CHAPTER 9
THE POINT OF NO RETURN
The time had come. I had to get out of my fortress—this cozy home that had become both my sanctuary and my cage. But the thought of this very first solo trip terrified me. I loved playing the hermit, but this damn retirement was throwing everything into a tailspin. I had to prove to myself that I could still pull it off—that I could still function, travel, and actually live.
Now, here I am. Sitting on the plane. I’m doing it. I’m proving to myself that I’m not just a "washed-up old bag." My biggest fear? Honestly... maybe just not making it back home! I tell myself this while sipping a glass of wine, trying to finally relax.
But a nagging thought keeps pacing in my mind: Andy’s reaction. He didn't want me to come to Africa.
What the fuck was that about?
If he’s a doctor in distress and his son is sick, shouldn't he be thrilled I’m coming to help?
It didn't make any sense. But tough luck for him—I’m going to enjoy this vacation to the fullest.
But again he was a man begging to help his son it must be horrible to be in his feet and stuck far away not able to help his own son. We will soon found out.
Usually, I’m a perfectionist. I plan my trips down to the last detail. Not this time. All I had was my flight booking and a one-night reservation at a good hotel in Johannesburg. No itinerary, no safety net.
What if I don’t have the guts anymore?
Well, I’ll drink to that! Let’s just enjoy the ride.
I am going to South Africa. I am really doing it.
I kept thinking about the money for the kid. Andy had begged me. When a man begs for help, it’s either because he’s truly desperate or he’s a master manipulator. Was I "nuts" to believe he was an undercover Marine doctor in Somalia? Probably. I already knew the answer deep down, but I needed to see it for myself. I needed the truth.
I had this crazy vision: what if he actually made it to Lesotho? We could meet, the three of us, and go into the mountains together. A beautiful, cinematic ending.
And if he didn't show up? Then it would be what it was meant to be: an impossible love or just a big, fat, fucking scam. It wouldn’t be a tragedy. I could already "smell the fish," as they say. But this was the perfect excuse to get out of the house and conduct my own investigation.
I needed this vacation to reconnect with the world. To reconnect with the travel world. If the worst came to the worst, I would just do my own humanitarian work by helping a child in distress. Because how could someone be so cruel as to involve a dying child in a lie?
The flight was long, filled with these circular questions, but I felt a strange happiness when the wheels finally hit the tarmac. No more uniforms, no more coffee to pour, no more seatbelts to check. Just a trip for me.
Welcome to the new you in South Africa!
I grabbed my suitcase, walked through the doors, and felt the African air, a bit cold to my liking.
"Taxi! Hilton Hotel, please."
I’ve made it. I’m here!
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