Jessica's Adventure, a Adventure story

Day 1

Day 1

Yay! School is finally out! I cannot believe how long I have waited for this day. Now I am a senior in high school. 365 days closer to my adulthood and 365 days closer to my own life! But first, as my right of passage, I have to endure the most painful invention known to all children, young and old, everywhere: family vacation. Hours of sitting in the airport, running around trying to keep everyone in line, endless headcounts and roll calls, screaming children, and other things that are absolutely unbearable, causing words such as relaxing and enjoyable to stay far from the conscious psyche. It might be better if the family vacation was to somewhere exotic like Rome or Cairo, but no I have to go to the states where I go every summer, fall, and winter, sometimes even in spring if my family can swing it.

Still, I live in Stuttgart so it will be nice to go visit my family in Atlanta, Tampa, and other parts of the United States. Imagine, TV that is actually up to date, commercials I can understand, cheap clothing, and (almost) everyone speaking English. I love Germany, but let’s face it America has its perks, mostly deep-fried perks, but perks none the less.

My father is a businessman who has a contract over in Germany. The school I go to is an international school for students from all over the word. It is nice that I get to live in Germany and experience Europe. Except that my family rarely leaves the city. What’s the point of living in Europe if you don’t take the chance to explore it. When I go to college people will tell me how cool it was that I got to live over here. In reality, the only difference is that I don’t speak German and my extended family isn’t here.

Despite these misgivings towards my life in Germany, I am still so thrilled for the end of school. Today I put on my black leggings, peach colored flats, flowered, ruffled skirt, and my peach colored top. I stuck a flower in my brown-almond hair and put on some cute makeup to match. Highlighting my deep blue eyes and making my skin flawless, I was determined to look good for the airport, which I know is really weird considering airports are known for making people look their worst. Red, dry eyes, flyaway hairs, disheveled clothes, that wasn’t going to be me, at least not in Stuttgart before I got on a nine hour flight to Atlanta. But I believe that a girl should always look her best. She never knows when she will meet a dashing stranger or an old enemy, not that I have enemies. I am a friendly person and do not know of any people who hate me, maybe I just don’t pay attention. It’s not like I want enemies but I feel as though enemies would make things slightly more interesting.

Back to my day at school: I went to all seven of my classes for 20 minutes. It was kind of pointless because we did nothing. It did give me a chance to talk with some friends and sign some yearbooks. The teachers all looked bored as the students chattered away about their summer vacations. Some were staying home. Others were visiting the states for family and college, and some going to exotic destinations. The bell rang for the last time that school year. I grabbed my things and rushed out the door with the throng of other students, attempting to be the first out.

“You seem to be in a hurry to sit at the airport,” my friend Terra grinned as we left the door. Her family was going to do some traveling in Europe. I couldn’t decide if it was better than Atlanta.

“I do not know what you’re talking about,” I gasped, stepping back and placing my hand on my chest as if I was offended.

“Deny it if you will, you can’t wait to leave all that is Germany behind,” she jested as we walked out the doors.

“It is more like I am now closer to adulthood than America,” I admitted. Terra laughed as we went our separate ways. She began to walk home and I walked to the bus, just thirty more minutes until the airport. I turned to wave at her one last time before catching entering the old bus and choosing a seat that would give me the best chance to leave quickly when the time came. After a long ride home my family immediately grabbed our suitcases and was out the door, though not after a few head counts and return trips to grab some things that had been left behind. So in all seriousness, we actually left about an hour later than we had originally hoped. If this was any indication of the summer, I know it will be a bad one.

Summer was finally here. I would get to visit my old stateside friends, and catch up on all that is America, and much more. But first, the long, dreadful, irksome (like my diction) wait at the airport. Understand this: German airports aren’t as busy as American ones. The security lines are certainly not as long, check-in takes mere minutes, and the people are quick to get where they need to go. Nevertheless my parents are still in the mindset of “Be there the day before,” which is not fun at all. Even though I feel like I am dressed super cute I know I look super bored. Shame.

I certainly do not enjoy flying out on my birthday. It was a dreadful thing to bear and I didn’t even get to open presents. We would do that in Atlanta. I don’t know why my family was so insistent of family inclusions. Did my other friends have to withstand this torture, or was it just me? But, Terra did point out I get an extra six hours tacked on because of the time change, doesn’t count if I waste nine of it on an airplane and another six at school.

Something else I should probably state right now to any future dwellers that might be reading this. I am not trying very hard to keep the journal. I know right now it looks like it but I have two hours at an airport and really have nothing else to do. I am saving my book and iPod for the nine-hour plane ride that waits. I hope future dwellers aren’t reading this because this is my journal and I do have a right to privacy. My dad got my siblings and me (I have three) a journal. He said that we should document our “adventure” so that our children can see what life was like in 2012, the different family roles, the food, the laws, everything. I think it’s lame, but I am doing it anyway, for my family, and because I need to do something until Atlanta.

In reference to the “adventure” it won’t be. Adventure is fighting pirates and making new friends, going to exotic destinations and seeing things that had never been seen before. This trip was more going to be like driving three hours to visit grandma, getting lost, making it a five hour trip, and the rest of my family already at grandma’s house making us late (this happens almost every year).

I love my family but I spend most of my time with these people. It is hard to see if I can stand on my own because they are always with me. I do love my mother’s cooking and my siblings are always keeping me on my toes, but sometimes I feel like there is a James Bond inside of me waiting to break loose, diffuse a bomb, pick up a hot girl, well for me a hot guy, and speak Portuguese (even though I don’t speak Portuguese. I barely speak English). Still, I deviate from my path of complaint. I am actually sleepy right now so I’m going to nap until I have to board. Am I supposed to say bye or just end the entry? I guess signing it with my name would be appropriate for distinguishing it, although I do know who I am. I have never really written a diary before so it is rather odd to me the ins and outs of it all. Next stop: adventure. Time to wait: eternity

Jessica

3: Day 1 Part 2

Day 1 Part 2

Day 1 (continued)

That was a close one. I almost missed my plane. I was taking a nap, like I said, and woke up to the loud speaker saying “Last call for boarding,” Panicked I rushed to the gate and got on the plane just before the flight attendant closed the gate. I even managed to grab my purse, and this stupid thing. I really should have left it but my dad would probably buy me another in good old America. After stuffing the ticket in the flight attendant’s hand, who proceeded to shout something in German, I ran up the stairs and onto the plane.

The first thing I noticed was that the plane was rather empty. When I say rather empty I mean rather empty. There is hardly anyone in this tin can. The seats are a faded blue carpet that was probably bought in the 80s. The carpet on the floor doesn’t match but is instead black with neon blue, pink, green, and orange confetti sprinkled into the pattern. The trays have some sort of sticky stuff on them that has turned brown due to the dirt and oil from people’s fingers. They are something that I will not be touching.

Even though the plane was almost empty, there was someone sitting next to me, it wasn’t anyone in my family though. I thought we had all gotten seat together so that my parents could keep better track of the siblings. I wasn’t too worried about it. There could have been a change in seating arrangements. No need to fret, I would spend plenty of time sitting next to my family in Atlanta.

I put my headphones in my ear before the guy sitting next to me would try to start making conversation. I’m sorry, I don’t know everyone in the world and I don’t need to “get to know” someone I will never see again.

I still can’t believe my family left me to sleep in the Stuttgart Airport. What would happen if I did wake up and they had already left? I had no idea who was still in Stuttgart and who wasn’t. Conversely the gate may have changed and my family may not have been aware. If that is the case I hope my family had got on the plane. They probably did, they just couldn’t wake me. I am a pretty heavy sleeper. I am really not sure if I should be mad or not. Still it is rather disconcerting that I don’t see them anywhere.

After one final check the plane pulled out of the terminal and onto the tar mat. The safety instructions were given, the plane took off and I put away my iPod. I am not staying awake for nine hours so I am going to get comfortable and sleep. I can’t believe I actually wrote another entry. I paid my dues for the day. Still, it does provide an outlet for my absolute monotony and angst. See you tomorrow, or whenever I get into Atlanta. I am a teenager and I need my sleep, don’t judge me, invisible, nonexistent person who is watching me?

Jessica

4: Day 2

Day 2

Day 2 or possibly 3

So much has happened since my last entry. I am only writing day 2 or 3 because I do not know the time or even the day. There is good reason for that, believe me. Remember how I didn’t see my family when I got on the plane (of course you remember, this is me) that should have been my first clue that something was wrong. It was, kind of. Though apparently not enough as I am now in so much trouble I don’t see any way out. I woke up just in time to step off the plane, though no thanks to my flight buddy. Whoever was sitting next to me didn’t have the decency to wake me up. Twice in a row! Either I am a very heavy sleeper, or people just don’t wake up people anymore. I’m sure there was something he could have done to get me up and off of the plane.

The flight stewardesses were in a big hurry to get us off the plane, which was kind of weird. They didn’t seem to be at all excited to be in Atlanta. I know it is not the best place in America, but they seemed almost afraid. I barely had time to grab my purse, never mind see if my family was on the plane. The stewardesses didn’t even smile as I stepped off the plane. They just pushed me out into the terminal then slammed the door behind me.

I inhaled deeply, attempting to taste the sweet Georgia air. I remembered that there was always a faint peach smell lingering, especially during the summer as they began to ripen. This was not what I got. I coughed. The air was not sweet, but stale and dusty, and full of other smells I couldn’t quite place. I stretched as began to walk slowly. The airport did not look as nice as I remember. Instead it was run down, shack-like place. Dust was gathering in lots of corners and even on the floor. The janitors must be on strike. How else could you explain why there did not seem to be a clean spot anywhere in the airport. Windows had been boarded up where rocks had broken them. Chairs were falling down due to the loss of legs. Restaurants, well there wasn’t actually any restaurants that I could see.

I know I was in Germany, but only for a year. The Atlanta International Airport should not have looked like that. It should have been clean and metallic. White walls with a stainless steel ceiling as high as the sky. Red plastic chairs on every wall and a multitude of restaurants from TGI Friday’s to Quizno’s. There should be people streaming in and out of doors and bathrooms, rushing to get to their place of origin. Not deserted like this place was. This place looked like one good wind gust would cause it to topple over.

I tried to look around for my family as I walked towards the exit but a big crowd of people pushed me out of the terminal and into the luggage claim. I say “luggage claim” but it really was just a grab and go. The guys were driving beat up trucks to the side of the airport and dumping the luggage off on the side of the building. What worried me was the fact that there also weren’t any customs officials anywhere. I can deal with an airport that had seen better days, but no customs was something that was really bothering me. Shouldn’t they be checking passports to see if I am in the country legally or if I had any fruit!

I didn’t see my family anywhere. What was worse, I realized I wasn’t in the Atlanta airport (I know, I know. That took a long time for me to realize, but I was more concerned about no customs and no family than what airport I was in). I appeared to have flown in on a prop job, I was outside in a “grab-and-go” luggage claim, and no one was speaking English. Outside solidified the fact that the “airport” was really just a small brick building with a landing strip. The prop job was really the only type of plane that could fit on it. That solved the mystery of the missing Quizno’s; they probably didn’t even have room for a bathroom. As I continued to stare at the shack I became more amazed that it was still standing, it had definitely seen better days.

After a few deep breaths I finally deduced that I was in North Africa or the Middle East. “How?” you ask, well there was sand, which is strangely absent in Georgia. It was a golden yellow whereas most sand it the States was a reddish orange tinge. The buildings also lacked most American styles. They were mud huts and the occasional steel sided shacks. Even in the poorer counties of America there was no architecture like this. The clothing was also strangely un-American. Where American girls often attempt to show as much skin as possible, these people were dressed much more conservatively.

Okay, that was a lie. I actually have no clue as to what color the sand is in North America and I don’t even think I can describe American architecture. In reality, there were signs with a bunch of curly writing that weren’t in English and I saw a guy riding a camel. But is that really that interesting? I would rather be “Sherlock Holmes” than “girl who got on the wrong plane and stood there for ten minutes wondering what she was going to do after realizing she was in a strange country with no family and no customs officials”. I know I am really stuck on this customs thing, but that would be an indication of some stability. That was what I really needed at the moment.

I decided that standing there looking lost wasn’t going to get me anywhere. So I came up with a plan. I knew there were a lot of embassies in Africa I just had to find out where. I would go to the embassy, American or otherwise, explain my predicament, show them my passport and get back to Stuttgart in time for presents and cake. Hey, your birthday only comes once a year and I would rather not spend it in Africa. With this in mind I bravely walked up to a group of women. They didn’t look threatening and they hopefully spoke English.

“Hello,” I stuttered quietly, my bravery suddenly leaving me. Curses! They stopped talking and turned to me. I swallowed and carefully picked out my question before finally speaking again.

“Do you know where I am at?” As soon as I said this I realized that was a dumb question because they lived here and I flew in here. I should have asked a more intelligent question. I should know where I am at. But I don’t so I have to play the dumb American tourist and ask for directions to the nearest embassy. The women looked at each other and started speaking very fast. I have to say, Arabic (I am pretty sure that’s what it was) is not a pretty language. The writing is cool but the speaking is kind of ugly. I stood there leaning in, cocking my head, and raising my eyebrows. As if that would give me any indication as to what they were saying. I only hoped that they spoke enough English to understand the question and respond to it.

One of the women turned to me and responded swiftly “Mogadishu,” after seeing my confusion because I had no idea where Mogadishu was at she sighed and added “Somalia,” I thanked them and was about to ask for the nearest American Embassy when some guy ran up and stole my purse. I didn’t even see him coming; he just ran up behind me and grabbed it.

I jumped and let out a small scream. This scared the women and they ran away from me. What’s worse than being left alone on a street in Somalia, I had all of my things in that bag, my ID, my passport, money, and even my phone. I needed that if I was to prove that I was an American citizen so that I could get back to my family. The only thing that wasn’t in my bag was this stupid diary, which was in my hand, and the clothes on my back.

Losing my purse finally snapped me into reality as I suddenly remembered I was in Somalia. This was one of the worst countries to get stranded in, especially for an American who doesn’t know any Arabic and is as white as they come. I really should tan more, though that may not help me blend in.

There were pirates, not the funny ones from Pirates of the Caribbean, and there were lots of kidnappings. What’s worse, I didn’t think there was an embassy for any country anywhere. This was Somalia, not France or Britain. I looked around, I couldn’t just stand there. I was a white American, girl who didn’t speak Arabic and was probably already targeted for abduction. I zeroed in on some men. There were no women in sight that I could go talk to so I choose a group that looked to be fairly young and didn’t have any weapons. They were sitting on a wooden crate and talking, occasionally bursting out laughing. They seemed to be friendly. Hey even when I’m dim, I’m still bright.

I hiked over and asked “Do you know where the nearest American Embassy is?” They stared at me like I was crazy. That’s when I decided to play charades. Mistake number two of my vacation gone wrong (I like that title, maybe this will be what I call it from now on). I talked very slowly and very loudly.

After about five minutes of me jumping, pointing, and shouting one of the boys asked “American?” I nodded my head yes. They were all standing by this point in time. I thought we were finally getting somewhere. Maybe they spoke something other than Arabic, my Spanish was horrible and French wasn’t the best, but they may be able to understand more than terrible charades. I was very wrong about getting somewhere with the men.

They suddenly looked very angry and before I could do anything one of them grabbed me, put a bag over my head and pushed me into the crate that they had been sitting on. The crate bounced up and down as they began to walk. More than once I hit my head on the top of the crate. I heard a lot of shouting and more than once I was picked up and put down. I could hear them huffing which made me kind of mad. I am not that heavy, there was no need to act like you were picking up a 400-pound person. And if they were so weak they could have just made me walk to wherever they wanted me to go. I probably would have followed them thinking they were taking me to an embassy. When I was finally taken out of the crate and the bag was taken off of my head for what seemed like ages, I realized I was in the hull of the ship. A much older man came up to me.

“That was very rude. Do you think we are stupid?” he asked. At first I was unaware of what he was talking about and then I remembered my long game of shouting charades. My face reddened and began to feel rather brainless. I should have realized that most Somalis are actually young because they don’t live to be as old as Americans. Mistake number three.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Arabic and I was just trying to find an embassy,” The man laughed. I decided I didn’t like him. I don’t know why he laughing would make me not like him instead of the kidnapping, but still, I didn’t like him. He was calling me stupid, like he could have done any better if he was stranded in China, or Peru. I had no choice. I wasn’t about to sit there and wait for a handsome prince to rescue me. I had to take things into my own hands.

“There are no embassies here,” he said gesturing to the hull

“Really, I thought we were beginning a floating embassy program,” I said sarcastically.

“It goes where you need it to go. Go online to find an embassy near your body of water,” I continued. He laughed and left. I would have liked him to at tell me how much I was going for, or at least when was dinnertime. I am hungry. Don’t judge me, Somali Air doesn’t offer refreshments. I also wanted to know if I was precious cargo or not. Judging by my current accommodations I would say no, but you never know. I could fetch a pretty hefty price. That pretty much brings you up to speed on what is going on now. I have been kidnapped by Somali Pirates and am now trying to find my way out of this hull before I appear on Dateline as another dumb American who went to Somalia and got kidnapped by pirates.

I know now that my family did not get on the plane. I had probably gotten on one too soon or at the wrong gate. Why would Stuttgart even fly to Somalia? Questions keep coming into my head but no apparent answers. I am quite tired and think I will rest now. When I wake up something might come to me. Scientists say that sleep helps you focus on a problem and come up with answers that you would have never guessed being awake. Let’s hope they’re right. I want to go home.

Jessica

5: Day 3

Day 3

Day 3

I have decided that I am on Day 3 of my vacation gone wrong. I know because I asked Lateef what day it was. Oh, right, you’re probably wondering who Lateef is and why I am talking to him. I don’t even know why I am still recording all of this and why I am treating it like a letter system. It is not like this is the vacation the family was supposed to go on. Or was it? Sorry for the conspiracy theory.

I feel that this is better than being bored because I have no iPod and no book. I know, materialistic me. I’m stranded in Somalia and my concerns are a missing customs official and the fact that I don’t have substantial entertainment. But what happened and why I suddenly know a fisherman was actually thrilling and exciting. Not that I would like to do it again. I’m not sure I would like to do any of this again. It has just occurred to me how much sleep I have been getting. First a thirty minute nap in Stuttgart, then about an 11 hour nap to Mogadishu, and now, about a 30 minute nap in the hull. Old people would be proud.

I woke up in the hull of the ship. Because of the sheer size of the cargo ship it didn’t rock as much as other boats I had been on, but I still didn’t get a lot of restful sleep. My hands were tied and I was sleeping on a cold metal floor. This caused my muscles to cramp in the position and my back to strain. I blinked my eyes as the pupils shrank and became used to the dimly lit ship. There were large wooden crates all around me. Some had been pried open with the packaging left scattered around the floor. I should have slept on the packaging materials; it was probably more comfortable than the floor. I heard the metal groan on the ship as waves beat against the side of the boat. There were also several yards of rope, food, and other materials scattered about the hull. I was surprised I found an open place to sleep.

I was delighted to discover that the ropes around my wrists and ankles had loosened. After a lot of wiggling I managed to get out of the ropes. Not that that would have helped my predicament. The doors were probably locked and there were hundreds of guards outside with guns. My situation was dire. I quickly looked around for a way out. I found a crate filled with weapons. There were AK-74s, AR-15s, and 9 mms. I only know because it was labeled on the barrel of the guns. I felt the pit of my stomach drop. There were so many weapons, piles of them in fact, and they could all be used to kill me.

My stomach made a sound reminiscent of a dying whale. I decided that before I did anything I needed to get some food in me. I couldn’t imagine a very successful escape attempt if my stomach felt like it was trying to eat itself. I walked over to the food and helped myself. It wasn’t much but it was something. I had a delightful dinner of stale pita bread and beef jerky, teriyaki flavor. After washing it down with a swig of orange juice I found I decided I couldn’t just sit here and do nothing.

I walked over to the door. It was large, faded, and a chipped red color. It looked pretty heavy and like it would make a lot of noise if it were to open. Still, I figured “What the heck. If it was open then awesome. If not, I would think of a solution when I got to that part”. I walked over and carefully turned the handle. My heart leapt, the knob kept turning. The door was unlocked. I half paused and considered grabbing a gun, and then I remembered that I had never shot a gun and didn’t even see any bullets. Plus I didn’t want to be running through the Somali streets with a gun. Then again it could make me less of a target. I smiled as I imagined myself running through Mogadishu with a gun, my eyes bulging giving me a certain crazed look. People don’t mess with crazy people. It was just a fact of life.

Then I spotted some money on the ground. I wasn’t a thief but hey, if Somali pirates wanted to kidnap me and take me on a cargo ship, they had to pay for my excursions. After this thought I grabbed the money, opened the door. It did groan loudly and screeched as the metal scraped across the floor and the less than well-oiled hinges struggled to pull the door along. I grabbed the handle with both hands and pulled it open just enough for me to sneak out. I half-considered closing the door but I thought that I had made to much noise already. I needed to be stealthy, like a cat. Not clumsy like a drunken goose that has never walked before and is now attempting to run a marathon in high heels that are 4 sizes too big.

The first thing I noticed was that there was nobody right outside of the door, bit of a design flaw but I would lecture the pirates later. Maybe they thought I wasn’t bold enough to attempt to escape. What they didn’t know was that I had 17 years of movie watching, book reading, Internet surfing, and TV viewing on my side. If Katniss could survive the Hunger Games, I could sneak out of a pirate ship. If Huckleberry Finn could build a raft to float up the Mississippi River, then I could boldly escape. If, well you get the point, no need to go on. I didn’t know much about the anatomy of a cargo ship but I did know I had to go up. But in order to go up I needed stairs or a ladder or something, I wasn’t about to scale the side of the ship.

I wandered down the hallway until I saw some stairs. I ducked underneath them while two men came down the stairs. They were talking excitedly about something, I couldn’t really understand. I crouched there, seeing their boots step noisily down the metallic stairs. They walked right past the door that I had opened, not giving it a second thought. I waited until they were out of sight and out of earshot. Once they were gone I decided to trust my luck and walk up the stair. I quietly walked up the stairs, which was actually quite difficult given that they were metallic and awfully shaky. I kept going up, one floor, two floors, and three floors, my heart beating faster as I turned corners. There were no guards and, as far as I could tell, no life on the boat, other than the two men I saw earlier. It was if the entire boat was on shore enjoying the company of land, a company that I would have the pleasure of enjoying really soon.

I couldn’t believe my luck. I looked up and saw the moon through two more flights of stairs. This was it, this was my escape. I decided the sneak under the stairs and take a break. I didn’t want to push my luck too much and I wanted to make a plan. I sank down on the cold metal ground and realized for the first time that I was sweating and my heart was beating. I closed my eyes and took some deep breaths. I didn’t calm down. My eyes were dilated to take in more light, my heart was beating to provide fresh nutrients to my muscles, my lungs were expanding quicker to obtain more oxygen and my liver and kidneys had leaked an extra supply of glucose into my blood so that my muscles would be poised for action. I opened my eyes and prepared for my last to flights of stairs. After that I would sneak around the ship, using things that were left out to hide behind. Then I would make my way to a lifeboat and lower into the water where I would row back to shore under the cover of night. Hopefully there were lifeboats and they weren’t bright yellow.

I took one more deep breath and snuck out from under the stairs. I crept slowly up them; it took so much restraint not to run up the stairs and into the lifeboat. One flight down, I could smell the salty ocean air. It didn’t smell great but nevertheless, it was freedom. Freedom that was beckoning to me, calling to me, wanting me to join it through the freedom of the night. My eyes struggled to make shapes out as lights flickered on and off. The ship did not have very good lighting, both good and bad for me. I was halfway up the second flight of stairs and it was all going well, until I accidentally knocked over a barrel. All I could do is stand there and watch it bounce down the stairs, crashing as it hit each stair and spilling its contents all over the boat. Now this didn’t arouse any suspicion, but when it hit one of the pirates I was quickly spotted.

“Great,” I muttered to myself “The first life form on the boat I had seen in almost an hour and I had managed to knock him down,”

They shouted something in Arabic, I assumed it meant something along the lines of “get her!” but I didn’t want to test that theory. I then began to run up the rest of the stairs. It appeared that the barrel held pickles and luckily the pirate that spotted me slipped and fell on the stairs. This didn’t help my situation.

Everywhere I turned there was another person there waiting for me. Where were they all when I was sneaking up onto the deck of the ship? I’m glad that I could take my time going up the ship, but still, I didn’t like this surprise. I found myself up at the top of the ship. I looked left and right but there were pirates all over the place and now that they knew I was out of the hull, I couldn’t go all James Bond and sneak through the obstacles with stealth. I went to a lifeboat but then bullets began to wiz by my head. There was no way I could get the boat down fast enough and while I was in the boat I would be a sitting duck. Then there was the fact that I had almost no measurable upper body strength and would not be able to row away from the pirates fast enough.

I then did the only plausible option, which in hindsight was really stupid; I grabbed a machete that was resting on a barrel and in one swift chop cut one of the ropes. The pirates were yelling and still shooting at me and I couldn’t get the machete out of the pole. I then made a life or death decision. In real time it all went so quickly, but everything was moving much slower in my head. I had to get off of the ship but I didn’t have time to cut through the other rope. The ship was high, and a moving target my size is hard to hit, especially with a semi-automatic and automatic weapon. Decision time: I jumped off of the ship and into the water.

I hit the water, after what seemed like forever, with a loud splash and sank into its cold embrace. It really hurt. I didn’t know water could turn into a concrete when someone jumped. My heart skipped a beat, my lungs gasped for air, and my body went into shock as the cold water soaked my clothes. I heard bullets wiz by my head as I kicked off the shoes, and grabbed onto them. Hey, these were my favorite shoes and I was not about to lose them off the coast of Somalia. I then began to swim as fast as I could. We must have been pretty far out at sea because there were hardly any waves. Either that or Somalis don’t have a very rough sea. Still, it was lucky for me as I gasped for air and began to splash as I slowly made my way away from the ship.

Swimming in my clothes was very difficult. They were heavy and slowing me down. I started screaming at myself in my head to swim faster. I was not going to become a pirate hostage, again. I was going to be free, I was going home alive and with all of my limbs. Then, while I was thrashing in the water, the weirdest thing happened.

Suddenly I was being pulled out from the water and placed on a boat. At first I panicked and thought that the Somalis had taken one of the lifeboats out to fetch me. Then I stared up into a pair of brown eyes. I next looked at the face attached to it. It was a man, but not a Somali man. He had a long face that was brown with large dark brown eyes, dark brown, curly hair, and a beard. To my surprise he was also smiling. He said something, probably in Arabic.

“Sorry I don’t speak Arabic,” I replied apologetically. He laughed.

“That’s fine. I didn’t expect you to,” I gasped. He was middle-eastern but his English was so perfect. Perhaps he was an American with middle-eastern decent.

“My name is Abd-Ul-Lateef. You’ll probably have problems with that so just call me Lateef. What are you doing in Somalia?” His eyes looked at me with a certain amount of worry and despair. He seemed genuinely worried so I broke down. I told him about getting on the wrong plane, talking to the pirates, and escaping his ship. I stuttered and probably left a lot of words out but it didn’t matter. I had just been kidnapped and shot at. I had a right to be ungrammatically correct. He couldn’t judge me for panicking while being held captive. Lateef began to stroke his beard thoughtfully.

“Is there an embassy I could get to?” I asked anxiously after waiting in silence for a long time. I was getting irritated with how long it was taking to answer me. Then, Lateef’s eyes fell,

“Sadly no, the closest embassy was in a small country called Kismayo, but Somali rebels have taken it over. All the Europeans and Americans have left,” My heart dropped. Maybe the Canadians were still here. I knew this thought wasn’t true.

“But I do have a brother. He is a Bedouin who is making a trip up to Port Said, Egypt. I’ll see if he can give you a ride,” Lateef’s eyes lit up as he came to this solution to my problem.

“Oh, you do realize that most Somalis can speak English, they have to in order to threaten the Americans and Europeans,” This made me feel incredibly stupid, “Next time say you are from Albania and talk with a thick accent,”

“Thanks for the tip,” I remarked sarcastically and then added “If your brother is a Bedouin then why are you a fisherman,” I was curious, don’t patronize me. Besides, it wasn’t like I was asking for his 401K value.

“Actually,” Lateef replied, his tone was a bit annoyed, “My brother and I are from Saudi Arabia. I am the CEO of a fishing company in Dubai but am on this ship to do an inspection. Basically to see if there is anything that needs improvement. My brother fell in love with a Bedouin and married her. My parents are happier with my lifestyle,” Lateef continued to stroke his beard and stared off into the sea. I could see my family having the same attitude with my siblings, maybe not with Bedouins and fishermen, but job options are often a parent’s strongest opinion.

Finally he said, “You should go below deck and get some rest, you look terrible,” I didn’t know what I looked like but sleeping in an airport, on a plane, and in the metal hull of a ship probably was not the best for beauty. I would remind Elle Magazine when they called me asking about my beauty tips. I was still relieved that I had found someone who didn’t want to ransom me to the U.S. government, yet. I was awfully tired so I went below deck and began to write about my little adventure.

That pretty much catches up the last few hours that I haven’t written. It is well past midnight, I have been missing for three days, and my parents are either worried sick or throwing a party. See you tomorrow if I still feel like writing. Probably won’t though.

This whole idea of a journal is a bit stupid if you ask me. I wonder how it didn’t get completely waterlogged on my little swim. Did my dad pick up the industrial strength journal for those who go on kidnapping excursions to Somalia often? Or perhaps the journal of secret agents who need their information to stay intact and legible at all times? It doesn’t really matter. I am so tired right now I can feel my eyelids drooping. Hopefully by tomorrow I will be home and celebrating with cake. How far away from Mogadishu is Port Said? Probably only a few hours, I hope.

Jessica

6: Day 4

Day 4

Day 4

So I am beginning to feel like I have the worst luck in the world. Conversely, I also believe that I have the best luck in the world. I’ll explain as what is happening to me does have a complicated look to it. I also have the time and the energy so might as well. I believe where we left off was me jumping off of a cargo ship (a brilliant idea, I have bruises from where I hit the water, it felt like I broke my back) and the fishing boat had picked me up. Lateef had just told me about how the closest embassy to any country was in Kismayo but that rebels and pirates had overrun it. Despite my best attempts there actually appears to be no plus side to that. Since I have been on this vacation gone wrong I have decided to try and adopt a sunnier outlook. It hasn’t worked.

I slept horribly on the boat for starters. It was tiny so it rocked back and forth way too much. It wasn’t at all like the hull of the cargo ship that seemed impervious to the effects of the waves. There were hardly any waves but every little bump rocked the boat violently. I was always hitting the side of the metal hull. I kept thinking that I was about to roll right off the bunk I was sleeping in. This successfully jammed my shoulder and bruised me more than the water.

When I woke up the next morning I was incredibly hungry and exhausted. Apparently, stale pita and jerky is not a filling meal, especially when one is on the run from Somali pirates. I kept trying to fall back asleep but rest alluded me as the roller-coaster ride continued. After lying there for a long time, I decided that I had had enough. I rolled off of the bunk and prepared to meet the rest of my handy crew. I yawned, stretched, and then went up on deck to see if the fishermen had any food I could eat.

I blinked as I stepped out into the bright sun. There was a gentle breeze and it was actually pretty nice out. The sun had just started to leave the horizon and make its way up into the sky. I was even starting to get used to the smell of Somalia. I can’t actually describe the smell, but it is bad. Think car oil mixed with rotten fish and a basketball player’s unwashed socks that have been sitting in the dust bowl for years. That is the general smell of the Somali landscape. I know pleasant and delightful right?

When I got up to the main deck of the boat I heard a scratching static sound coming from inside one of the alcoves of the boat. I peered in just in time to see that Lateef was just patching a call through to shore, probably to his brother. But the radio was so old and worn out that it was giving more static than words. I doubted Lateef’s brother even got the message that he was about to bring an American girl to shore so that she can leave the pirates that kidnapped her behind in Somalia and then continue to go to Stuttgart. Lateef’s brother probably just realized that it was important and was hoping that it didn’t entail much work. Although I had no idea what his personality was. Judging by how Lateef had talked about him last night he was probably more laid back than his brother. But how we describe our family is often different from how others perceived them. I would try to keep that in mind as I traveled with his brother to Egypt.

After hanging up the radio (or whatever one does after finishing radio communications) Lateef turned to me.

“Sleep well last night?” he inquired with a smile on his face. I didn’t want to sound ungrateful so I smiled and replied,

“Yes, thank you for the bunk,” one of the other fishermen laughed.

“Ignore him,” Lateef said rolling his eyes jokingly, “Akmal is just being ridiculous. For the record, it takes about two months on one of these boats to get a good night’s sleep.” He said winking at me. “It will be about an hour’s ride to shore where I can give you to my brother and then you can travel to Port Said. Sorry to say but that journey takes about five to six days depending on the weather and amount of cattle raids.”

“Cattle raids!” I exclaimed

“Don’t worry, they normally only happen if you have cattle. The group you’re travelling with doesn’t,” I breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing I needed was Tanzanian guys with guns charging after me when I haven’t even shaken off the Somali guys with guns. Then again, Tanzania was on the other side of Africa, I think.

I then remembered the actual length of five days. I was hoping to get back to Stuttgart tonight, tomorrow at the latest. I wanted to go home and sleep in a bed that doesn’t rock and has a mattress that is nice and fluffy. I was grateful that Lateef didn’t want to ransom me to America but still, five days was a long time to spend in Africa, illegally, with pirates chasing me, and a group of people I don’t know. I sighed and sank down on the side of the ship. Lateef looked as if he was about to say something, but then turned awkwardly away. I doubted anyone could handle this situation very well. I still would have liked him to try a bit harder to cheer me up. Though maybe there was nothing he could do to cheer me up.

Before I could start to feel too sorry for myself, Lateef called something out in Arabic and the fishermen started their daily routine. I began to see a different way of life and I can honestly say that the ride into shore was actually quite enjoyable. I ate some Foul Mudammes for breakfast. For those of you in our studio audience who don’t know what Foul Mudammes are, they are boiled fava beans and spices that are mashed together and eaten on pita bread. Akmal made it and said it was a very popular breakfast food in Turkey, where he grew up.

After breakfast I helped reel in a net that was catching some fish. There were a ton of fish in the net but I left the sorting to Akmal and Ali. Come to think of it, the fish that were all pretty much caught by Akmal and Ali. I am not cut out for survival. While they were sorting Lateef began to strum his guitar. He was a very good player.

There were about ten guys on the boat. Each was doing a different job without the captain or Lateef ordering them. The environment was so relaxed I actually forgot about the Somali pirates. As Ali was sorting he tried to teach me some words in Arabic. Everyone laughed as I struggled to say “hello”, “goodbye”, and “I am a poor Lithuanian”. The other fishermen who could speak English told me about their childhood and where they grew up. I gave them some of my stories about family gatherings in return. We all had a good laugh at times and were actually getting along quite well. I honestly did not want this part of the journey to end. I was, for the first time this summer, not in a hurry to do anything, just to sit here and relax. If all fishermen lived like this then I would need to reassess my priorities.

Sadly, we docked the boat in Mogadishu and my time with the fishermen had come to an end. Lateef scanned the docks very quickly and then turned to the crew to say something in Arabic. I assumed it meant ‘Stay on the boat’ but I could not be sure. Every time someone spoke Arabic I felt more useless and stupid. It wasn’t my fault; I can’t learn every language in existence. But still I felt as though people were judging me for not speaking every language under the sun. Lateef gripped my shoulder and steered me off the boat and onto the docks. As we got closer to a building I saw two guys standing there. We appeared to be heading towards one and all I could think was ‘that is a Bedouin’. He had a turban wrapped around his head. He wore sandals on his feet and what looked like a wool gown with a long vest overhead. I would have to ask him the correct terms when we were going to Port Said. It was not like there was a shortage of time.

As we got closer though, Lateef turned towards the other man. He looked younger than Lateef but had many of the same features including his large, almond shaped, brown eyes, and long face. Even from a distance he seemed to be smiling about something. The reason why I didn’t think he was the Bedouin was because of the clothes. He was wearing worn jeans and what appeared to be a jersey of some sort. He had on sandals though, which made him a bit more Middle Eastern looking. On the boat it wasn’t very apparent about the skin tone difference but in the crowd of Somalis it was quite pronounced. Both Lateef and his brother were several shades lighter than the Somalis, I shuddered to think how much I stuck out if two guys who were so dark stuck out like a sore thumb. No wonder I was such a target for the Somalis, I was easy to find. We finally reached Lateef’s brother.

He smiled and said, “So you are the American who ticked off the Somalis,” I noticed that his accent was thicker than Lateef’s. He laughed again and continued, “My name is Izz-Ud-Din, and you’ll probably have trouble with that so call me Din.” I nodded my head. The exact words that Lateef said me, I must be incompetent, or at least look it.

“The best course of action is for you to go to Port Said, take a boat to Greece, and then fly to Frankfurt or Berlin from there you can get a connecting flight to Stuttgart,” Lateef said. I wondered when he managed to plan this all out. I was planning to fly by the seat of my pants and hoped it would work out in the end. All of my planning so far hasn’t amounted to very much considering I keep hitting brick walls.

“Thank you for everything,” I was just about to say goodbye when I remembered something.

“Here,” I pulled out the wad of cash that I stole from the Somalis and handed it to Lateef. “For all of the trouble you went through in bringing me to shore,” He stared at it for a minute and then smiled.

“I don’t need your money. Have fun on your way to Egypt. Ethiopia is beautiful in some places and make sure to visit Cairo,”

“Don’t worry bro, we always stop in Cairo,” Din said continuing to smile. He was definitely much different from Lateef. Even though they were both wearing jeans and t-shirts, Lateef’s was much cleaner. Lateef also kept his beard longer than Din’s, whose was quite short. Din had longer hair though. Where Lateef’s was combed neatly, Din’s stuck out all over the place. These brothers probably were as different as could be. I couldn’t even begin to think about how Din would fair in an office wearing a suit and tie.

“Tell Calila I said hi,” Lateef and Din shook hands and then Lateef shook my hand. Earlier on the boat I had given all of the men my Facebook account so that I could keep in touch, this didn’t stop me from being sad as Lateef left. I enjoyed my time on the boat and wished that instead of spending five days with Bedouins, I would spend it with them. On the bright side the beds should rock like we’re in the middle of a hurricane.

Now you may be wondering where the bad luck comes into play and the answer is now. I didn’t have time to stare off into the distance like they do in the movies because the pirates showed up. Yeah for me. Shame, I would have loved to have been one of those Hollywood beauties whose hair blew softly in the wind as the sun shines on them giving the stars a heavenly look. After some sad music played, Din would ask me if I was ready to go and I would sadly respond yes. Then, turning away we would begin to walk into the sun: fade to black, next scene. That was my dream. This is how it actually went:

Din had just begun to take me to his truck when out of nowhere ten men on horseback with a multitude of guns came galloping towards us. Which scene is more calm and peaceful, the one described as a movie or the one that actually happened. I would rather be a Hollywood beauty than a disheveled American who can’t seem to get a decent break. They shouted something in Arabic and began shooting at Din and me, great, just what I needed, and the Somali pirates to actually know how to use automatic and semi-automatic weapons. I was rather hoping that it was more for show than anything. At least the Somalis didn’t seem to be very good shots as the bullets kept hitting everything besides Din and me.

I could hear the bullets wiz by my head and once or twice feel a hot wave of energy when one got to close. I could see dirt and rock explode where the bullets hit the ground and the side of buildings. I could hear them as they bounced off of the steel-sided shacks that lined the streets of Mogadishu. We were running and dodging bullets when out of nowhere a truck raced towards the pirates and hit one of them with the door. It was again my luckiest unlucky day. Who was driving the truck surprised me; it was an incredibly beautiful woman, due to the adrenalin rush I was getting at the time I think I thought she was an angel, she certainly seemed like divine intervention to me.

“Get in,” she demanded and neither Din nor I protested as we hopped in the bed of the truck. The pirates were still shooting at the truck but had stopped chasing us. They appeared to be weighing their options heavily. I could almost see the cogs turning in their head as they thought: Truck versus horse. They then made a decision, a logical decision, the truck would win. The pirates started shouting and regrouping, turning their horses around and heading back towards the docks. I could still here the occasional bullet bounce off of the metal that encased the truck. This is where my good luck comes in, out of the hundreds of bullets that were shot at us, not one hit me or Din. Pretty successful chase scene if you ask me. I’m sure James Bond and Katniss would be proud.

Sometime later, well outside of Mogadishu, we finally stopped next to a group of about twenty more trucks. I had my eyes squeezed shut because of the dust and I covered my mouth as well. It didn’t seem like the safest thing to be sitting in the back of a truck on an unpaved road without any sort of harness device to keep me in. Then again, there probably was nothing to hit out here anyways. When I opened my eyes, I was greeted by the pleasant view of, wait for it, a desert, no vegetation, just dirt, rocks, and sand. Truly a fantastic site (sarcasm most definitely intended).

Din jumped out and after being thoroughly disappointed by what the desert had to offer in a sense of beauty, I followed. The woman also got out of the truck; she wasn’t covered in dirt like I was. I suppose that it did make me look slightly darker, maybe it would help me to not stand out as much. Even though the woman was wearing a head scarf and a long dress I could still see that she was incredibly beautiful. ‘This must be Calila’ I thought to myself. She was slightly darker than Din but her skin was flawless. She also had a long and narrow face and large round eyes, but her nose was slightly wider than Din’s and Lateef’s and her eyes looked absolutely stunning. Instead of the different shades of browns I had seen, hers were almost a honey color. They didn’t have as much laugh in them as Lateef’s and Din’s, but she looked like a person you could trust. I understood why Din left Saudi Arabia. If I ever met a guy that was really handsome, I would pack up my things and leave as well.

“You poor thing, you have been through so much. Let me get you something,” Before I could protest Calila left. She returned quickly with a backpack and something that looked like cloth.

“This is a sebleh and a head scarf with some sandals. You can wear this instead of those wet and dirty clothes.” I thanked her. My clothes were no longer wet, though they were dirty. I went into a tent to put it on. At least the people I had met so far were nice, I wonder if the rest of the Bedouins were as nice or did they hate having an outsider in the group. These things must be considered when attempting to escape a group of bloodthirsty pirates with what appears to be an unlimited supply of automatic weapons and bullets to feed said weapons. The Sebleh was long and brightly colored purple with a zigzag design. The headscarf felt like silk and was also a purple color, but it was more of a lavender or lilac. It did feel good to be in some clean clothes for the first time in about four days. I also got a chance to wash some of the dirt off of my face and arms. I put my other clothes in the backpack so that I wouldn’t lose them. Again, this was my cute outfit that I wore to impress people, it was not staying in Somali even if I had to pack it across Africa. When I was done cleaning up and getting dressed, I stepped outside to talk to Din. He had put on some robes much like that of the turban guy I saw earlier.

“Aw, there she is,” He said smiling. I was soon introduced to a lot of the other Bedouins and was surprised to see there were a good amount of children and women. I always thought wandering nomads was a male dominant profession. I was wrong. I was interested to see if the environment was as relaxed as the fishing boat. Hey, at this point I had to hope for something that would come true because being chased by pirates can really take it out of you. After the introductions had come to a close, I expressed my fear of being chased all the way home.

“Do you think they’ll come after me? They did look pretty mad that I had escaped and had made it back to shore,”

Din stroked his beard, “After you are out of the country the pirates should be done with you. They usually don’t hunt.” He looked down and smiled at me, I felt relieved but Din didn’t seem too sure about the pirates “hunting” patterns. I decided to change the topic of conversation before I became to hung up on the hunting thing.

“Sorry for the truck. It can’t be fun to have it be shot at like that.” I know, I know, not the feel good conversation I probably should have brought up. This one was likely to make me feel worse about my predicament and point out to the other Bedouins that I was a dangerous liability that was likely to get them killed while traveling through the Sahara, like they didn’t have enough dangers to worry about. Then, to my surprise, everyone who understood English laughed. I blushed red. One of the Bedouins talked quickly in Arabic to those that couldn’t understand and they laughed to. By this time I was the shade of a tomato. There was something about the truck here that I was clearly missing; hopefully Din would explain so I would know whether to feel upset or embarrassed.

“This truck is a 1963 Chevy Stepside. It is pretty much indestructible. I believe it is the prototype for the tank, the metal at least,” Din shrugged his shoulders and went to find Calila. With that I was starting to feel once again reassured. If the truck was as indestructible as all of the Bedouins made it out to be, then I was in good shape, if not, I really actually don’t want to think about that. I am sleeping in the tent with Calila and Din. I actually get a cot to sleep on that doesn’t rock like a boat and is more comfortable than the airport, the airplane, and the cargo ship. One more thing I should mention before I sign off for the night, the desert is cold. It is blazing hot during the day, to the point where an oven seems like an air-conditioned oasis, but at night it is freezing, literally. I’m pretty sure ice crystals have started to appear on the tent where precipitation has built up. Apparently the desert can’t hold in heat so during the day I will be sweating like a pig, while at night I will be shaking like a Chihuahua.

I cannot wait to go home, to the stable temperatures, to my own bed, to my own clothes, and no one trying to kill me. It will be a dream come true. When I said I wanted an enemy to make things more interesting I was talking about some girl in high school. Like the popular girl who has it out for the beautiful quirky girl and in the end we all become friends showing the kindness and understanding is better than wearing the best clothing and getting prom queen. Believe it or not, running for my life is actually very tiring. I think that is the end of my rants and descriptions. See you tomorrow, maybe.

Jessica

7: Day 6

Day 6

Day 6

Sorry for not writing in Day 5 but we were on the truck all day and by the end of the day I was way too tired to write anything. I’m tired now but I figured that I have kept this indestructible diary for four days. I have kept it through boring airports and wrong flights, foreign countries, kidnappings, sneaky escapes and thrilling chase sequences. I have kept this diary and until the very end I will continue to write in it. I wanted an adventure and I got an adventure. This was my time to show people that I can stand on my own and that I can take care of myself. Throughout this horror story I have planned and plotted, I had used my resources and held my ground. When I go home, it will be with my head high so that people know, when they read this that Jessica is not a quitter, but a survivor. When those Somali pirates decide to try and find me again, I will face them with dignity and honor!

Sorry for the pep talk, sometimes you have to give it to yourself so that you remember your strengths and weaknesses, in order to give yourself some sanity. Now back to the story. Dins had explained that we crossed over into Sudan and are almost to Port Said, about 2 ½ days to go. Which is good because I don’t like traveling with the Bedouins as much as the fishermen. They are relaxed but every time we set up camp I am expected to help. I’m not against helping and am glad to help. However, I have never set up one of these tents before and often take more time to set up than if they were to do it by themselves.

I would much rather take food inventory or unload trucks but they have me on tent duty. However I haven’t been completely idle. The other morning while putting away camp I found one of the ropes used to pitch the tents. We were just about to leave so I stuck it in my backpack. I am planning on giving it to Din when we set up camp again. I think they will appreciate me not leaving a piece of vital equipment behind. Other than tent set up duty, the journey has been rather relaxing. Though the bouncing truck takes a while to get used to and I often find myself in the bed of the truck praying to every religious deity imaginable to protect me and keep me from flying out of the bed onto the hard, rocky ground (the landscape hasn’t improved yet. All I keep thinking when I look at the landscape is “Yeah, sand”).

Still, we are planning to stop in Cairo, Egypt and I hope to get some amazing sightseeing done. Imagine, the Great Pyramids, the Sphinx, the ancient Egyptian architecture. I’m sure it will be much better than what I saw in Somalia. Luckily, I have a waterproof camera so I have been able to keep taking pictures, thank you indestructible technology. Another point to add which I am very excited to share: I believe that Din and Lateef were right in thinking that once I crossed into Ethiopia the pirates would leave me alone. The universe is a cruel mistress, but every once in a while, it is on your side.

Ethiopia was a blast. We only spent one day there and it was mostly driving but I can say that it is fairly calm and serene. Although just about anything looks calm and serene after Somalia. There were a lot of pastoralists who were happy to tag along with us. Most of them hopped in the truck beds with us for a while and some ran alongside our trucks, man could those people run. Unlike the Bedouins I was traveling with, they had a great deal of animals such as cows, sheep, and horses. They told me traditional tribal stories and taught me some Ethiopian words as well as more Arabic. Arabic is incredibly difficult to learn so when I go home I will stick with my French.

The people wore colorful clothing that couldn’t be more different from the Bedouins. Where the Bedouins wore thick, long clothing to protect from the sun and keep them cool, the Ethiopians often wore colorful cloths that were tied around the waist or in some cases, a collared polo shirt to cover their chests. The Bedouins had mostly colorless clothes or very subdued colors, the Ethiopians dressed with every color they could find and often arranged the cloth to have a bright pattern that helped to give them some more life. A final difference was the fact that the Ethiopians often wore a lot of beads around their wrists, ankles, neck, and head. The Bedouins didn’t wear any jewelry. It was fascinating to count all of the differences between the two people as we rode along through Ethiopia. Maybe I’ll make a living studying the two groups. They are certainly interested in hearing about me and I am interested in hearing about them. It is almost a win-win relationship.

When we stopped for lunch and refueling the trucks a group of Ethiopians came and joined us. They all seemed incredibly interested in me and apparently started calling me the “milk girl” due to my skin. I can’t be sure as Din kept laughing making it difficult to understand him. Again, I never thought about how much I would stand out in different countries, then someone points something out and I become self-conscious. At least I was wearing more clothing than before. From the back I’m sure people couldn’t tell if I was as white as milk or as dark as chocolate (can you tell I am missing the wonders of the western world?). After we were all done with some pita bread, humus, and some dried meat (I think they said it was goat meat), we packed up and started to leave, but not before the Ethiopians said goodbye. As a parting gift, they gave me some beads and I took a picture of them with an old camera, the kind that spits out the picture immediately, Polaroid is what I think it is called. However, the real reason I wanted to write today was what Din showed me just now.

It is a little past midnight but well worth it to stay up. The Bedouins are a lively group of people who always are up for some games. During the night was the perfect time to play because it was much cooler than during the day. I was having a blast running around with the children and trying not to focus on my situation too much, but in the end, I was tired and I still wanted to go home. This was fun and I will never have another experience like it but still, I miss my family and friends, toilet paper, TV, and so much more. I am not ungrateful but this isn’t my life, Stuttgart is my life. While I was thinking about all of this and beginning to write in my journal Din came in.

“What are you doing?” He asked. During our time together I found out a lot more about Din and Lateef. Din was much younger, about 10 years younger than Lateef. His family lived in Dubai and was actually fairly wealthy. His father worked at a bank and his mother was a schoolteacher. Lateef went to college at an American University (explaining the excellent English) and actually has a master’s in Business Law. Din was all set to go to college when he met Calila. His parents thought it was a phase but he has been with her for five years. Still, his family has supported both him and Lateef in all of their life choices. It reminded me of my parents, how they seem to love my siblings and me no matter what, though sometimes it is more apparent than others. Din always seemed genuinely concerned about me so finally I told him about how I missed my family and friends (I did leave out toilet paper and TV, I didn’t want to sound spoiled).

“You know, when I feel sad it always helps me to look to the stars in the sky. It puts things into perspective. I don’t know why but it helps.” Din then left the tent. I thought that was the end of the conversation and I felt a little mad. I was sitting here after being chased by Somali pirates, an illegal person in Africa, though from what I’ve seen Africa doesn’t mind illegal stays as much as other countries. I also felt completely alone. No one here shared my culture; they all would think it was weird that I miss certain types of food, or fluffy blankets. They were kind but they didn’t really seem to understand. If I got stranded in Europe of America or even Canada that would be better, but here I was all alone. I turned and began to write that pep talk of an opening as my feelings poured out onto the paper when Calila came in. I finished my angry paragraph and then turned to look at her. I tried to look calm but still, I’m sure frustration was shining through, clear as noon on the Sahara.

“Follow me,” She said abruptly. I looked questioningly at her but decided to follow her. Maybe the reason Din didn’t do anything was because he thought Calila would be better suited for this task. She was a girl after all and maybe he thought this was more of a “girl-talk” problem. He still could have said something more than about the stars. She led me outside and then said “Look,” I looked at her, so obedient right?

“What do you see?” She asked.

“The desert,” I responded. Indeed our surroundings were very desert like. It hadn’t changed much from Somalia. It was the same sandy, rocky, dusty mess that I had left behind two days ago. There was only a tree in the far off distance, but it appeared to have been killed by the merciless heat. I could hear some insects buzzing around but other than the occasion bat, there was no life.

“Wrong,” Calila said quickly.

I looked at her “How could that be wrong? Looking straight ahead I see the desert.”

“Because I did not ask you to look at the boring desert,” At least she saw it too. After a few seconds I decided to try something different. My mind flashed back to the conversation I just had with Din. Reluctantly I looked up at the sky.

“Well?” Calila continued to push. This was getting rather annoying, I was tired and I wanted to go to bed. We were almost to Port Said, three to four days left and I wanted to let it pass as quickly as possible. One way to waste time is to sleep. Four hours seems like ten minutes if you’re sleeping. I repeat again, I wanted to go to bed. In sleep was where I was with family and friends. In Atlanta visiting relatives as Aunts pinched my cheeks and grandparents commented on how big I was getting. In sleep my life was normal again. I wasn’t in the Sudan half-way across the Sahara Desert with people who I barely knew. At least I thought I wanted to go to bed and leave this all behind, until I saw what Calila wanted me to see.

There are no words that can truly describe the sight of the midnight sky unpolluted by lights and clouds. The stars are so numerous that it is impossible to make out a constellation. The moon is so bright that there is no need for additional lights. The Milky Way ran across the purple and blue sky with a never ending majesty. I could understand why this was calming, when the mind is overwhelmed. If I were a better poet I could more easily describe to you what the unadulterated night sky looks like. Since I am not, I will try my best with the words at my disposal, though it does not do the pure brilliance of billions of diamonds and glitter justice.

“You don’t get that view in the city now do you?” Din asked me. All I could do was nod my head. I didn’t even bother to correct her saying that I lived in the suburbs outside of the city.

For the next hour one of our companions named Najm Udeen taught me the names of numerous stars in the sky. He told me the stories of constellations and how to find our position using the stars. I pretended to understand but there were so many, I couldn’t make out Cassiopeia from Draco. After another hour of star gazing, I retired to the tent, and am now finishing this entry. If I ever see this sky again it will not be too soon. It is times like these, when I tell my story to the news and my family, when I am frustrated with my life, that I will remember. The times of beauty and fun, of friends and new places to see will always be with me. I have to say, even though this journey has been more than stressful, I have met some great people.

Jessica

8: Day 7

Day 7

Day 7

Have you ever thought that for one minute that the universe wanted things to go your way. Then you descend into reality for five minutes and get a slap in the face. Yep, the universe hates me. We finally had our stop in Cairo. Yet, my hands are shaking so much right now you don’t even know. A terrible thing has happened and I am now really worried about my safety as well as for the Bedouins I am travelling with. It is almost too awful to describe. Nobody is dead, thank goodness, but that still does not distract from the inherent danger of the situation everyone is in. I should probably start from the beginning just so that when I read back over this I remember I had a good time, at first.

After traveling nonstop for the past four days, except to sleep about three hours a night, I was finally ready for Cairo. The Bedouins had run into some trouble with the trucks that had put us behind schedule. Although it only put us about three hours behind schedule, they seemed to think the remedy was travelling as fast and as far as they could. This led to barely any sleep for the past few nights and even less when Calila took me out to look at the stars.

I couldn’t wait for the sights and sounds that such an old city had to offer. To finally stretch my legs and walk around instead of sitting in the back of an old pickup truck for hours on end, I wasn’t even sure my legs worked properly anymore. I also wanted some fresh bottled water. The water that Din had was from wells and often tasted funny. I tried to refrain from drinking too much but in a desert it is hard. What it lacks in water and shade it makes up for with searing heat and blinding sunshine. Except for at night, and then it has freezing temperatures and every form of insect under the sun, or moon.

In Cairo, Din and Najm had to do some business. They were going to barter for some food and fuel. Hey, Bedouins need to eat to, especially with an American traveling with them. This left me with Calila. We decided to explore Cairo. We saw a lot of the attractions on the way in but I wanted to see the city and the monuments up close. First we went to the Great Pyramids of Giza, which were awesome. They are huge and really make you wonder how they were put together with such primitive tools. They also looked like they were falling apart. Then again, when I am 1000 years old I hope that I still look that good. The golden bricks used to lay them were magnificent, when the sun hit them just right they really did look like golden bricks. There were a ton of tourists though so we had to elbow our way up to the front. I can say this honestly about Calila, she may be small and pretty, but she stands her ground and isn’t afraid to elbow people out of the way. I did not want to get on her bad side.

Afterwards, we went to see the sphinx. Now the pyramids were amazing, but they were nothing compared to the sphinx. Despite being old and worn down, each feature was expertly carved. At some angles the sphinx appeared to breathe and move giving it an eerie feeling. The way it was put together must have taken thousands of years. The best part was that no one knows for sure who the Sphinx is supposed to represent. There are a lot of guesses but nobody knows for sure. We also saw a great deal of hieroglyphic carvings along large tombs and temples. I thought English was hard but it looked like you had to be an artist just to write out a quick “hi, how are you?” I can’t even imagine texting back then or even passing notes during schools. We didn’t stay long because of all of the tourists, and Calila had a traveling philosophy:

“If you are going to travel somewhere, meet the people, not the things,” She explained as she led me down the bustling streets of Cairo. Apparently meeting the people also included shopping, finally something every girl around the world can understand. We had fun picking out brightly colored beads at the bazar and looking at the multitude of trinkets that the traders had to offer. It was a bit stressful attempting to make the traders back off, especially since I was white they seemed to think that I was loaded with cash.

Calila had some special power to get them to back off because all she had to do was look at the traders and then they went away to bother some other tourist. Calila and I even found a camel renter who gave us camels to ride on. Let me tell you something about a camel, it is not easy to ride on. They are ten times more stubborn than horses and have no problems disagreeing with you. They look like their smiling, and they are, but it is an evil smile of mischief, like they’re planning to bit you as soon as you turn your back. You really have to hold your ground with the things. Finally, after many attempts, I got the hang of it and we had fun roaming Cairo on camel back instead of in the back of a bumpy truck or on foot. Even though I wasn’t walking a lot I was still getting blisters because of the sandals. They rubbed my feet in all the wrong places, if you get my drift.

For lunch Calila took me to a restaurant that I swear was in the kitchen of a personal house. It was small and we had to eat outside on the stoop because there was not enough room for a stove and a table. The woman of the house, I think at one point, was trying to get me engaged to her son. I couldn’t be sure but Calila’s laughter was a good indication that something was up. The cook fed me fried falafel on a pita roll, delicious. The best part was the water that they served. Even though it wasn’t ice cold, it was easily the best liquid I had tasted in a long time. Cool, clear, not tasting like the inside of a Vaseline jar, I thought the day would never end. The sites, the sound, it was all too wonderful. I would love Cairo forever, partly because I saw some vegetation. Who knew that not seeing so much as a blade of grass for four days would drive you crazy? Sadly, my bliss went away fast.

Calila needed to pick up some items for the rest of our journey to Port Said. They were mostly food and packets of water but still, I did my part by loading it on the camels and leading them back to the trucks. We went to return the camels and then roam around Cairo for a little while longer; we only had about another hour or so before we had to meet up with Din and the rest of the gang in order to leave.

Where we choose to spend our last thirty minutes was in the market place looking at all of the amazing crafts work being done. Amid the Arabic being spoken in the market place I thought I recognized a voice. I couldn’t place where it was but still, it sounded so familiar. I looked up and immediately picked out the dark-skinned man amid the many Carmel colored people in the market place. My heart began to race and Calila immediately noticed as my eyes widened in fear. She looked up and saw one of the pirates who had tried to hold me ransom. Luckily the skin thing works vice versa and he stood out among the sea of lighter toned, curly haired Egyptians. Calila took my arm and tried to lead me away quietly hoping that our headscarves and seblehs would help us blend in. Sadly they didn’t help. The pirate immediately noticed us and began to shout. I don’t know how but he knew that I was the girl who had made a fool out of the Somali pirates (I’m thinking that’s going to be my title from now on. What do you think?).

“Run,” Calila screamed as she broke into a sprint. I had no idea how she did it because my sebleh kept me from making full strides. Being fully clothed in such heat was making me tire much faster, as well. Finally I hiked up the sebleh and began to run with much more ease than before. I still couldn’t run fast enough. I then gasped. There were about ten Somalis, on horseback with the very guns I saw in the hull of the cargo ship. This was a bad situation.

Calila did not waste any time grabbing the nearest heavy object and throwing it at the horse successfully knocking the rider off the horse. Man did that woman have aim. I quickly followed en suite but the trinket I had picked up and thrown fell shamelessly in front of the rider, he didn’t even seem stunned that I would be so bold. I then did something I knew I couldn’t mess up; I swiftly dumped some beads that were nicely displayed on a table onto the ground and began to run. Calila followed close behind. We knocked and pushed over stalls and carts, trashcans and bicycles, all in the hope of trying to slow the Somalis. We didn’t even look back to see if it was working or not. Sometime later, after successfully destroying the market place and causing a great deal of concussions, Calila and I made it to the trucks.

Din saw the looks on our faces and immediately knew something was wrong. He wasted no time revving the engine then driving off into the sunset. Romantic right? Din and Lateef were wrong; the Somalis had followed me to Egypt. A full four days outside of Somalia. They had started their hunt and were by no means close to finishing it. I was not even hopeful that they would leave me alone after I left the continent anymore. Tonight we are not even stopping for our three hour rest. We are going straight to Port Said where I would be on my way to Europe. No one was complaining. This is my vacation gone wrong, brought to you by the girl who made the Somali pirates look like fools. Goodnight and good riddance.

Jessica

9: Day 8

Day 8

Day 8

You know how I thought that the universe is against me. I am now very sure of the fact. I’m even surer that it doesn’t just want me to have a difficult time in attempting to get back home, it is laughing while I struggle to survive. The universe is sitting there, laughing at me while I run around Africa looking like an idiot. Although sometimes, while laughing it offers you a friendly extended hand to try and help you up.

You know how I had found out that the Somalis had followed me from Somalia and into Egypt; well they still haven’t given up on trying to kill me. Yay for me, I wanted enemies and now I have the ones that seem to follow me across Africa and don’t give up. I wonder if they want to be prom queen and I’m the cute quirky girl that is ruining their chances. One can only hope that love and acceptance will win out this battle. Here is what happened this time. I am starting to think that if I live through this, I will be a walking miracle. I have only gotten some scratches and bruises, nothing to serious, yet (yet being the key word here).

After driving for about 15 hours straight, we finally got to Port Said. I have to admit that the drive was quite beautiful despite restless sleep and the sheer terror that seemed to follow me everywhere. I really am having a hard time catching a break on my vacation gone wrong. I still want a customs official by the way. I have not given up on the belief that a customs official would be a great help right now.

We drove along the coast for most of the way. It was incredibly different from Ethiopia, Sudan, and even Mogadishu. There were white sands, lots of plants (the last living plant I saw was the tree in the middle of the desert and it was probably dead), and lots of camels. I actually do like riding camels. It takes awhile to get used to the motion but once you got it down, riding camels is easy and quite fun. There was less crowded space and it seemed nicer. The buildings weren’t as run down and it was easier to maneuver through the streets. This was probably because there were hardly any tourists and, being a port city, they had a lot of extra business from shipping companies and their crews. I was almost home. Just a short trip across the Mediterranean and then I would be in Europe, the land where Western culture is the norm and the food doesn’t taste like sand. Din stopped the truck and we unloaded.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to try and get you a ride to Greece?” He said looking at me. I could tell that he was more worried about the Somalis coming after me than me getting to Europe. But still, how hard can it be to find a boat going to Europe in a port city?

“I’ll be fine. How hard is it to find a boat,” I smiled at him. The real reason I didn’t want them tagging along was because the Bedouins had already given up so much to take me to Port Said. They had already had to spend longer in Cairo to give me a good chance to look around and they had to give up some of their supplies so that I wouldn’t die of starvation and dehydration. I felt it best if I continued this journey on my own.

“If you’re serious about going on your own then good luck,” Din gave me an awkward one-arm hug and stepped away.

“Always remember the stars my friend, and keep in touch,” Calila said as she kissed my cheek and went to join her husband. One by one each member came and said their goodbyes. I got hugs from some, handshakes from others, and kisses. Najm was the last one to say goodbye.

“May Allah always protect you on this journey and others you may take. On a completely unrelated note, if anyone gives you trouble the email us. There is nothing like a group of Bedouins to knock some sense into a western," I laughed as he smiled and waved goodby. After saying goodbye one last time I walked away. I was truly going to miss those people. You cannot travel for a week with a group and not feel close. They were kind to me and I felt like I had lost some great friends. I wondered what my friends would do in a situation like this. Would they trust complete strangers, would they know how to sneak off of a cargo ship full of pirates?

I pictured my friends in this situation and tried to see how they would differ from me. Lucinda would be so nice to the pirates that after a while they would just let her go while attempting to reform their life for the better. Emily would probably react much like me, though she might have asked the Bedouins to stay for extra security. I could see Terra handling the situation much more like James Bond and stealing a truck if she had to in order to leave Somalia. I smiled as each of my friends reacted to the situation differently. Mine way was the best though. I was sad that the Bedouins had left and now I was on my own again. Only my mind and memories to keep me company. My sadness didn’t last long because I had to try and negotiate a boat to Greece, or any European country. I really didn’t care where to, I just wanted out of Africa and into the land of Europe.

I walked to the docks and found a boat renter. The trouble was I didn’t speak any Arabic and he hardly spoke English. This time I was trying not to use charades and speak slowly and loudly. But it was really hard because I wanted a boat and he couldn’t understand that I needed one that could get me to Europe. I was trying really hard to negotiate a boat when he finally got frustrated and slammed the door close. I then walked from vendor to vendor until I was finally and successfully shut out of every vendor. Apparently getting a boat to Europe was a lot harder than I thought it would be. Exasperated I sunk down on some stairs. Mistake number four on my vacation gone wrong.

I couldn’t believe I didn’t get out of Cairo when I was there. They had an airport. Why didn’t I stay in Cairo? I would like to say that it was because the pirates had made me forget about the airport, but really I think I just wanted more time with the Bedouins. But even Din and his master plan failed to acknowledge the fact that an airport would probably be the best thing for me. I felt like crying and was wondering if I could find Din again. I looked at my watch. It had been nearly an hour since I had been in Port Said, which meant Din was probably gone. The Bedouins had to keep moving in order to stay alive. I had just blown away my chance of getting home by tomorrow and I now was stuck in Egypt. There probably was an embassy somewhere, I thought to myself. The problem was that I didn’t even know how to begin to find the embassy.

“Excuse me,” said a voice behind me “is everything alright?” Finally, someone who spoke English, and even better, someone who wasn’t Egyptian! His accent sounded like Russian, though he could be from another Easter Europe country. I didn’t question it. If he could speak English he might be able to find a boat for me. I thought I was finally saved. If I was more careful this time I might not end up as pirate bait. I turned around and saw that he was holding a tray of necklaces.

“This might be a bad time but my family is poor, could you please buy a necklace?” I couldn’t believe it, he was just another salesman! A European one, but a salesman nonetheless. I decided not to trust him since he was probably up to no good. This backfired horribly.

“No,” I said curtly. I didn’t have the time for this. I had to find a boat, now!

“You’re problems cannot possibly be as bad as a starving family,” At this point I was just annoyed.

“You aren’t even Egyptian,” I shouted “You are Eastern European, those necklaces are probably laced with opium and a tracker. As soon as I leave Egypt one of your gang members will come and kill me taking back the necklace. I am not buying one,” I turned around and started to sulk again. Mistake number five on my vacation gone wrong. I didn’t sulk for very long because another man walked up to me.

“Excuse me,” He said with a thick accent that wasn’t Arabic. It sounded more Australian. The man had short brown hair kind of skinny. He was wearing a button up shirt and some slacks along with his nice dress shoes. I wondered if he was part of the drug ring as well. But he didn’t look Eastern European so I couldn’t be sure. He continued to walk right past me up to the man with the opium (?) necklaces.

“I am Agent Collins and you are under arrest with Interpol jurisdiction,” The man looked at the Agent Collins then threw the necklaces at him and ran.

He didn’t get very far because another man punched him before he even made it down the alleyway.

“You cannot arrest the Armenians! We will live, and you,” He pointed at me “will be dead,” The two Interpol agents didn’t seem to notice his threat as they led him away. The first thought that came to my mind was “great, another group of bloodthirsty people who wanted to kill me” I then heard hurried whispers that were not Arabic. He had alerted the rest of the gang and they were now closing in around me. I took no time to wait and quickly began to run.

Then, as the universe continued to laugh at me, I ran into the Somali Pirates. They were still on horses and looking even angrier than when I left them in Cairo. It does make sense, seeming how Calila and I did destroy a market place and made fools out of the Somali pirates. Everyone was shouting and shooting at me as I ran through the streets of Port Said. I decided that I couldn’t just run to the heart of Port Said, I needed to leave Africa, now. The way to leave Africa was currently by boat, so I found a boat. I climbed up to the top of a warehouse by the bay, hoping they wouldn’t chase me as I began to line up a jump. Sadly, the pirates and drug lords could climb to. I should have figured. I again weighed my options and for the second time in a week, closed my eyes and jumped off the building.

My shoulder hit something hard followed by the rest of my body. I made a metallic thud as I hit the deck of a ship. I stood up. I wasn’t seeing any stars, which was good. I didn’t need a concussion along with everything else that had happened to me. I didn’t see the pirates or drug lords, which hopefully meant they weren’t on the boat. But now I had two bloodthirsty groups who wanted me dead and had absolutely no respect for the law. They could have jumped on the ship and I needed to find some cover, they had superior weapons and were not afraid to kill in the open air.

I was on a very nice ship, judging by the staircase and interior. The outside walls were large, white, and very metal. The floors were a frosted sea blue glass that had shapes of shadowed fish that appeared to be swimming underneath the glass. The inside was marvelously decorated in sea greens and blues. The lights were large chandeliers that looked like bubbles and there were several comfy armchairs that lined the walls. One wall was a large glass aquarium with a great multitude of tropical fish swimming around in the tank. The carpet wasn’t a cheesy 80’s faded carpet that was on the airplane. It was very fluffy and soft, a deep-sea foam green.

The intercom beeped on “Good afternoon passengers,” said a woman with a thick British Accent, “We hope you enjoyed your stay in Port Said and are pleased to announce that we are leaving on time and will be at Taranto, Italy in about two and a half days. Enjoy your cruise. Thank You,” I couldn’t believe it. I was on a cruise that was going to Italy. I had originally planned to go to Greece but Italy was a developed country in Europe. I was getting closer to home and if the pirates and drug lords didn’t hitch a ride, I was looking at two and a half free days. Even if they did hitch a ride, this cruise ship was huge and there was no way they could find me on here. Then again, Africa was also huge and they found me.

“Hello,” said a voice behind me. She was clearly British and sounded to be about my age. I panicked. I was technically a stowaway on a cruise ship. If she found out about that then I would be turned in and arrested for stowing away. I had to convince her that I wasn’t on this cruise ship illegally. I had to convince her that I belonged here, which clearly wasn’t true given my current look, but I had to try.

“Hello,” I said in a shaky British accent as I turned around. I was right in guessing she was about my age. She had extremely curly brown hair that met her shoulders, she was tanned from the Middle Eastern sun and was wearing short jean shorts and a t-shirt that said “Math Rules” complete with a list of math rules like not dividing by zero.

“Sorry, I thought you were Egyptian. Cool Burka,” She said, she didn’t seem to be pushing my looks too hard. I might be able to get away with the whole stow away thing.

“It’s a sebleh and I thought it would be good to blend in a bit,” I said again in my bad, shaky British accent. It wasn’t a complete lie. The sebleh did make me look more like a middle-easterner than an American.

“I’m Elizabeth, I live in London. Where are you from? I haven’t seen you on the ship before. Did you just get on?” She overwhelmed me with the questions.

“No, I have been on since the beginning. I live in Liverpool but my dad moves around a lot so I guess not really from anywhere. Oh and my name is Jessica,” I don’t know why I said Liverpool but she obviously bought it because Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders.

“Cool, well see you around Jessica,” Elizabeth said while she walked away. I breathed a sigh of relief. I don’t know why I used a British accent; it was perfectly acceptable that an American would be on this cruise ship. She seemed to have bought the entire story. Maybe once I got cleaned up I would blend in better to the cruise ship.

I decided that I couldn’t just stand on the deck for 2 ½ days. I needed clothes and a room. I went down to reception. No one was there, another design flaw that they need to be lectured on, so I slipped behind the desk and looked at the roster. I saw that only one room was open, 204. I wondered why no one had booked that room. The floor it was on was completely filled. It was probably a lower class room. I slipped under the desk and grabbed the key; hopefully the maid wouldn’t come in and clean it. I then walked to the gift store. Luckily they took the money I had, the money I had taken from Somalia which contained a good amount of Euros, so I bought a t-shirt that said “Lion’s Cruise” and some shorts that were bright blue. I laughed as I looked at my purchases. I looked like a walking advertisement. I then walked to my room.

Shock and awe met me. I had stowed away in the luxury suit. There was a glass wall looking out onto the ocean, a large bed with blankets, different types of shampoo, soap, conditioner, free TV service, DVDs, and tons of games. Now this was a way to travel. Even if the pirates were on the cruise ship, I felt like I could stay forever in this suite, and they couldn’t come knocking on every door. I threw down Calila’s backpack and my new clothes and went into the bathroom. I looked into the mirror and saw my reflection for the first time in over a week. I didn’t look that bad but you could tell that I had been through some tough times. I had bags under my eyes from not getting enough sleep, my face was streaked with dirt from riding in the back of a truck, my hair was tangled and my lips were cracked and bleeding. Luckily, the luxury suit came with enough makeup and beauty products to last me a lifetime. I could tell why Elizabeth had asked if I had just gotten on the boat, I looked like someone who hadn’t seen a working toilet in days. I guess I really haven’t seen a toilet in a few days, ever since the airport in Stuttgart.

I turned on the bathtub and began to soak. I had fun rinsing my hair, trying the bath salts, making the water bubbly and hot. There is nothing better than a nice warm bath, cucumbers, and a mud mask to rejuvenate my skin. I turned on the radio and listened to some Lion Cruise Tunes while I wrapped myself up in a fluffy white robe. I brushed through my hair and drank some juice from the fridge. This was the life and now that I was back in civilization, I needed to make myself look good again. I had the means to make myself pretty again, I would definitely be using them. Though my enemies probably don’t care if I’m pretty or not. But it might deter them from trying to kill me if I look cute.

At about 6:30 I walked down into the restaurant. I decided to have the buffet so that I wouldn’t have to give the room number. There was so much food that I could hardly contain myself. Besides the usual of pasta and meat, there was also an assortment of blood and bread pudding, haggis, and numerous of UK foods. I realized that I was on a British cruise ship, which would explain all of the British flags I saw flapping around and the fact that everyone was speaking with a British accent. I guess I would stand out with an American accent. I gorged myself on fruits, vegetables, bread, and lots of deserts. I was never hungry with Din but still, a girl has to eat the food she likes, I like fried mudammes, but I missed fruit and veggies.

After gorging myself on a multitude of foods I went back upstairs. I am about to flop down of my bed and go to sleep. This will be a great trip if I continue on the cruise ship. I do love my room. I can make the ceiling look like I am under the water, I get over 1,000 channels, and the makeup selection is totally cute. I guess I’ll have nothing to do tomorrow but enjoy the boat. The universe, though cruel, has blessed me with a helping hand. Good night.

Jessica

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