When traveling, rather than buying soon-to-be-forgotten or fall-apart souvenirs, I try to commemorate a trip by bringing home one fine art piece. While lecturing on a cruise ship along the African coast, as a surprise for my wife, in Cape Town I purchased a South African doll. The native Zulus are famous for their bead work and what I liked most about "Soweto" was that along with the dazzling beads and brilliant round, red hat depicting a married woman - beneath the traditional, the artist gave the doll a modern twist: flashy green sneakers adorning her feet. After running my credit card, the gallery clerk said: "Go have lunch and we will have her all wrapped-up for you on your way back to the ship." In the gallery, eyeing her, the tall doll just fit into my long-duffel suitcase for the long haul home to Florida, but when I came back after lunch - Soweto had grown. Bountifully bubble-wrapped, and seemingly a quarter-mile of manilla paper & network of cords later, she had expanded to nearly twice her original three foot size!
Rather than paying an exorbitant price to have her shipped home, Soweto lived encased, mummified in my ship cabin for another week, propped-up securely in the corner. (So vibrant and soulful was she that I carefully cut a breathing hole and two openings for her eyes.) Ending my speaking gig on Reunion Island in the middle of the Indian Ocean, once ashore and on the way to the airport, I steeled myself for the challenge of somehow getting Soweto aboard the three long flights home. In this age of severely-limited-baggage-travel, I had a sinking feeling that the doll and I were about to part ways. Recalling how in Paris, on the way to join the ship in Casablanca, Air France even weighed my carry-ons and made me jettison a small water bottle from my backpack - I broke out in a cold-sweat approaching an Air France counter again. At this point, in my obsession to see that doll before my wife's delighted eyes and permanently ensconced in our happy home, I was nearly willing to sacrifice my seat for Soweto: stay behind to move her on.
"Suivant." ("Next.") one of the five gate agents called.
As I stepped forward with my cart (Soweto reclining across the luggage mound), I lucked out. The agent was female, and native African was clearly one of the predominant colors in her beautiful Creole mix. Holding up the Soweto package before her, I played the romance and homeland cards: "She's a South African doll and a special gift for my wife, whom I miss so much."
The agent's stern mask cracked as the hint of a grin tugged the corners of her carmine lips. "En thees cas, wee mak shoor shee gat on," the agent said, attaching the much hoped for, but little expected free pass: a Gate Check tag to the hand-made, hemp handle. I reached over my mound of checked baggage, clutched the agent's hand, bowed formally, and kissed her lightly, stating: "MERCI BEAUCOUP!" - then danced with Soweto in my arms down the suddenly sunny concourse.
Of course, life being not a job but an adventure - the long way home wasn't totally grooved. Just around the corner, Security in Reunion pulled Soweto off the scanner, thinking there was a body hidden inside the padded wrapper... The flight was way late getting into Paris, and I had to sprint with Soweto, in true African style, balanced on my head to the Newark, New Jersey gate - another airline and terminal away... But after 22 hours in the air, Soweto is now in her new home across the globe, no worse for wear. And my wife says the doll is the best present I've ever given her - next to the love poems, each day extolling another of Paula's virtues - but that, as they say, is another story.