What-if?
Few things that would have sent me on vastly different life trajectories. I have often wondered what would have happened only if. Read on.
STUDENT EXCHANGE PROGRAM — US
I don’t know how I got the idea to try to go to the US on a student exchange program while studying for the G.C.E. exam. I was fascinated with the US. It was not hard to dream about living in the US. Who would not be inspired to imagine life in the US when you see glossy pictures in Time, Readers Digest or Playboy magazines? I did not want to miss an opportunity to do high school in Connecticut in the US. This program offered only one student position. You know me, I never pass an opportunity if I have a remote chance. I applied for it knowing my chances were slim.
Lo and behold! I was on the shortlist. Shortlisted also was my classmate, Nilindra, whose command of English was far superior to mine. Of course, I knew that already; defeat was staring at me. But what did I have to lose?
The test was held at the US Embassy. The test was in American English with odd spelling. Sri Lankans spell UK English.
About a month later, the results came in. Nilindra was selected, and I missed out. He had scored one mark more than me. Nilindra left for the US a few months later. As young as I was, I moved on to other adventures forgetting my failure. Much later on, I often wondered what my life would have been if I had scored a point or two more on the test. Had I gone to the US at that age, on the threshold of turning sixteen? I would have never come back to Sri Lanka. I definitely would have had a gala time in the US. My dream was to wear a t-shirt with jeans, sneakers and a hoodie. Movies and popcorn. I would have found no trouble mixing with American boys and girls. I could have married one and even become a US Senator or joined their foreign service. I could have been the US Ambassador to Australia. Who knows?
PEN PAL — GERMANY
Pen pal was a big thing in the seventies. A section for Pen Pals was devoted to columns in the newspapers. It listed foreign boys’ and girls’ names, addresses and ages, inviting local kids to write to them. It was like a raffle; one never knew whether another kid in Sri Lanka picked the same name from the newspaper. I picked one name, Irene Niedermier, from Dusseldorf, West Germany. In 1971, there were two Germanies; West Germany was democratic, while East Germany was a communist state. I wrote Irene a letter with my photo.
Within a fortnight came a quick reply from Irene. And we started corresponding. I wrote to her about my school life and growing social life in Sri Lanka. Irene wrote about her life in West Germany, some 8000 kilometres away from Sri Lanka. We exchanged photos. She was 15, and I was 16. Letters were interesting, exchanging news about each other’s youth experiences from two different worlds.
Irene soon realised that I, in Sri Lanka, had little resources compared to her, who lived in relative luxury. A third-world country, Sri Lanka was following a socialist agenda with few imports. Foreign-made clothes were beyond my reach. Irene was generous. She sent me shirts, t-shirts, socks, and pants without asking. I could not send her anything back. I could not even afford the postage for her letters on some days. She sent me Deutsche Marks in her letters which I sold on the grey market. The money kept me in the black often.
Our friendship sizzled after about a year. I don't know what happened for us to lose contact. Was it that I went to Aquinas and found another life of my own? Or did Irene find a boyfriend in West Germany?
I know had I asked her to send me an air ticket to come to West Germany, she would have convinced her parents to fly me in. She was gracefully generous with me. If fate had it, I could have been a German now. I could be practising design and art in Berlin. I could be all over the European Union and would have been an ardent supporter of the German chancellor, Angela Merkel and her progressive policies.
COLOURED — SOUTH AFRICA
This story is about what happened during my maiden flight to Dubai. My life story would have taken a very different trajectory only if. Read on.
Within a fortnight after I got my job offer in Dubai, I had to fly out of Sri Lanka. I had previously flown domestically with Air Ceylon with my family and alone, but this was the first time I was taking off, crossing the high seas and international borders.
In Lankan society, it was a big deal to go overseas at a time when only the rich and famous travelled. It was a proud achievement for the passenger and 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 flew 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 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 giant plane at the time. It was my first experience with an international crew, the charming Singapore girls, promoted in magazines and on lifesize billboards.
On the plane, I was seated next to a couple who were my parents' age. 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, family and life goals. One does not hold back in your youth; I just bared and spoke about me. 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 was planning to spend a few days before heading back 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 me, naturally, the only way I knew. They talked about life in Cape Town and its modern facilities.
I learned 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 the most significant 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 coloured person in South Africa, taking turns to speak. They said there were the Afrikaners, aka whites, then the coloured and the blacks in that order in their country. The couple figured I, being a coloured person, would have no problem in South Africa. They said that they have many coloured friends. Therefore, I could 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 at the time. I had no world view of South Africa’s apartheid regime and its 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 had 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.
I saw my friend Brian looking over from the arrival lounge in pristine Dubai. 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 the medical and education fields, did they think that I needed further education? On the contrary, 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. But, instead, I forgot them until recently. My bad!
Perhaps I could have been a South African, speaking Afrikaner if I had taken their help. Would I have taken part in the Apartheid struggle to liberate South Africa from minority rule if I had taken the South African route?
One would never know!
More stories about my experiences in Dubai
My first job in Dubai and early friends
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Where are the characters in my what-if stories today?
Nilindra did not stay back in Connecticut, U.S.A. He returned to Sri Lanka and, in his twenties, became a Catholic priest, the last person I thought would be priest material. He is a committed community priest in Sri Lanka and lives a simple life. I keep in touch with him occasionally. If he had chosen could have become anybody in the US. I once reminded him that he stood between me and the US. Nilindra philosophically laughed it off.
Despite my repeated searches, I have yet to be able to locate Irene in Germany. I want to thank her for her generosity and kindness to a lad from a third-world country.
Brian worked in the hotel industry in the Middle East until recently. I keep in touch with him regularly chatting about our colourful youthful bravado.
I do not know where the kind Afrikaner couple I met on the Singapore flight is. I was not for adoption; I had a lovely set of parents.
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