Thousand Watt Smile

Day Ten:

It must be about five in the morning, my phone ran out a while ago I have no idea what time it is. Just Another day in limbo. Rushing to the toilets as fast as I can before others get the same idea. There's a small line, wasn't early enough. I wash my undies in a pathetic cold water tap and equally useless hand soap. Then dry them over the seat in my sleeping area and hope no one is desperate to steal three pairs of underwear. I contemplate a wash but it'll give me something to do tomorrow.

It's been ten days since I arrived in hell, also known as San Antonio Airport. I curse the website who got me in this country in the first place. Who would have thought that one little letter on an airport code could make all the difference? One letter between home and a country descending into anarchy and confusion?

We would be safe if we just stayed here at the airport, the official said. Don't know how long he continues, could be a day, could be a week, longer. He doesn't know. Military coup. Nah,this can't be happening, close your eyes and dream about the holiday. A week or so ago, I was beside the pool drinking cocktails, now I'm fearing for my life and scrubbing my underpants under a dripping tap. Eating from a military ration pack. Close my eyes while eating, wondering if the packaging tastes better than the beige mess in front of me.

As I live day to day in a place with less windows than the London Underground and even less uncertainty. I'm thankful that the human body eventually forgets that it's scared out of its wits and replaces it with sheer boredom. After washing my clothes and eating, I realise have nothing to do for the rest of the day.

You notice things after a while in an airport, people don't normally, no one's here for very long. You're either off somewhere else or desperate to return home with dirty clothes and cheap booze. First thing I found was how dusty these places are. Dust everywhere. My first night on the floor, I was shocked, disgusted about sleeping in layers of dead skin. How many people's skin cells are here next to me on this floor? Hundreds? Thousands? Millions? After three days I was too exhausted to care, I just settled into an uneasy sleep under a military grade blanket.

The afternoon is spent trying to find a socket for my phone charger, this place seems allergic to plug outlets. I need to make calls, I really miss the internet and I wonder if I still have a job? Need to phone work but what will I say? "Sorry, I'm in the middle of a disaster zone. Yes I should have checked my ticket. Don't you know I've regretted doing this for ten days now?" Looking at my phone, I've been switching it on but all I get is the low battery beep and a blank screen. If it didn't waste it's time doing that beep I'd have enough power for a quick call! Even if I find a socket, a signal is equally impossible. I heard rumours that there's a place on the first floor between the shuttered shops that have a weak signal. Of course there are a few pay phones but those that haven't been vandalized are out of service, like this stupid country.

I eat more slop, wait for news, try not to be sick. Then there's general movement towards people settling down for the night. At least I think it's night. Find my tiny corner, check my drying underwear (still damp) and lie in the piles of human detritus. I try to sleep without vomiting.

********

Day Eleven:

Wake up, early again, put on my slightly damp, stiff underwear (the soap didn't rinse out well) and wander around as normal. It's a couple of hours before the queue for rations so I join the long queue for the toilets. It's been the day before? Several days? Last week sinceI've washed? I keep meaning to, get rid of the layers of grime and dust off but what's the point? Washing under clothes in front of others, enjoying the slight, sticky feel as you never can wash all the soap off. I'm going to today, I decided yesterday.

Turns out all that queuing was for nothing. The waters been turned off. 

This is where it gets worse. No water, no flushing toilets. Smells. 

And disease possibly if it goes on. Could we be here for months? I should be panicking but I'm just numb.

I collect my rations and sit down for breakfast. I wash the food down with plastic tasting ration water whilst sat on a two seater table. You know the sort, bright red plastic chairs, wiped clean table, bolted to the floor. My chair rises slightly and creaks, someone has joined me.

He's tall, with brown messed up hair. His shirt may have been white at some time. He smiles, one of those thousand watt ones that put you in the spotlight.

Charming.

Can't he see I'm eating? How rude.

"How are you?" He says in broken accented English.

"Well apart from being stranded in a strange country under a Coup quite well" I say. Now bugger off. I don't tell him that bit.

Thousand Watt laughs, oblivious to my sarcasm, "you know why water off?" he says, I shake my head. "They're flushing out rebels!"

"Rebels?" I snort, "the only people here are pissed off and frightened tourists. Who need to get home!"

Another chuckle. "No I joke. Get it?" 

I must look confused, so he mimes pulling a handle. "Flushing out the rebels. It is, what you say English humour? Both a pun and true."

I love people who laugh at their own jokes, what does he want?

"Why are you here?" I ask.

"I am friendly. Making chit chat so time pass quick."

"No, I mean are you on holiday?"

"Yes, I am on holiday!" He laughs, "Yes, you could say I'm in paradise!"

"Look, feel free to hang around if you like but I'm going to find a socket to charge my phone." I get up, I haven't finished breakfast but l have lost my appetite.

He looks at me. "Phone? Mine gone, but I know plug." He taps the side of his nose.

"You do? Where? I haven't found one here."

"In unlikely place, I show you."

Oh no, I know this story, a lone traveller, a favour. Traveller found mugged and dead. "What do you want in return?" I cautiously ask.

"One phone call. Very important."

"One phone call for a socket?"  That doesn't seem too bad. "Ok, where is it?" He beckons me to follow him.

We walk through the airport, past the shuttered duty free and chemist to some far off corner. A door, metal and solid padlocked.

"You'll never open that!" I laugh.

In response he grabs the lock and pulls. It comes away like it was made of tin foil wrap. "In this country," he says, "things look strong but they are not good if you know how to break them!" The door leads to a narrow set of stairs. At the top is a roomy but functional canteen. No bolted down chairs and for the first time in nearly a fortnight, windows.

It's sunny. I didn't know what to expect from a country under a coup. There's green mountains, distant farms, palm trees and beaches. The perfect holiday destination. The carpark is strangely empty but not a hint of military. It's far from the stormy weather and desolation I had in my imagination.

"It's good country?" He catches me looking at the view. "I show you socket. Quick, quick! They soon find us." He ushered me to a dusty corner where, after many days searching a greasy but functional socket lies.

I dig out my charger for my phone and plug it in. Relief that it works. The phone slowly comes back to life. After five minutes I hand him the phone.

"All yours" the wire of the charger is not long so he has to crouch. It's almost comical, him squashing his six foot frame into a tiny corner.

I've no idea who he calls and what he says. He speaks fast in a language I don't understand. It seems to be very heated. At one time he nearly throws my phone on the floor. Just as I'm about to snatch the phone back, he smiles, laughs and abruptly ends the call. Flashing a grin he hands the phone back to me. Calm as if he had just phoned a taxi. The smile fades and he meets my eye. I'm trapped I realise. However, just as I fear the worst he just puts his hand on my shoulder.

"You'll be home soon" he says.

"How do you know?"

"Intuition!" He laughs and walks away. No thank you, no goodbye. For a moment, I'm insulted by his rudeness but just gaze out the window in disbelief. The surreal landscape soon makes me forget. Then I go downstairs, remembering Thousand Watt's warning.

********

Day twelve:

I'm going home!

I don't know what happened. Last night we're rounded up in the canteen. At first I feared the military had arrived. I've seen films: take hostages, shoot them one by one. However, it was just some bloke from the British Embassy. Apparently, the Coup is over, the flights are resuming and departures will start from tomorrow.

They call out the names of the first people. To my surprise and delight, I'm one of the group of people on the first flight.

Nothing can beat my relief of returning home, not even my phone giving up the ghost this morning. I suppose that's a lesson not to buy a cheap charger in a holiday market, lesson learned.

I check in for my flight expecting five hours in crowded economy but I'm delighted to find I've been upgraded. Complimentary drinks and snacks, not to mention substantially more legroom. This is the life, I could get used to this I think as I stretch my legs on the plane. I fall asleep for most of the flight, waking up before descending.

I don't kiss the tarmac at Heathrow, I would have but the plane is connected to one of those expandable tunnels straight into the airport. What I do is go right into into the first class lounge. I probably stink to hell but hey, this might be the only time I get to be in one of these places. 

It's clean and air conditioned, a complete contrast to the mostly windowless and recycled air fug of San Antonio. There are plush seats, wooden tables and a large television screen. I order a glass of champagne from the bar, might as well. The bubbles go straight to my brain, making me relax for the first time since leaving the hotel pool.

It is short lived, it always is.

Around the television screen a man and woman sit taking in all the information on the news channel.

"Turn it up!" The woman says she's biting her nails, the man, equally anxious wrings his hands.

On the screen, a man in military uniform is speaking in a cut glass accent.

"It's bad news when a country has a general for a leader," the man says, it'll be book burning next!"

The woman put her finger to her mouth, silences him.

I take another look at the military man on the screen. Suddenly I don't feel like drinking champagne anymore.

I recognize his smile.

© 2019 Kit-the-obscure