By Douglas Kruger
I MAY have caused a military coup in Africa. If it was me, I’m sorry.
You know how you can make it rain by washing your car? Or bring about the soggiest summer in the Channel Islands in 20 years, if it’s a new car and you are even marginally proud of it? (Sorry about that too).
Well, I can cause international incidents just by travelling. And I regularly do.
I did it when I moved here. It’s been long enough now that I can safely admit to it, so here goes…
Remember how we teetered on the brink of open war with France? Me again.
That was the week I arrived. You see, nobody in my circle back in South Africa had heard of Jersey. Then we told all our friends and family we’d be moving here, and instantly international headlines began to scream: ‘Channel Islands War with France!’, and the UK sent a gunship.
I can only apologise.
They say that correlation isn’t causation. But when the feedback is this instantaneous, and this consistent, it’s no longer superstition. It’s science.
Also, this isn’t my first military coup in Africa. I’ve caused them before.
All I have to do is be far from home and eager to return. That’s it.
For best results, I might also taunt the universe by declaring myself ‘certain to be back on time, even though it’s a bit of a squeeze’.
In this manner, in addition to military coups, I’ve even managed to cause several air-strikes in France (which is the universe’s way of reshuffling things when a tinpot dictator isn’t available for the job).
Here’s what happened this time around…
I attended a conference in Mauritius. The travel was fraught with peril from the outset, because in my naïve optimism I tried our new airport scanner on the way out, and thereby nearly missed my flight. I’m convinced that Jersey’s only solution is a full refund and a public flogging of the guy who sold it to us. Trust me: choose the right-hand queue instead.
Nevertheless, I got to the Island and delivered my speech. All was going according to plan. Then I did something stupid. I let the universe know that I was excited to get back.
I had good reason for my error. For the first time since we moved to Jersey, we have family visiting, and I repeatedly uttered my joy at this fact, out loud, so the fates could hear it. Big mistake.
Here’s how I see the causal chain: I utter my initiating phrase. This triggers an invisible beacon, beamed like a taunt all the way to the mysterious caverns of the Elder Gremlin-Gods of Unforeseen Delay. The EGGUD then reach out and stir their fingers directly through the mental soup of an aspiring tinpot dictator, somewhere in Darkest Democratic Not-Even-On-The Map.
Said tinpot dictator, wearing a beret and burdened by his hefty collection of bottle-cap medals, then declares: ‘Now is the time, my comrades. Let us arise to a glorious future.’
His next step is to shut down airspace. Every. Time.
Anyway, this one happened to be in Niger.
We had flown seven hours through the night. Then, at around 2am, the pilot performed an exciting 180, and we headed all the way back. Commentary in the cabin was colourful and varied, despite the early hour.
Several-hundred passengers disembarked back in Mauritius just after dawn. They all seemed less delighted to be in the island than the first time around.
The next night, we did the whole darn exercise over again.
Of course, by now, we’d all missed our connecting flights. My dad used to tell me that suffering builds character.
Anyway, I made it back, and the sight of Jersey’s shoreline out of the window pulled an actual tear from my eye. Oh sure, I smelled like a yak en route to his own funeral in an open casket on a hot day. And my aura burned out the nose hairs of the elderly German couple seated beside me. But I made it home.
By that stage, my back was one solid block of blinding pain. It was stiff and unmoving, yet, paradoxically, also seemed to throb.
My wife, who’d also had a rough time during the extended absence, was amenable to the suggestion that we hire a masseuse. Less so when I said her name should be ‘Maria’, with a rolled ‘R’.
Anyway.
I have made it back in time. I fly off shortly to London, to meet my sister, after which we’ll return to Jersey. Then I get to show her everything from castles to coffee shops, beaches to winding forest trails, museums to neolithic wonders.
I’m so excited about this. And even though the travel is tight, I’ve done the calculations, and I’m certain to be back on time, even though it’s a bit of a squeeze…
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Douglas Kruger lives in St Helier and writes books to keep himself out of mischief. When the seagulls aren’t shrieking, he records them too. They’re all available from Amazon and Audible.
