The Summer of Independence

“Where are your parents?”

“ I’m traveling alone.”

“Well, How old are you?”

“I’m fourteen.”

“Hmm…are you sure that you don’t need someone watching you?”

“I’m positive. I can take care of myself,” I said triumphantly.

Reluctantly, she said, “Alright, please board the plane.”

 I, being the big fourteen-year-old, happily declared my independence. I imagined that this was the same independence that my brother was experiencing in college. I finally understood why my brother tended to rarely visit us at home. If I could have it my way, I would extend this trip for as long as possible.

The plane ride was an agonizing eight hours.  I’m not the type of person who can sleep in any position. I’m pretty particular about how I sleep. I can only sleep either on my side or my stomach, which forces me to end up moving into the strangest positions in order to get any semblance of comfort. When I woke up I found snowflakes stuck to my window even though it was a sunny day.  I pondered how the snowflakes could have gotten there, but I didn’t get far before exhaust forced me to continue my constant struggle for sleep. When I touched down in London’s Heathrow airport, my internal clock was telling me that it was early in the morning; however, because of the eight hour difference the sun was still shining with the intensity of a summer’s mid-afternoon.

Remembering my mother’s need for me to call her immediately after I landed, I reluctantly found a phone and tried to figure out how to call home. After the phone call, my mother’s futile attempt at babying me from 6,000 miles away, I sat quietly waiting for my transfer plane to Stockholm during which I caught a glimpse of the clock that surprisingly had me jumping out of my chair. In bold green numbers the clock exposed the time, 5’oclock. I had a shocking realization that I had spent an entire day traveling and waiting. I was ready to get to my destination.

            I arrived in Stockholm. After checking in with customs, I followed the bilingual signs over to the baggage claim conveyor. Finding your luggage is harder than it seems and having the airline lose your luggage doesn’t exactly help. I stood at the conveyor for what seemed like an eternity. I thought I spotted my luggage a hundred times, but every time it got closer, I noticed distinct differences. Eventually everybody left, and I stood alone, watching one piece of luggage swirling around the conveyor belt.  For the longest time I was convinced that it didn’t even look similar to the one I gave to clerk, but after I picked it up and read my name, I became a believer. Realizing that I was still missing my other baggage, I reported my loss to the airlines. With only one piece of luggage, I still had to find my cousin whom I’d never met. This was easier than it sounds because I had met her sister before and for the most part Sweden is a homogenous society, where everyone is white; my Eritrean cousin stuck out like sore thumb.

 After the formalities, we took a bus to my aunt’s house just outside of Stockholm. The bus ride revealed some of Sweden’s countryside with tall evergreens growing on the outskirts of farming land. To my surprise, I found that Sweden wasn’t as big of an industrial country as I had previously thought. I had assumed that there wasn’t countryside, at least not near Stockholm. The fact that Sweden was so far north led me to believe that it was almost too cold to farm. I expected people to walk around wearing Eskimo jackets and the weather to be unbearably cold.

            In reality, my aunt’s house, located in Uppsala, reminded me of my hometown, Berkeley, which was also a small city with a college just outside of a large metropolitan city. The town gave a feeling of safety because crimes (at least those of the more severe nature) were virtually nonexistent.

            After unpacking, another cousin, Aron, and I went to McDonald’s. Here I came to realize that I wasn’t home anymore. I took one look at the menu.

            “Wait a second, why is everything so expensive? Seven dollars for a soda and 45 dollars for a meal?”

            “Don’t you realize that you have to pay in Kronors? And not dollars.”

            “Oh, that makes sense. What is the exchange rate between Kronors and dollars?”

            “About seven Kronors to one dollar.”

            “So then it’s the same as in America.”

            After ordering food, the size difference became apparent between meals in Sweden and America. The Swedish Big Mac seemed much smaller than its American counterpart. I found it astonishing that Americans stuff themselves with tremendous amounts of food and become obese while everywhere else people had either just enough food or not even enough.

            Once we were finished eating, we walked back home. On the way, I discovered that the time was much later than I expected. I was looking at a beautiful sunset and the time was 10:30! This was such an unexpected experience. My cousin explained to me that Sweden’s northern location doesn’t allow the sun to set until 11 pm or so in the summer and in the winter, there are only three hours of sun in the middle of the day.  I thought that this wouldn’t make sleeping too easy but at that moment I was exhausted from all the sleepless hours on planes.

            I woke up disorientated from my sleep. I was unaware of the time or my location. It wasn’t until my cousin Aron walked in that I knew where I was. He explained that I had slept for 15 hours! I guess that’s what happens to a person when they haven’t slept for a day, they crash.  The nine-hour time difference is nearly impossible to get over. I continuously woke up at 6 am and tried to eat what felt like dinner, but cereal was all I could get my hands on. During my time in Sweden, the sun decided it was time to get as hot as possible. The heat rivaled that of Africa. I never knew it was this hot in Sweden and my luggage reflected that with the two large sweaters and sweat pants. Apparently, this was the only week Sweden ever got hot in the entire year and it had to happen while I was visiting. It got so bad that some nights sleeping on beds was uncomfortable even with no sheets, so as a last resort I would roll under my bed on the cool ground and try to put the heat in the back of my mind. This worked occasionally but some of the times the ground would stick to my skin under the pressure of my body. It took 5 days before I became accustomed to Swedish time. I would spend some of the sleepless nights watching American TV shows dubbed in Swedish. This actually helped improve my Swedish, which I never even thought of learning.

            Days passed with my cousin Aron and I adventuring around his neighborhood. Slowly, I began to draw a mental map of home and the surrounding locations like the liquor store three blocks down or downtown Uppsala four blocks up and across the train tracks. Aron even took me to Stockholm by train. The city was amazing and there were beautiful elaborate ancient 16^th Century palaces and buildings, which rivaled those of England and France. By far the most exciting place was the Swedish club for fourteen to sixteen year-olds. I was very unsure of what kind of music was popular among the Swedish youth, but that quickly dissolved in the club. I immediately recognized the melody of 2pac’s Thug Mansion, which got me up and on the dance floor. The only black kid I ever saw in Sweden (outside my family that is) challenged me to a dance-off. A dance-off? Whoa. I’m not a great dancer. Man am I screwed. Whatever here goes nothing. After I flashed my crude attempt at the sea-walk, he came back with a quick smooth glide and immediately I knew I was in over my head. This guy was ridiculously good. I quickly surrendered and asked him to show me how he glided. It became obvious I wouldn’t be able to achieve this move in the first few tries and so I sat down as soon as the techno music started blaring. From my seat I caught a glimpse of my cousin doing the most hilarious sequence of moves. He placed his hand in the air and made the same motion with his hand to the beat of the music as an octopus does when it propels itself forward. My cousin was carefree and in that moment so was I.

            Within the next few days my three cousins, my aunt and I met our other 5 cousins and their mother in the airport in Stockholm. This time I easily fell asleep on the plane. I was so tired it didn’t matter what position I was in. The plane didn’t dock to the airport instead we were let out onto the runway. As soon as I stepped outside of that cool pressurized cabin, I was smashed with a wall of hot Tunisian air, which almost made me stumble but certainly woke me up. Our hotel was placed in a little town right outside of Tunis, the capital of Tunisia. The nicest quality of the hotel was not its big nice pool, but the fact that it was a short walk across the street and through the alley to the beaches of the Mediterranean Sea.

            I swam everyday. The Mediterranean Sea was turquoise-blue and the rocks popped out with a darker shade of green. The water was clear enough to see your toes wiggling in the sand or even a fish swim by. But even if the smallest amount of water got between your lips, you’d be running ashore to get the taste of salt out of your mouth with some fresh cold water. The sun consistently scorched the earth at an amazing one hundred and twenty degrees Fahrenheit. I had to constantly stay in the water in order to stay cool because as soon as I walked out of the sea, all the water in my trunks evaporated on contact with the air. The heat was so intense that I, a somewhat dark-skinned person, got a very bad swimsuit tan. From my waist up and my knees down I was dark as night but my midsection seemed as if it never saw the light of day.

            I woke up one day feeling as if someone had stuffed cotton balls into my ears. I kept thinking I remember this being louder. The entire day I kept trying to pop my ears as if water got stuck in them. It became an annoying problem that commonly happened seeing as I had been in water often. I thought nothing of it at the time until it got worse. The day after sounded as if someone wrapped pillows around my head and everything was obviously dampened. Everything I said echoed in my head with my ears as drums but I was always unsure of how loud I was speaking. By dinnertime my hearing was nearly gone.

            “ I don’t think I can hear properly,” I said to my Aunt.

            “ Are you sure? When did this happen?”

            “Umm…during the last two days.”.”

            “I think you have an ear infection. That’s not good we’re going to need a doctor to give you shots.”

            “Wait. What? Did you say shots? I really hope not.”

            “Well, let me check.” My aunt found a doctor who made house calls (or in this case hotel calls). The man arrived the next day and explained my situation.

            “Ok. Your ears are swollen and the only way to fix this is through a couple shots.”

            “Oh. I’m not a big fan of shots but I really love to listen so I’ll put up with it.” I said with my hands shaking.

            “I’m going to need you to lie on the bed and pull your pants down, I’m going to give you a shot in the butt.”

            “What?” I was pretty sure I misheard him after all, I had two swollen ears and everything I heard in last day was wrong. It was impossible. He didn’t say, “butt”. What happened to the good old fashion arm? There’s nothing wrong with that.

            “Well I have to apply the shot in the butt because it travels faster throughout the body.”

            Oh no. He did say butt. Crap I know this is going to hurt. I really wasn’t looking forward to the pain that came along with shots and especially ones in the butt. On the other hand, all my cousins found my situation to be hilarious and all came around when they heard the news. The doctor cleaned the skin with alcohol and punctured it with his needle. He slowly injected the serum into my body. I could feel the cure flowing down my butt and into my legs. The effect of the drug was almost immediate. I was able to hear much better by the next day. Bit by bit piece by piece my hearing was restored. Sounds became crisp clean and continuous.

The last few days in Tunisia flew by quickly. Before I knew it we were back on a plane to Stockholm. I went back to my cousin’s house in Uppsala and learned more Swedish. This second week in Sweden was completely different weather-wise. It was pouring rain when only a week earlier it was the hottest week of the year. I was shocked that the weather could be so bipolar. I’ve never thought of rain in the middle of July, it was inconceivable in Berkeley. Berkeley itself was nearing closer and closer as my trip was rounding up. I had enjoyed tremendous freedom and met amazing new family members along the way. Now it was time to go home and face the tyranny of my parents.