Bowserings

•Mediterrania

I had an epiphany, as the clock struck midnight on January 4, 2012.

One year ago, I sat on the verge of a page turn, in what was a significant chapter in the book of my life.

Hours away from boarding a plane to London, England, and my first overseas experience, I sat in my mother’s house in Calgary, nervous.

Waiting for me, across the Atlantic, was soul-searching adventure.  I had no fixed agenda; all I knew was that I would stay with my friend Alex at his flat for a few nights, and then I would be heading South to the African coast.

South, to Tunisia.

My sister Anika and her husband Nolan would accept me open arms, welcoming their stepbrother into their palatial home in Tunis.  My flight would land in the dark, Mediterranean night; my Pacific for the next 7 weeks.

Meanwhile, inside Tunisian homes, and on the streets in the South of the country, decades of suppression by authoritarian rule was about to erupt; the spark, the catalyst, of what would become known as the Arab Spring.

Only days after arriving, we would be abiding an army-enforced curfew; forbidden to venture out past dusk.  In Tunis’ city center, thousands of angry citizens will be seen protesting their government’s lack of transparency, and clashing with local police.

When President Ben Ali would flee the country to Saudi Arabia, abandoning 23 years in power, options are few.  We’d have to flee ourselves.

A quick exit is usually hard to make when tanks surround and shutdown an international airport.  This would prove to be the case in this instant as well.

Even when the airport would reopen its doors, and more importantly, it’s runways, we’d still have to drive through a gauntlet of uncertainty to get there.  While I’d be new to national emergency-level political strife in foreign nations, I still could figure out that a criminal incident is more likely to occur when there is a crack in power.
When I said gauntlet of uncertainty, I meant militia, police, and army.

Traveling over the holidays can be rough; the sheer volume of people trying to get somewhere else with as little stress as possible is sometime overwhelming.  But I couldn’t imagine ever trying to flee with 5 times as many people, all with one thing on their mind; get the hell out.

The cost of taking a series of trains from London to Italy, and then ferrying across the short straight from Sicily to Tunis would be more than I expected.  Instead, I’d chose to take advantage of the cheap airfare London offers and fly to Tunis directly.  By doing so, I advanced my arrival in Tunisia by a week.  Should I travel via train, I’d arrive on the outside, looking in.  Would I have thought that I’d be relying on Anika and Nolan for helping me escape?  Definitely not, but that’s what will happen.

Everyone on the plane will let out a collective sigh of relief as the wheels let go of Tunisia, and climb high above the Mediterranean.  Soon after, exhaustion will set in, and most of the cabin will fall asleep; nights of restlessness could finally be replaced by slumberous safety.  A spontaneous applause awaits our touch down in Frankfurt, cheers of joy and a sense of finality.  Yet, the real journey was only beginning in our departure city.

My blog updates would become news; the responses would trigger a change in me.

In a most incredible and unbelievable way, the path of my life will be forever altered by the abdication of an authoritarian.

One year ago, I had no idea what I was about to witness.  One year later, I’ll never forget.

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