be lost, not sure where to spend the night and it was late. My brain was near collapse from all the excitement of getting across the Atlantic and it wasn’t the type of airport that lent itself to even an uncomfortable night on bench seats or dirty, carpeted floors. Rose came to my rescue.

 

A kind, petite blonde from Chicago, Rose and I had chatted a bit in Atlanta while waiting to board. I’d approached her because she seemed like the only solo woman on her way to Africa and I was still a bit nervous heading to the “Dark Continent” without a clue to when Bob might show up. She assured me that it was doable and that this was her third, month-long “vacation” in as many years to Mozambique in support of her evangelical church’s work to heal the bodies and souls of poor Africans. I didn’t mention my lack of enthusiasm for Christianity or missionaries and was glad to have made a friend. Waiting for our baggage at the culmination of our 18-hour flight I mentioned my plight and she took pity on me. She recalled her first time in Johannesburg‒a city she just passes through on her way to other countries‒and suggested I stay at the hotel where she had a reservation. She said it was very safe and clean, a 4-star hotel in fact. I was a bit concerned about the price but my fatigue encouraged me to pay any price for an easy, comfy, safe hotel. I ran off to file a lost baggage claim and reschedule my missed flight to Cape Town. Rose said she would wait but I suggested she not wait longer than 20 or 30 minutes because there was a chance I could get on a later flight that night to Cape Town. An hour later, striking out for a late night flight to Cape Town, I straggled back to where I’d left Rose, but of course she was gone. Somehow I made my way to the shuttle bus area (there is a lot of construction at the airport and directions don’t always work, and some corridors are without lights). After a brief confusion I found the Airport Hotel Grand bus which dropped me shortly at the door of the lovely hotel.

 

Unfortunately I’d neglected to get Rose’s last name and all but the $200 suites were sold out. I managed to finagle the room number and name of someone named Rosemary Gayle from the front desk clerk. She had checked in only a half hour earlier so I guessed it might be my Rose. However, no one was in that room when I knocked, and later called on the house phone several times. I was debating the $200 price tag vs. a shuttle ride back to the airport when Rose came into the lobby. We hugged and she seemed as glad to see me as I was her. She said she waited for nearly an hour before abandoning me, and felt bad for leaving. She kindly offered to share her room and one small bed. I offered to sleep on the floor. However, my dead brain wobbled awake for a minute and I thought to ask the clerk if they had a room with two beds that we could switch to. For $40 they begrudgingly acquiesced. A hot bath and clean sheets has never been more welcome. I slept hard, barely waking at 5 AM when Rose departed for her early flight to Maputo, the capitol of Mozambique. I hope to find Rose when we get to Moz, and spend a day or two helping the 500 children she’ll be working with.