The constant pulsating life-force that emanates from the jumble of mixed emotions that overflow from so many different kinds of people is an experience that invariably fills me with a sense of awe, respect and appreciation for being alive.

Musings during one such time....

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Dec '04 - Mombasa International Airport

I am sitting at the airport watching people in the last minutes before their loved ones arrive or depart. They are pacing, nervous, looking at one another, touching, not touching. The emotion is intense.

A woman speaking rapid Swahili is running in circles trying to gather family members together for a goodbye. Her voice is high-pitched. When the final moment comes before boarding, she wraps her arms round her son, giving him a powerful embrace that should protect him until he returns.

A grandmother and grandson stand at the rail where I am, waiting with some luggage by their feet; the people who are supposed to pick them are late. A mother holds a baby as she kisses her husband. Tears dampen her cheeks. The moment is charged.

At Gate 6, the arrivals are just coming in. They fold into the mix of people as if they have been the missing ingredient. There are tears and smiles, pure delight ringing in the laughter of seeing someone who has been gone.

I sit, glancing at my book, waiting for my turn to leave; alone because the ones I love have a different schedule from mine and the one I am going to see, my eldest brother, is at the other end of my journey.

I think of other departures and arrivals. I recall seeing my younger brother coming down that corridor to spend his holiday with us, backpack slung on one shoulder, an overstuffed hold-all craddled in his arms, his headphones making him oblivious to the stream of people flowing along with him. As he rushes to embrace me, I remember thinking, as I always do, how much taller and bigger he had grown since the last time I had seen him.

Today my flight is two hours late. The book I am reading is not as interesting as the people leaving and coming, coming and leaving.

A man finally walks up to the woman and child. From the soft voice of the lady, I gather that the little boy of about five is meeting his grandfather for the first time. He looks up and up at the face of the man who is not that tall, except to a child. Joy shines down and up, and I am wondering how one would capture this moment in words or film.

When my flight is called, I gather my books and hand luggage. Since there is no one to see me off, I do not look back to see where I have come from. Instead, I think of my boyfriend at work wondering if I have left yet, and my brother at the other end wondering the same thing.

As I head towards the plane, I find myself remembering yet another arrival and departure. I was a little over 10 years, right after my father died. My mother took us back to her parents. They were waiting for us at the gate to take their daughter and her brood into their arms. Because of our tears, everyone was looking at us, but none of us cared. Somehow the emotion we felt seemed not at all out of place for the airport.

Life needs to be this important all the time. I wish that all the people who went on a journey would come back to find someone waiting for them. I also wish they would leave with someone to see them off. I think of my father and realise that if dying is like this, a passage, then I am unafraid.