The final seatbelt lights came on, the pilot announced that the local time was just after 5:30 p.m. and the temperature was 25 Celsius.

The plane landed with a thump, and the flight attendants made their final announcements – people on the plane began clapping loudly. My son looked over at me and chuckled, “this is it mom!”. I smiled nervously…I had butterflies in my stomach, totally unsure of what to expect.

We deplaned and walked briskly into the airport. I looked around desperately for a point of reference – something I could remember, anything to trigger a memory – nothing looked familiar.

As we entered into the airport, a uniformed officer said in a stern voice, “foreigners to the right, non-foreigners to the left”.

Following his instructions, my son and I walked towards the right, but we immediately got waved down by an officer. In a booming voice he said, “Excuse me, this is the line for foreigners with foreign passports, go to the left” ….

We both look at him with a confused look and showed him our Canadian passports.

He had a very serious look. He was on a quest – a quest to understand why his perception of us as “non-foreigners” to his country, did not match our passport.

He gripped our passports tightly and took a closer look – then exclaimed with a loud joyous voice… “oh so the two of you were born over there!” …. “I know the Okonny family very well. One Okonny was my teacher!” …

He excitedly told me his name and looked at my son, and exclaimed, “he looks exactly like you, thank you for bringing him back to see us!”. He waved us through to an immigration officer.

The immigration officer flipped through the pages of our passports, stamped them, looked up at us, and then proceeded to tell my son the origin of my family.

I took a quick glance at my son, he was watching all this in pure astonishment. Our eyes met and he said in a half laugh, “it looks like everyone knows us here”.

As we walked away from the immigration officer, towards the baggage carousel, my thoughts wandered to my paternal grandfather.

My grandfather came into the world in the early 1900s. He was the son of a merchant and he graduated from one of first teachers training colleges in the area – he eventually became the supervisor of primary schools in that region. He played an active role in the education sector, was a Justice of the Peace, and Chair of The Schools Management Board until his death in 1975.

I never got to meet my paternal grandfather; however, it was sobering to see his legacy flourish in others over 40 years after his death. I wondered what he would have thought of all the stories that my son and I were waiting to tell?

Upon entering the arrivals zone of the airport, my thoughts were quickly interrupted by a suddenly familiar voice. I turned my neck sharply and looked in the direction of the voice, and there was my sister running towards me – her face was filled with joy…

My journey to get reacquainted with the other half of my story had truly begun.…. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6