On-board shenanigans
Nirbe’s translocal adventures — episode one
You can also read this post on Substack
I travelled across the equator in a suitcase. Okay, okay, not by land or sea, it was in a plane. But those overhead lockers get mighty hot and stuffy on such a long trip, let me tell you. Especially if you're stuck up there between someone's violin and someone else's wooden giraffe, a dodgy rucksack and some of that super ridiculous stuff people like to haul from the deep south of Africa all the way to Northern Europe.
Did you know it's twice as far from the equator to Berlin as from Johannesburg to the equator? My handler, aka her ladyship, told me that as she rolled me along through the mindlessly long corridors of Johannesburg International Airport. Actually, the lightweight carry-on spinner was gliding along, like spinners are supposed to. Of course, it was no longer lightweight, even though she made a jolly good show of creating that impression. You'd think it contained nothing more than stuffed bears and marshmallows for the grandkids. Okay, there were no grandkids back then. Nor are there any now, ten years later. Not that she'd mind one or two at some point. She's told me that several times.
So, my suitcase and I speed-glided over tiles and travelators, making good headway to the departure gate.
Obstacle number one
Wheeling me onto the plane was a bit trickier, but her ladyship seemed to cope fine. Then came the big hurdle. She needed to transfer her 'lightweight' luggage from the aisle into the overhead locker. But, would you know it, a spindly youth jumped forward and offered to help. Naturally, I couldn't see any of this. I merely assumed he was spindly. From the sound of his voice, you get my drift. And from this exchange.
“Aunty, I'll help you.”
“Love, it's quite heavy. I need to warn you.”
“No worries, Aunty. I'm strong.”
Bet you her eyes were rolling right about here.
What followed was a huffing and puffing and a good few curses. Then, I think her ladyship started assisting the wannabe strong boy. And at last, I felt an almighty jolt as my temporary lodgings got plonked into place.
I heard Sonny Boy sauntering away.
After millions of feet shuffled down the aisle, a flight attendant started slamming shut the overhead lockers. All except mine. Strange!
“Whoa, dude, we almost missed the flight. Hang tight, I need to get my stuff in somewhere ... ah, right here. Let me just reshuffle this lot.”
My suitcase got pushed and shoved, and then it got tilted, and a flea-infested rucksack snuggled right in. Definitely fleas. I tell you, I heard little feet scurrying up and down my Samsonite shell for eleven hours non-stop.
Of course, I needed to spend this whole flight balancing on my head. The latecomer nincompoop had muscled my suitcase into a seriously awkward position.
Her ladyship never even noticed. She was checking out the drinks menu. I bet you she was.
Sorry, I forgot all about the equator ...
So, back to that story.
I had this plan in my head to calculate when I would be passing over it. You know, I do have Mathematical capabilities. So, all I needed to do was count out the time as we went along. But those darn fleas, they totally distracted me. I gave up after thirty thousand two hundred and four seconds.
Was I an illegal passenger?
Of course not! Although I was probably over some kind of weight limit, hence her ladyship's nonchalant gliding moves. You might ask how she could surreptitiously take such a delicate soul as myself through security checks. Well, in Jo'burg that's not such a huge problem. Citizens of Africa are known to keep all kinds of items either on their person or within close proximity when they travel. So, the X-ray staff have a high tolerance for strange objects. We sailed through with flying colours on that side.
Obstacle number two
After my eleven-hour ordeal next to the flea-bag, it was time to dismount, alight, or step down, not quite sure which term best describes my hairy descent. Her ladyship needed to get me down without knocking the impatient guy in the middle seat unconscious. She miraculously managed a safe retrieval.
It was time for the Frankfurt X-ray machines. Totally different story this time. My suitcase got diverted to the suspicious lane, where I needed to wait patiently behind other maybe-offenders.
When it was finally our turn, her ladyship opened up the spinner and the men in black took one peep and gasped.
“Bitte folgen Sie uns.”
Luckily, her ladyship is half German. She obediently closed up the spinner, heaved it off the examination table and pushed and panted after the hasty men in black.
Next thing I knew, I was being plonked onto another table. By her ladyship herself. She later told me the men in black only touch your possessions after you give them express permission. So freakin' politically correct.
This time, she needed to fully open the suitcase. Man, I had to blink when that bright light hit me. But it was good to feel some fresh airport air. And thank heavens I was lying on my side by then. Let me tell you, it's not much fun spending eleven hours balancing on your head. Today, I blame that protracted headstand for most of my delayed-onset mental health problems.
My relief soon made way for intense feelings of shame and disgrace when her ladyship further unveiled me in that scary room. It wasn't merely a case of open up the suitcase and Voila! Behold the remarkable Nirbe! (That's my name, by the way. I'll explain later.) No, no! I was padded — at the bottom, on all four sides and somewhat thinner on top — by her ladyship's unmentionables, which she had to scoop aside so the men in black could do their dusting and poking and prodding. And then they had the audacity to say this was the first Nähmaschine they'd ever dusted for explosives.
EX-PLO-... What?
I almost threw myself off the examination table. And I had nightmares for weeks after that. I mean, what kind of maniac would choose to blow up a perfectly good fabric-transformation device like me?
By the time they swiped the third little paper all over me and fed it into their identifier of illegal substances, her ladyship was a ball of nerves. When that happens, she goes all aggro. So, she was firing away a volley of deadly looks — behind those guys' backs, of course. As soon as they turned around, she stuck on her brilliant smile and used her politest German to ask if they could please hurry up. But the anal security slaves did everything by the book, not swaying one millimetre from their nation-saving mission. Flip! We still needed to get to our second departure gate, miles away from their little detention room.
We did make it. Hallelujah! Her ladyship sprinted like an Olympic champion and glided the spinner along, no problem. Although, I do think hubby needed to give her several arm and back massages once she was reunited with him in Berlin.
Who is this incredible woman?
That day, her ladyship was my chaperone-pusher-puller-lifter. On all other days, she's merely my owner and slave-driver who often requires the fully impossible from me, usually putting her own life at risk in the process. My PVC body bears permanent evidence — drops of her blood that no chemicals have managed to remove. She has a death-defying spirit. That's why I call her queen Kami (or her royal Kamikazeness).
Who am I?
I'm her slave. I'm lower than a lowly subject. Lower than the lowly subject's pet. Lower than the fleas on that pet. Oh gross! I shouldn't have mentioned fleas. However, I got the feeling I might have moved up a tier on her love-and-protection pyramid that day at Frankfurt Airport. Nevertheless, I'm still very much a part of her servant workforce, a cog in her machine.
Hang on! I am a machine, but hopefully you've caught on to that by now. (If not, please start over and CONCENTRATE!)
Like I said before, my name is Nirbe. It's an anagram of my species name, with some letters missing. My species hails from Switzerland, and we take pride in our superior design..
So, there you have it ...
That's how I travelled all the way over the equator to my new Heimat, the land of Queen Kami's forebears and a hop, skip and a jump from the country of my own magnificent ancestors.
How poetic!
If you're now burning to find out more about my intrepid travels, never fear. All will be revealed in forthcoming instalments as I unfold the highs and lows of my itinerant past.
Toodles,
Nirbe.
Large Call to Action Headline
About me
My name is Gisela Lindeque. I love writing stories (mostly for middle-grade readers) and helping others streamline and perfect their writing. When I'm not adding and deleting words on my computer, I read them in books or go outside to have fun, get some exercise and get more inspiration.
