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We checked in, got rid of our boxes of additional supplies, and headed to the business class lounge.
"Well, this is a treat," Karen remarked as she settled into a soft chair by the large windows overlooking the tarmac.
"It's the least I could do to thank you for coming with me," I said.
"Well, thank you. I appreciate it. And don't talk anymore about me making sacrifices to come. It's an honor. What you guys do with the foundation work, I just wanted to get involved."
"I couldn't do this without you. You know how much you're a backbone of our operation. Your expertise is going to come in handy this coming week of back-to-back surgeries."
Karen blushed. "Thank you for your kind words."
"Let's go get something to eat." The best thing about the business class lounge was the free-flowing drinks and all the free food. We jokingly teased each other to take full advantage of whatever was on offer. It's not like we did this every day.
As we joked over our full plates of food, I was filled with hope for this mission. I looked out of the window at the airplane pulling in.
But as much as I looked forward to Somalia, I knew a lot of my heart stayed in Boston.
With a girl named Calla.
The trip was long. When we transferred in Dubai, the gate official looked at our passports, then up at us and asked, "Are you sure you want to go to Somalia?"
When we answered in the affirmative, he just shrugged. We took our passports. Probably the less said, the better.
I had been texting with Dr. Al-Sawi. He had arrived in Mogadishu already and had inspected the operating room we would practically be living in for the next week and a few days. He said it looked good and all the supplies we had ordered had arrived. Once we got to the hospital from the airport, we wouldn't leave and would eat and sleep there. He said it would reduce our risks by not moving too much around the city. I had to lean on him for local advice; he would know.
On the final flight, Karen and I were the only Caucasian people on board. I could tell that there was a curiosity of why we might be there, as we had people looking at us for extended periods. Karen and I sat across the aisle from each other. My seatmate was a small man who was fine-boned. A very handsome dark man who seemed curious, but also shy.
"Hello," I nodded to him as I settled in, putting my hand luggage above the seat. He nodded back. I was unsure of whether he spoke English or not. Putting on my seatbelt, I adjusted my shoulders to lean a bit more to the aisle, so I didn't crowd the poor man. He nodded, recognizing my efforts to respect his space.
The flight wore on. I read a book on my phone and kept to myself, occasionally showing Karen a new medical finding in the journal. Really, Karen should have been a doctor in her own right, but she said she didn't have the funds to get through medical school at the time and chose the next available thing. But she was extremely capable and again, I was comforted that she was there with me.
The man beside me elbowed me just a tad. I thought maybe it was a sleeping "jerk", but when I looked at him, he was looking up at me with curiosity. I smiled at him, knowing that a smile speaks volumes in times where you might not speak the same language.
"Excuse me," he said quietly. He smiled, and I could see he had a large gap between his two front teeth. The front left tooth was covered in gold.
"Yes?" I responded, happy to find out he speaks English.
"For what reason are you going to Muqdisho?" He called it by its native name, which I had seen as I researched the location.
"I'm a neurology surgeon and will be performing surgeries this week."
"The General Hospital?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, referencing the largest hospital in the city.
"Yes. Do you know it?"
"I know it well. It's a good hospital." He paused. "How much are you making from being here?"
That was quite a forward question, but I thought I might as well answer.
"I am making nothing. I'm donating my time to help the people of Mogadishu." When I said that, his face brightened.
"Really?" he asked.
"Yes. I help run a foundation where we donate our time to countries around the world. This has been a calling of mine and I'm proud to finally be here."
"Thank you for coming. Do you know why I am going to Muqdisho? My nephew is getting a brain operation in two days. I am going to support his mother, my sister."
"Wait, what is his name?"
