Flying to Maceió, Alagoas

I was supposed to fly to the capital of the state of Alagoas in the Northeast of Brazil on January 6 at 1 according to Lima, who made the official arrangements through the Secretary of Science and Technology. I made my plans: I would wake up early, go to an 8 a.m. spiritual service near my dad’s house, return to be picked up by my friend Sueli who had volunteered for airport duty at 10 a.m.

Fortunately, in a second message, Lima wrote January 8 arrival date and, a bit confused, I was already dreaming with two more leisurely days before going to work when I decided to check to see if he had made a mistake. “Yes,” he said, “you are coming tomorrow at 1 and that means you get to the airport today at 11 p.m. to check in today. It is 1 in the morning, not 13:00, 1 p.m.”

Of course I am so conditioned to a.m. and p.m. and I would not have thought that a plane would take off domestically at one in the morning to take humans somewhere so I was going to miss my flight. But I did not, thanks to Lima. I had to rearrange my plans, pack in a hurry, and ask my brother to take me to the airport.

It seems simple but it is not. There’s family trouble. My brother and my sister had a big fight (details someday, but it involved my father and the maid). As we say it in Portuguese, “I got the leftovers” or “Something was left for me.” This is an interesting expression, meaning that one actually does not have anything to do with the fight directly but by extension one or both fighters involve you. My brother involved me, and has refused authentic communication since. He has also said hurtful things to me. He is very angry.

A complicating factor about going to the airport has to do with the fact that it is relatively far from the city. One has to take an urban highway know as Linha Vermelha or Red Line. This thruway is notorious for the number of assaults. Bandits come in cars armed to the teeth, stop traffic, and make drivers leave their cars to rob them under the guns. Then they jump into their cars and disappear into one of the roadside favelas or shanty towns. Late at night is one of their preferred times, though it happens in broad day light as well.

Only my brother could take me to the airport. I could not submit Sueli or any other woman to the dangerous duty. I also would not trust a cab; I did not know the details of when and where to take a bus. Just too complicated.

I called my brother. “Sergio, I did not want to do this, but I will have to ask.” I heard a couple of breaths before he responded: “You want to oppress me.” Acknowledging his critical, cynical tone I said, “Yes, sorry, I need you to take me to Galeão between 9 and 10 tonight.”

Truthfully I gave him an early time because the later it gets the greater the chance for violence on the road. I would not mind waiting for longer hours at the airport. He acknowledged the danger but said he would take me. I was relieved.

He picked me after the nightly soap opera, at 10. It rained cats and dogs, bats and elephants as well, a terrific summer storm after days of hot sun. We made it to the airport without problems, except of a zigzag of a drunk driver that he passed quickly. We had a great chat as we always have done when he is not this mad at life. He took me inside the airport, made sure I was OK; he gave me a big kiss goodbye, totally unexpectedly.

I am hoping his anger is melting. He has been such an important man in my life, a good friend, a sweet brother. I pray hard for him to be well. I love my brother.

I waited for the one a.m. flight. More of the trip, next time.

P.S. Yes, there were storms on the way, the plane shook all over but I was medicated!