The Story of… Kalem
In the middle of October 2021, I boarded an Air Caraïbes flight and found my seat at the front of the plane. I wondered if the seat next to me belonged to someone. As I was about to settle into the soft comfort and lux, the owner walked in to claim the spot. He had a familiar face. I was able to place it before he sat down — he was also in the lounge at Aimé Césaire International Airport.
After the greetings, I was the initiator of the conversation. I try to be on most days. Our discussion started off by trying to figure out why the other was leaving Martinique to go to France. It turns out that he was in Martinique for work, and I was going to France for work. We got lost speaking about our jobs, the French people, the French language, the Caribbean islands, my St. Lucian background, and the differences we’ve noticed among the countries we’ve visited.
I don’t remember much about the actual take-off. At first, I did not even notice how much advanced French I was speaking with this stranger. I don’t consider myself to be fluent, but I say that I’m comfortable with the language. It was only when he stopped the conversation and questioned my French did I realize what had happened. When I explained my French language journey, he said it was quite impressive, and that the way that I spoke and expressed myself was one to be commended on. I told him how much I wanted to improve- how I wished to use all the phrases that I know but are still dusty from my chamber, and to learn new ones to put out there into the world. He told me how much he felt my passion for wanting to improve. Satisfying.
His level of English was no less brilliant than mine in French. He, too, held his own with a foreign language. He did manage to make the impressiveness of my situation seem more believable though. For the remainder of the flight, we spoke in both languages, French and English. He told me about his work and his passions. I had so many questions, and he had all the answers. He told me his field of work was anthropology and he traveled a lot for work (including that last trip to Martinique). He spoke about how this work allowed him the freedom to explore life in a different realm. He also shared that he is an ultra-marathoner. “A what?” I thought. He was able to break down the delicate, but brutal elements of this practice to digestible pieces. There are so many moving parts when you’re the one in it apparently. It’s tough on the body, and also the mind. As he spoke, I realized how his anthropology work intersected beautifully with his ultra-marathoning. His story made me want to be in his shoes to experience life as he did.
For our first meal together, the air hostesses came to see whether we preferred chicken, fish, or something else for our first meal. I opted for the chicken with risotto and mushrooms, but he chose something else. We never ceased to speak. The electrifying rhythm of the conversation only became stronger with each sentence. We both impressed each other with how we spoke about these simple things. When dessert arrived, I couldn’t quite put my finger on what the red fruit on my tart was, but I liked it! He told me they were quetsches. I wasn’t familiar with them but I learned a bit about their history from Kalem. He taught me everything I needed to and wanted to know about what we had eaten. If I hadn’t asked anything, I would’ve still learned more than enough.
The closer we got to France, the more we spoke about the country and his life there. It was almost as if our conversations moved geographically with us. I questioned him a lot. I was so intrigued about the things that contributed to him becoming who he was at that moment. He spoke to me about his work, school and personal life, in reverse. He told me about how his relationship with his parents, individually, had an influence on some of his professional decisions, for the better. I felt privileged to have been on the receiving end of these stories.
During the descent, we exchanged contact information, eager to stay in touch. We discussed our possible inter-France travels, his being much more dynamic than mine thanks to work. There were not any immediate opportunities that we would be able to meet again, but we promised to keep each other updated. When we landed, we went to the baggage claim together. After all, we both had checked in pieces.
He was heading towards the outskirts of Paris, while I was heading more towards the center, to Gare du Nord. This was when we had to say goodbye. He ensured that I knew exactly where I had to go, knowing that I wasn’t used to traveling in Paris as often as he was. Once we said goodbye, he headed down to the metro and I headed up to the OrlyVal shuttle.
We now keep in touch mostly via email.
They’re usually long, but fruitful- just like the beginning.
