This story is about what happened during my maiden flight to Dubai. Read on.
Within a fortnight after I got a job offer in Dubai, I had to fly out of Sri Lanka. I had flown with Air Ceylon with my family and alone, within the small island of Sri Lanka, but this was the first time I was taking off, crossing the high seas and international borders.
It was a big deal to go overseas at a time when only the high class could travel outside Sri Lanka. It was a proud achievement not only for the passenger but for the entire family. Some announced the departures in local newspapers with a photo of the traveller, detailing the family pedigree and the elite schools attended. For them, it was a badge of honour to boast about.
On the 21st of April 1977, I was flying into Dubai on Singapore Airlines from Colombo airport. Wearing my only suit and tie, carrying my Ford suitcase, which reminded me of my school boarding days, I set off. I must have looked pretty young when the airport security asked whether I would study overseas. Nevertheless, I quickly navigated airport logistics, helped by my local flight experience. The flight, SQ707, took off at 10:35 pm on time. The aircraft was a Boeing 747 jumbo, the biggest plane at the time. It was my first experience with an international crew, the charming Singapore girls, promoted in magazines and billboards.
SQ flight schedule 1977
Boeing 747 from the Singapore Airlines fleet
On the plane, I was seated next to a mature couple in their forties. They were friendly, and before soon, we got talking. They were from South Africa and spoke with an accent that I later learnt to be Afrikaner English. Despite my difficulties with their strong accent, we chatted a lot. They were interested in my travel, my family and my goals in life. One does not hold back in your youth; I just bared and spoke about myself. They were kind-hearted, and I felt an affinity with them. Their family name was Joubert, a tongue twister that was hard to pronounce.
Mr Joubert was a surgeon, and his wife was a teacher in South Africa. The couple was transiting in Dubai and planning to spend a few days before returning to Cape Town. Both of them started taking a deep interest in me. They said that I was well-mannered and I could speak good English. I felt foolish when they praised me because I was just being me, naturally, the only way I knew. They talked about life in Cape Town and its modern facilities.
Time magazine taught me about the world’s first human heart transplant by Dr Christian Barnard. I ended up quizzing Mr Joubert on what he knew about that groundbreaking and biggest medical event from his homeland. It was a scientific marvel at the time. But, unfortunately, that’s all I knew about South Africa.
We continued to chat. The Jourbets said I could study at a university of my choice in South Africa. Then they said they have no children of their own.
The sweet couple spoke about the life of a person of colour in South Africa, taking turns to speak. They said there were the Afrikaners, aka whites, then the coloured and the blacks in their country. The couple figured I, being coloured, would have no problem in South Africa. They said that they have many coloured friends. I fit into the intermediary category in South Africa. I struggled to understand this concept, for I had no notion of race and colour. I was clueless and had no idea what ‘coloured’ was then. I had no worldview of South Africa’s apartheid regime and racial segregation policies. It was my first lesson in racial segregation and profiling.
Here, I was on a flight to my first overseas job with plans to conquer the world. Me, now with a label of a ‘coloured’ person? It was a difficult concept to grasp.
Then came a bombshell. Mrs Joubert gently asked whether they could adopt me. I was flabbergasted and had no answer. Less than twenty-four hours earlier, I was heartbroken to see my mother cry at my bedside about letting me go. How could I fathom this? Giving up on my parents? It was a big No-No. Besides, I loved my freedom and independence. I was big enough to fight my way into the world.
It took me some time to take their proposition on. Jouberts were a lovely couple, genuinely interested in me. They were trustworthy. I politely refused them with a smile. I said I have a set of parents in Sri Lanka that loved me dearly. They asked me to reconsider. They gave me their hotel contact numbers in Dubai and their address in Cape Town and asked me to contact them.
We continued our conversation for the entire flight, three hours and a half until the flight landed in Dubai at 2 am Dubai.
Dubai airport building in 1977
I saw my friend Brian looking over from the arrival lounge in the pristine Dubai airport. I waved at him and bid farewell to ‘my adopted parents’, Mr and Mrs Joubert. Both of them hugged me before I left, another strange experience.
I did not contact the Jouberts in Dubai. With a great new life in Dubai full of discovery and awe, I forgot all about them in no time.
Many decades later, I wonder what would have happened if I had taken the benevolent couple’s offer and gone to South Africa instead of settling in Dubai. They were kind people, yet they could never have replaced my parents. They would have looked after me financially. I know that they were genuine in their approach to me.
As scholars in medical and education fields, did they think I needed further education? Perhaps they wanted to help a young man to his full potential.
I was fortunate to have four children of my own, and now I understand the pain of those who were not so lucky as the Jouberts. I should have written to them and kept in touch. Instead, I forgot them until recently. My bad!
Perhaps I could have been a South African, speaking Afrikaner, if I had taken their offer to help. But, with my liberal thinking, would I have taken part in the Apartheid struggle to liberate South Africa from minority rule if I had taken the South African route?
Cyril Stanley A story of gratitude — Denzil recalls a friend who looked out for him in his budding years in Sri Lanka Denzil Jayasinghe 11 min read · Aug 27, 2022 1 Give us a bit of background on how you met Cyril. It was the seventies in the sleepy village of Dalugama , my ancestral hometown, some ten kilometres from Colombo. With their flared bell bottoms and Afro-style hair, it was easy to notice Cyril and his younger brother Edward. I’d bump into the duo in the neighbourhood as I walked home after a day at college. A casual hello greeting turned into a conversation and an evolving friendship with the duo at an age when making friends was effortless. However, it was Cyril who reached out to me first. What did the brothers look like? C yril was a younger version of Smokey Robinson and his brother, Edward, a junior Lionel Richie but darker. Both had curly hair, grown long, copying the Afro-American idols of the seventies. Smokey Robinson, Cyril Stan...
A Child of Curiosity How inherent inquisitiveness became a key driver in learning experiences. Denzil Jayasinghe · B orn in the mid-20th century, I am a product of the post-World War II era. My parents, who were teenagers when the war commenced, married in the 1950s. As a representative of the baby boomer generation, I was born under the astrological sign of Capricorn, the tenth sign of the zodiac. My birth took place at Zoysa Nursing Home, a renowned institution in Colombo, Sri Lanka, around 5 in the morning. Sri Lanka, known for its tropical climate, is a beautiful island nation south of India. This climate appealed to me, and I sought similar weather in my twenties, spending them in Dubai, where the winter resembles an Australian summer. Raised by religious parents, I held them in deep affection. However, the church teachings posed a paradox for a young mind, instructing one to love God more than one’s parents. I initially adhered to the Ten Commandments and other societal norms in ...
20 quick-fire questions * If you could give your younger self one piece of advice, what would it be? Your life would not turn the way that you planned. It is OK to be naïve and stupidly young. What do you like doing in your spare time? Writing and reading. Both complement each other. What would you change your name to? My family's name is Jayasinghe. ජයසිංහ in Sinhala in the original script. Phonetically, it is pronounced Jaya-Sinha in Sri Lanka. But in English, through generations, it was spelt Jayasinghe, which sounds differently in English. I would change its spelling to Jaya-Sinha to align it with its original sound. Perhaps my grandkids in Australia could do it. What’s your favourite time of day? The morning hours. I am most productive in the mornings. What is your biggest weakness? I could get carried away with what I could be doing. Sometimes, I must pinch myself to stop what I am doing. What is your favourite colour? Green. Always from my kid days. Would you believe I had...
Comments
Post a Comment