a white woman wearing a white hat making gestures with her arms, all teeth and eyes. The metal bird starts to flex its wings and the whole vessel shakes: a low rumbling, like a million hungry stomachs, or the earth making bellows in frustration, we 'taxi' to the runway, speed frantically up the tarmac. My eyes feel pressed against the back of my skull, I hold onto the plastic rests so hard it feels like my hands will impress them like putty. Soon we are rising through the air, the metal bird flying away from parched aridity, away from my home, up into the blue. It is like we are a fish swimming through clear water, through nothing. I try to sleep but I can't. I have the 'window seat', which means I can see everything - but suddenly we are so high that all I can see is an ochre oneness, and once we get to the Med, all is highest clouds and sea. After several hours, a small voice trapped in a speaker says, 'We are now approaching Gatwick Airport, please return to your seats, return them to the upright postion and fasten your seatbelts. Thank you.' The man next to me fastens the belt around his waist so I do the same. Fifteen minutes later we are 'on the ground', but not in a messy fashion - we have 'landed'! I look from the window, whilst the stewardess thanks us and welcomes us to England, though she