Day 2: Good Things Come to Those Who Wait
In the past 24 hours – only our first complete day spent outside the borders of the United States – this group of travelers has already experienced one of the most absolute and extreme social juxtapositions that can be found.
We woke in Dubai, known to people who haven't been there as the second-largest city-state of the United Arab Emirates and the home of the world's tallest tower, the Burj Khalifa.
In our experience, though, there are more descriptive, more simple ways to describe this place where we began the day's journey. It was a fast-moving city of Immediacy. Full of people who were Businesslike and Hurried. Dubai was, like the people within it, a very cold cultural climate in a hot and humid environment; every building and every element of its society were built entirely around maximization of income and the rules of capitalism, leaving very little room for humanity in the mix. If one were to imagine a whole city, a place 2 million people (80% of which are foreigners) call home, designed just like the Las Vegas Strip with all its gaudiness and consumerism, they might not be too far off from the real place. And don't forget to include a similarly constant smell of smoke and sun-dimming, smog-laden dust like those found in Vegas. During our visit we saw unique buildings, the best facilities and products money could buy, and more flashy Mercedes SUVs than could possibly be counted. What we didn't see during our time in this place of proud Biggests, Bests and Firsts were any more than a handful of people who cared in the slightest about our reason for being there, our identities as individual people or even our names – unless the name in question was being added to a bill, of course.
Then we left.
We left and we boarded our flight to Lusaka, the capitol city of Zambia. Not that it was as easy as boarding and leaving – by the time those two things happened, the vast majority of our number (read: everyone except me) had discovered that their checked bags would not be joining them upon landing and spent many minutes waiting to see where and when the bags would instead be sent. After touching down in Lusaka, the waiting continued. We waited for visas, standing in line an hour after the terminal's holding room had emptied of all other travelers while our tireless leaders (the ever-working never-tiring Dr. Westerhaus and Jennie Sevedge) fought an ever-increasing army of blanks to be filled. Then we waited for another hour as everyone filled out paperwork and calls were made to reunite mis-checked bags with with their sweaty owners. By the time we trundled out of the building, it was 5:30 in the evening, three and a half hours after we had arrived.
As we neared the terminal's doors, there were probably many of us that were ready to start complaining about all the waiting and stress. I know I was.
But as we stepped out of those doors, we discovered that someone else had been waiting too.
The entire Sacred Heart choir, a local choir we will be singing with in the coming days, had been waiting for us. Many since our predicted arrival time of 2:00, and some since as early as 12:30. They didn't know when we would be coming or why we were so late, yet when we walked out the door every single member of their choir was there to introduce themselves to every single member of ours. With the biggest smiles imaginable they held out welcoming bouquets, enthusiastically kissing either side of every face within arm's reach. In the midst of the merriment, I made two new friends, a tenor named Nathan and a bass named Ignatius. Ignatius was slightly disappointed that I turned out to not be a bass, but as he helped me carry my duffel bag to our bus a few minutes later, he said, “My country is your country. Your Zambia, you see? Ask me anything and I will tell you. All I ask is that you will tell me about your culture and I will tell you about mine.” As I nodded and enthusiastically agreed, I looked up at the increasingly peach-orange sky.
On the same day that had begun with a dusty and distant sunrise in Dubai, your GU travelers were greeted with the warmest and brightest of sunsets. To share such beauty with the warmest and brightest of people was worth every second spent on the way to that moment.
- Nicholas Fritschler
Class of 2019
We woke in Dubai, known to people who haven't been there as the second-largest city-state of the United Arab Emirates and the home of the world's tallest tower, the Burj Khalifa.
In our experience, though, there are more descriptive, more simple ways to describe this place where we began the day's journey. It was a fast-moving city of Immediacy. Full of people who were Businesslike and Hurried. Dubai was, like the people within it, a very cold cultural climate in a hot and humid environment; every building and every element of its society were built entirely around maximization of income and the rules of capitalism, leaving very little room for humanity in the mix. If one were to imagine a whole city, a place 2 million people (80% of which are foreigners) call home, designed just like the Las Vegas Strip with all its gaudiness and consumerism, they might not be too far off from the real place. And don't forget to include a similarly constant smell of smoke and sun-dimming, smog-laden dust like those found in Vegas. During our visit we saw unique buildings, the best facilities and products money could buy, and more flashy Mercedes SUVs than could possibly be counted. What we didn't see during our time in this place of proud Biggests, Bests and Firsts were any more than a handful of people who cared in the slightest about our reason for being there, our identities as individual people or even our names – unless the name in question was being added to a bill, of course.
Then we left.
We left and we boarded our flight to Lusaka, the capitol city of Zambia. Not that it was as easy as boarding and leaving – by the time those two things happened, the vast majority of our number (read: everyone except me) had discovered that their checked bags would not be joining them upon landing and spent many minutes waiting to see where and when the bags would instead be sent. After touching down in Lusaka, the waiting continued. We waited for visas, standing in line an hour after the terminal's holding room had emptied of all other travelers while our tireless leaders (the ever-working never-tiring Dr. Westerhaus and Jennie Sevedge) fought an ever-increasing army of blanks to be filled. Then we waited for another hour as everyone filled out paperwork and calls were made to reunite mis-checked bags with with their sweaty owners. By the time we trundled out of the building, it was 5:30 in the evening, three and a half hours after we had arrived.
As we neared the terminal's doors, there were probably many of us that were ready to start complaining about all the waiting and stress. I know I was.
But as we stepped out of those doors, we discovered that someone else had been waiting too.
The entire Sacred Heart choir, a local choir we will be singing with in the coming days, had been waiting for us. Many since our predicted arrival time of 2:00, and some since as early as 12:30. They didn't know when we would be coming or why we were so late, yet when we walked out the door every single member of their choir was there to introduce themselves to every single member of ours. With the biggest smiles imaginable they held out welcoming bouquets, enthusiastically kissing either side of every face within arm's reach. In the midst of the merriment, I made two new friends, a tenor named Nathan and a bass named Ignatius. Ignatius was slightly disappointed that I turned out to not be a bass, but as he helped me carry my duffel bag to our bus a few minutes later, he said, “My country is your country. Your Zambia, you see? Ask me anything and I will tell you. All I ask is that you will tell me about your culture and I will tell you about mine.” As I nodded and enthusiastically agreed, I looked up at the increasingly peach-orange sky.
On the same day that had begun with a dusty and distant sunrise in Dubai, your GU travelers were greeted with the warmest and brightest of sunsets. To share such beauty with the warmest and brightest of people was worth every second spent on the way to that moment.
- Nicholas Fritschler
Class of 2019
As much as I wish I were with you all, it is quite a special experience to witness the days through your eyes. It sounds like you will all be much changed - for the better - by your time spent in Zambia and Zimbabwe. My prayers go with you all wherever you are. And, might I say: well written, hon. :)
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