"Hi G’day"
"uh…Hi"
"How do you do?!"
"Yeah ok"
"Whereareyougoing?"
"Nairobi…?!" – where else, it’s a flight into Nairobi.
"The names Eamon…" says Eamon, extending a limp hand.
I am on the late night flyer from Jo’Burg to Nairobi. 
The only good thing about it is the engaging air stewardess on South African Airways.
Eamon is talkative, "I am Austrailian…" he starts.
Wanker-- I think, for no reason at all.

A child starts bawling somewhere in the back rows. 
The Kenyan students ahead of me are demanding beers "We would like some Tuskers..?!"
The stewardess smiles, a stick-on plastic grin, but her eyes are deep turquoise, "Serry, we hef Seth Efriken Castle lager…"
The Latter-Day evangelists wearing black suits are engaged in silent murmur; I had seen them earlier during check-in, with academic name tags on their lapels, clutching copies of the Book of Mormon.
I put on the headphones, and there is an in-flight exercise going on for deep vein thrombosis – it’s being delivered in a non-stop Mr.Roboto-like droning voice.

Eamon opens a small burlap handbag, like the type women carry, and flips out a photograph.  He shows it to me. It’s a large and very glossy close-up shot of a plump looking girl with an androgynous haircut – and she’s sticking her tongue out for the camera.
"I am going to visit her…" he says smiling insanely at it, a grin of satisfaction.
It’s his girl friend, teaching in some remote school in Kenya as part of a summer exercise. Now he’s flying down to visit her.

The stewardess breezes past; I notice her sculpted calves, and a minor blemish -- just below the hemline of the skirt, on the inside of the knee -- a birthmark shaped like a bitten apple. The food trolley is heavy but she handles it easily, with a ballerina like economy of movement.

"Woulj you like something to drink?"
"huh…? Err….Whisky…thanks" I say, embarrassed and put off balance by her eagerness and efficiency. 
"On the rocks?" she says "rocks" in a slushy, succulent way – "ruwhochks".
I grab the drink, secretly whispering the word to myself, coveting the sensation of it rolling of my tongue.

The cabin lights are dimmed, and the in-flight movie comes to an end. 
The sudden silence is difficult to understand. Better to sleep than see the insides of the aircraft -- now dark to me, no more but a lonely shell hurtling through the midnight sky, somewhere above Mozambique.

I wake up to the sound of pebbles being knocked together, but it’s not the cry of a Stonechat Thrush.
The lights are back on, and it’s the Australian playing some annoying computer game on his laptop.

 "Hows the country mate?" says Eamon, unhooding his most leery smile.
"Very nice…."
"Doesn’t everybody run there…?" he’s asking me about Kenya.
"Yeah sort of…."
"What do you do…?"
"I sell shoes… because everybody runs, they need shoes…"

I slip on the headphones and yield to the unvarying buzz of static.
It effectively ends the conversation.

The Kenyan students have been drinking all night; they have forgotten English now and are demanding more beer in dholuo.
"No more, sir…I repeat, no more…" the stewardess tells them politely.
"Kingereza Okendowa" one of the students replies, giggling, still avoiding English.
I write it down in my notebook – much later someone tells me, it means "English came by boat"

Boredom forces me to eavesdrop on Eamon’s unremitting chatter.  But there is no escape from depraved innuendos. He’s exhibiting the photo of the girl to the young Middle-Eastern man across the aisle. From where I’m seated, the girl resembles a prize-bulldog at the dog show.

"Where are you from?"
"Egypt…"
"I’m Austrailian…, the name’s Eamon"
"Hello, I am Anwar from Cairo"
"I’ve heard of Egypt…isn’t it famous… for something…?"
"The pyramits, haven’t you heard of the pyramits ?" says Anwar, looking very concerned.
"Ohw…yes…yes, I knew it! Hahaha…"
"So you are traveling with your sisters…eh?" says Eamon, nodding towards the two head-scarf wearing women, sitting next to Anwar.
"Sisters?! They are both my wives...."
"Uh...sorry…"

At the first hint of dawn sparkling through the clouds, there is a concerted rush for the toilets. Anwar, the Egyptian, stands up, and his wives follow him.
What does this mean? Are they going to the john all at once?
There is a clandestine conversation with a steward near the galley. Anwar is big on hand movements. The steward looks puzzled, and then shakes his head affirmatively.  The people queuing up for the toilet are asked to make way.  Anwar and his family kneel down, diagonal to the direction of the aircraft, towards Mecca, and pray for the next five minutes.

Beauty comes with the sunrise. The plane descends circling west for a while, and for a few minutes we remain in a zone of perpetual dawn. The clouds recede, and with my seat upright I can see the gnarly knuckles of the Ngong hills; not far away is a teeming weekday city . The fizzy popping in my ears seems to tell me something – "Free at last"