Crossing Borders Sequel - Changing Lives : Chapter One - Exodus

                                             1.  Exodus

It seemed that I had yet to travel anywhere by plane and arrive at a reasonable hour.

By reasonable, I mean to land at the destination airport at a time where it is possible to 
see your surroundings outside of the terminal in daylight and to get to your resting place 
without enduring a nausea making journey as it is well past your usual bedtime. 

Package holidays taken when my children were young to Spain, Majorca and later Cyprus, Greece and and the Canary Islands, often started with the plane landing at say, four in the afternoon. But by the time coaches were loaded with happy holiday makers and names ticked off lists by couriers, it was usually a few hours later before the journey to the hotel or apartment began. Added to that the “short journey from the airport to the resort” as advertised in the brochures, turned out to be at least another hour or more, and I always ended up getting there at some unearthly hour of the night/morning, depending on how you look at it.

The return journeys were generally the same.

And so it was that on 2^nd April 2005, my newly acquired 'extra family' and I arrived at Manchester airport  on the flight from Beirut, Lebanon at 2 am. The flight had been uneventful - apart from the stop off in Milan. A one hour wait had seemed ample time to get from one end of the airport to the other, stopping of for toilets and Macdonalds but we had not appreciated the vastness of the airport nor the queues where  travellers were asked to remove shoes, belts, jewelry, ties and everything that could be removed whilst still keeping some semblance of dignity. This amused the boys immensely. They were well accustomed to being security searched in Lebanon, but this was their first time flying and for a thirteen and fourteen year who had barely left their home town, there was amusement in all things they were now encountering. We sat at what we thought was the correct gate for departure and soon heard our name being called over the tannoy telling us that the plane was waiting to take off and we were the passengers holding it up. Amusement turned to embarrassment as we walked down the aisle of the packed plane looking for our seats, and allowing the plane to take off for the final part of our journey - Milan to Manchester. Two hours later the plane landed and we were in the UK .

Excitement combined with nervousness for all four of us had kept exhaustion at bay so far and the walk from the plane itself to the last “worry” of this journey, the customs desk, had us in speed walking mode. I waved my passport at the officer at the “European” desk who waved me through to leave me watching Ghassan and the boys have their passports looked at in greater detail and eventually given the all important entry stamp. There was no one around to check luggage and we had nothing to declare anyway, except some potentially lethal tooth ache-making bakhlawa, so walked through the green exit and into Britain.  We were here.

 I had only been away for three months, but suddenly it seemed like forever, and the sight of my two sons in law waiting for us in arrivals sent me into a semi panic of how to greet them. All my learning and practising of how to greet each other on different occasions and in different circumstances in Lebanon and Syria, had left me totally clueless as to how we as a family used to greet each other here. Did we used to hug each other, shake hands, kiss or what, all those long twelve weeks ago? Well, I had never been away from them for that long before so it was no good trying to remember what we usually did. I reached up to both of my daughters partners, put my arms around their necks and kissed them smartly on the lips. In retrospect I realise that they were both a little shocked and were probably wondering what had come over me. The boys and men shook hands and shuffled around uneasily a little, then we made our way to the cars and decided that most of the luggage would go in one car with one driver, and the passengers would all go together in the other car. This was to save any unnecessary embarrassing silences during the journey home or even worse, stilted conversations between people who spoke English but no Arabic and vice versa. We didn't know each other but had suddenly become family.  

There was little chance of no conversation with me around of course, but even I was feeling quite uncomfortable at the newness of this experience and the impossibility of knowing how Ghassan, Robeen and Mohammad actually felt. Yes, I was sure that they were excited and looking forward to the future, but there must have been a lot of trepidation too, as there certainly was with me and I was the native.  The cars moved off out of the city and across the Peaks, where, in the pitch blackness I attempted to point out the interesting bits such as of the reservoirs and the highest point, like some demented tourist guide. No one listened of course which was just as well as the commentary was no doubt nonsensical , even to those who spoke English well . Around forty five minutes later we were pulling up outside “our” house , the lights welcoming us, the dog running around like a mad thing, not sure what was happening but knowing it was something new and good. My son and his fiancee who had been minding our dog and house and had also recently moved in two doors from us, dragged our luggage  inside and we stood around in the kitchen, shyly introducing each other. I thought back to the first time that I had gone to Ghassan’s home and felt the same excitement again, mixed with fear for the future. But my feelings at entering their home could not be the same as what they were feeling now. After all, I had been visiting – now we were arriving with the intention of staying, right here. I did the usual round of checking each room as you do when returning from holiday and was more than grateful to find that the house had been prepared for us with care and understanding. Our initial nervousness gradually receded, and we chatted for another two hours before our temporary caretakers returned to their own home and we fell into bed exhausted and incredulous, that we were all really here. 

We were awoken earlier than we would have liked the next morning, by my daughters, their husbands and my grandchildren, eager to meet and welcome their new step-family.