If I had to sum up my past few days, it would probably go something like
this: flew to play a tournament, got sick, took an unexpected trip to the
hospital, ended up not playing, tried to fly home, failed, got booked in a
hotel, got stranded in Paris…
- And it all started with a watermelon
Yes, a watermelon. That’s what I suspect caused my gut wrenching adventure—literally. I travelled to Tunisia for two 15k women’s tennis tournaments. The first week was uneventful nothing to write home about. Except that I ate quite an amount of watermelon. It was delicious. But then came week two, and just two days before my first-round match, I woke up feeling like I’d been hit by a truck. Every part of my body hurt, but my stomach was in full rebellion. The pain escalated until I found myself in a hospital, half-expecting a doctor to tell me my appendix had exploded. But no, I wasn’t dying— just dealing with severe gastroenteritis. Lovely. While waiting in the hospital for test results, I was hit with a wave of thirst. Naturally, I didn’t have any cash on me, but I had my card. With my best attempt at French, I asked where I could find some water and stumbled into a little convenience store. Confidently, I grabbed a bottle and whipped out my card. The cashier took one look and said, “No Visa.” I smiled, thinking I had an ace up my sleeve. “But I have MasterCard!” I chirped. “No, no,” he repeated. And that’s when it hit me: I was on the brink of dehydration, my intestines felt like they were playing tug-of-war, and I couldn’t buy water. Naturally, I did what any self-respecting adult would do —I burst into tears. Standing there, clutching a bottle of water, ready to collapse. The cashier, clearly horrified by the sight of a crying foreigner, finally took pity on me. “It’s ok, take” he said. In total this guy has said 5 words to me. But the impact on me was so much bigger than he could have imagined. There is hope for humanity after all. The day that I was supposed to play, I woke up and somehow dragged myself to breakfast looking and feeling like death herself. Picture this: puffy eyes, messy hair, my lips looking like the Sahara, I couldn’t walk in a straight line and keeping my balance proved a challenge. Basically, a zombie. I shouldn’t have been surprised since I’ve barely ate and drank water the days prior. I was trying to minimize contact with people not necessarily because I didn’t want to get them infected, but I thought they will literally have a fright when they see me. Through all the misery and life questioning moments, when all I want is to go home, you know what is the best thing to do? Put on that banger playlist of local essentials. Trust me, nothing lifts your spirits more than jamming to essentials from home. For me that includes favourites from ”die Heuwelsfantasties”, Oom Theuns Jordaan and most importantly, Kurt Darren. Nothing like listening to “Oe ek wil huis toe gaan, na mamma toe” when you are dying in Tunisie, alone. Safe to say I did not end up playing. Lesson learned. I will never take my health for granted again. There is just nothing like being humbled by a good old-fashioned virus. Another day passed and I finally mustered the strength to attempt my journey back home. . Since South Africa is conveniently located at the southern tip of the continent, getting home requires at least two flights. I booked a flight with Air France, which meant I first had to fly four hours in the wrong direction to Paris, followed by an 11-hour flight to Johannesburg. The catch? A one-hour layover in Paris. I was actually looking forward to a dramatic, movie-like sprint through the airport. Originally, I was supposed to take a taxi to the airport alone, but another player joined me, which eased my paranoia of getting kidnapped—something I irrationally fear every time I get into a taxi alone. We had a great time chatting, and it’s crazy how you can bond with someone you’ve just met, knowing you might never see them again. We spent the ride reflecting on Monastir and the infamous reputation of its tournaments. Apparently, if you stay there for more than four weeks, you go insane. Personally, I think it’s insane to go there for four weeks in the first place. As we talked, I had a cliché realization: What is life without risk? You must live with unconditional passion for the things you love, especially when you’re 18 to 20 and the world is wide open with possibilities. Sure, it’s scary, but that’s what makes it exciting. Then, reality came crashing back at the airport. My first flight got delayed. This meant I’d miss my connection to Johannesburg. So much for my dramatic sprint! But wait—maybe I could just enjoy a day in Paris and catch a flight the next day? Wrong. Thanks to my South African passport, I couldn’t stay in Europe for more than 24 hours without a visa. Change of plans. Air France booked me into a hotel close to the airport and changes my flight to 5:30 am the next morning. That isn’t even the worst. Looks like I will have a 12-hour layover at Paris airport. Wow, I’m so happy I might run up to the Air France counter and give chocolates to everyone. Paris might sound glamorous and I’m sure it is, but not the airport. Standing outside Tunis airport with 20 Tunisian dinars (courtesy of an Air France employee) and trying to find a taxi was no small feat. Especially when you’re a young woman who looks like an obvious tourist. I really wanted to punch a guy who wouldn’t stop pestering me for money, I finally found a taxi driver who seemed to know where he was going. With his limited English and my even more limited French, we somehow made it to the hotel with a drive through downtown Tunis. A journey I never want to repeat. I spent the night at the hotel, managed to do a gym session (my first proper physical movement in days) and took a taxi the next morning at 3 am to the airport. I thought maybe I’d get a business class upgrade for all the trouble, but no, they put me in the middle seat, right next to the toilets. Air France truly loves me. On the bright side, if my stomach decided to rebel again, at least I was close to the facilities. As I sit in the middle seat …. I order a coffee and Mari used her brain for once and did a very smart thing. I travelled with my box of rusks all the from South Africa. There were a few left since my trip was cut short, so I used this random little zip loc bag to put two rusks into and put it in my hand luggage. Which lead to me having a lovely breakfast of coffee and rusks on my 5:30am flight. So smart Mari, well done. Needles to say, after the longest day of my life at Paris airport, I made it home alive