As we rode the shuttle to immigration, Zinashi looked out the window and pointed. I asked, “Do you know what that is?” She looked at me with eyes a question mark, and I said, “America. That’s America. You made it.”
“America!” she parroted back, again and again, before switching to a sing-song of “Apple juice! Apple juice! Apple juice!”
It was a long flight. Eighteen hours in row twenty-two is quite enough, and I am grateful for the long layover. As soon as we were through customs and had our bags re-checked, we sought out a Starbucks, and now we are camped out there. I got Zinashi a hot chocolate, and she promptly spilled part of it on her white shirt.
That’s my girl!
There will be much more to come once we are all the way home and have showered and slept and found jeans to wear that have been washed as opposed to worn over and over and over again. As much as I am dreading getting on a plane again, it will be so good to get home. We can’t wait.