flight

En route from London to Entebbe, I found myself squished into my seat, wedged against the window by a woman who seemed to neither speak nor move. Unfortunately, her left arm was splayed across my allotted portion of the shared armrest. I tried on several occasions - with no success - to nudge her arm gently so that I could at least get out of the slanted position I was in. I started to get a backache as I leaned closer and closer toward the window, insuring that the silent woman and I did not touch.

She did move a little, I must admit. She constantly rubbed a small white kerchief between her index fingers and thumbs. And she rocked her body back and forth in a small, precise movements.

I think she was praying.

(If you’ve ever flown with me, you know I’m all about letting my flight mates pray as much as they deem necessary.)

This, the second eight-hour flight of my day, seemed to be taking forever. I was getting smaller and smaller as I continued to fold in on myself so as not to disturb the praying woman. She had not removed her black winter coat since boarding, and as she eased more comfortably into her other world, she took up more and more of our row’s precious real estate.

After lunch, dinner, or was it breakfast, I excused myself, climbed over her and moved to more spacious quarters. From the corner of my eye, I could still see her rocking - and running the kerchief methodically through her fingers.

In my new digs, I spread out a bit. I decided it was time to have a little fun. So I broke out the really good chocolate my friend Gail gave me as a bon voyage gift and started offering it to people sitting in my new section.

We became something of a jovial band of travelers, weary as we all were, and we talked about where we’re headed and where we’re coming from.

I began to have so much fun that I slipped my iPhone out of my messenger bag and started taking pictures of my new grateful-for-the-fine-chocolate neighbors. Then I got brave enough to wander the aisles taking pictures of passengers in other neighborhoods. No one seemed to mind.

When I returned to my original seat, the woman in black smiled broadly and welcomed me home. She told me she was praying, and that it would be OK if I took a picture of that. When I showed her the picture I made of her hands, she said, “Thank you.”

We actually exchanged a few sentences in spite of our language difference, and then she said she was going to sleep. I offered her my eye mask.

With her black coat, white kerchief and blue eye mask, she looked kind of regal, and I felt safe beside her.