The prologue...to an upset stomach

Wednesday began with my stomach grumbling and concluded that way. All the excitement of going to South Africa was replaced with a timid faith that I would really be traveling 8,000 miles away to fulfill the most ambitious dream of my life.

My girlfriend and I drove to the airport unusually quiet. Both of us were nervous for totally different reasons. After waking up late, she was flying toward Jacksonville International Airport so I did not miss my flight.

Meanwhile, I was collecting my thoughts and internalizing my nerves.
We arrived with enough time to exhale, take a picture and give each other one final hug before I went through the security maze and over the cliff in the biggest test of faith in my life.

Moments before my 6:15 flight, I sent a text to the 10 tech-savvy people I am closest to. "The prologue: Jacksonville to New York."

Maybe, it's because I do not fly that frequently, but the precursor to my first international traveling was more accommodating than any domestic flight I had ever taken.

At John F. Kennedy, I truly acted like a tourist. From looking around, getting my bearings, to finding baggage claim, to wasting three trips--and 20 precious minutes--at the currency exchange to looking harried during the security checkpoint I was releasing all the habits I was warned not to exhibit in Johannesburg or Cape Town in the friendly confines of New York City.

The layover in New York was probably the best thing that could have happened to me. I have always had the stereotype that New Yorkers are not the type to pity, or tolerate, foolish people. The people at JFK were true to form.

I grabbed a quick breakfast just as my flight was going to board after giving final assurances to my girlfriend and my brother and his wife that I would be safe. It was obvious Emirates was making a killing off the World Cup, specifically my 11,469 kilometer flight from New York to Dubai.

On my flight I saw a handful of Argentina jerseys, a man wearing a Ji Sung Park jersey, a bunch of Mexico fans, someone who had the number 10 shaved on both sides of his head, two Cameroon fans, a man in a Bafana Bafana jersey and a few people in the U.S. track jacket that I wanted to buy but would have made me a walking target.

At 11 a.m. Wednesday my life changed forever when I walked into the gate and on my way to Africa. After 23 hours and 54 minutes I finally landed on African soil — albeit in Durban, not my final destination Johannesburg.

The flight to Johannesburg was quick. Finding my luggage was not. If I had not already purged half the food I ate on my three flights en route to the City of Gold, I would have done so when South African Airlines told me they could not locate my bag.

Eventually, my bag was located — with just a slight bit of stress. Hopefully my appetite and stomach will follow suit.