Hi, I’m Anna and this is my blog.
It was just after my birthday at the end of November, and here in South Africa, everything was winding down for the grand finale of the year – December holiday season. That’s our summer, our unwind time, our version of “don’t call me unless it’s life or death, and even then, maybe just text.”
So, you can imagine my surprise – no, my full-body thrill – when I received an email from the Europe Middle East Africa Salesforce team saying, “Your presence is required in Prague this December for a team event.” Cue dramatic gasp. Cue mental images of snowflakes, Christmas markets, cobblestone streets… and of course, Glühwein.
I was buzzing. Europe in the middle of winter?! How cool is that. Literally. My partner and I decided to turn the work trip into a Eurotrip. I’d go to Prague first, do the work thing, then she’d join me for the holiday part: one week exploring Prague together, then off to Budapest by bus. The dream was dreaming.
Crisis mode: engaged.
Neither of us had valid passports.
Now, if you’ve ever tangoed with the South African Department of Home Affairs, you know this is where most international plans go to die. But somehow – miracle of miracles – the stars aligned, the bureaucracy gods smiled, and we got our passports AND visas in record time. I’m talking Guinness World Record-worthy.
This trip was also a big first for me – it would be the first time I’d meet my colleagues from across the EMEA region in person. People I’d worked with for years but only seen through pixelated screens. Real-life hugs instead of waving at frozen Zoom faces? Sign me up.
I flew from OR Tambo International on an Airbus A380, destination: Charles de Gaulle, Paris. Or… that was the plan.
We taxi’d to the runway, the engines hummed… and then we turned back. Back to the gate. Back to square one. Turns out, the aircon was broken. Which, I mean, fine – except it was the middle of a Johannesburg summer and this plane was packed. Full capacity. Every single soul. No air. Just garlic.
Yes. Garlic.
I was in the aisle seat. Next to me sat a very mature man and his equally mature wife, who must’ve had garlic for breakfast, lunch and dinner. The kind of garlic that doesn’t just linger – it settles into your soul.
And then, the cherry on top: the man grunted. Not a friendly “excuse me” grunt. More like a caveman with zero language options left. He gestured at me to stand. I stood. He waddled down the aisle to the loo. And then, on his way back, instead of a polite nod or a tap on the shoulder?
He slapped me.
Like I was a bongo drum at a music festival. Right between the shoulder blades.
Now, my parents raised me with manners. But they also raised me with limits. I turned to him – knowing full well he didn’t understand a word of Afrikaans – and gave him a very passionate, very expressive lecture about his behavior. I may or may not have called him a poepol. Judging by the snort-laughs from nearby passengers, it landed.
Later, in a moment of post-rage grace, I handed him and his wife cups of water brought around by the air steward. Their “Merci” made me smile. Life lesson: just because someone acts like a poepol doesn’t mean you have to join the circus. Be the bigger person. But don’t be afraid to let out a little steam in your mother tongue.
After three hours of being stationary, melting in garlic soup with 50,000 screaming children and no air conditioning, we finally took off. And yes – the in-flight movies were decent, the food was next level (Air France, take a bow), and Prague was waiting.
But here’s what really stuck with me: I need more patience. A lot more.
Not just on flights with broken aircons and strange men slapping me, but in work. In everyday life. In long queues. In traffic jams. In that weird limbo between sending an email and waiting for the reply that will determine your whole week. Patience isn’t about biting your tongue until it bleeds – it’s about learning to breathe in the in-between. The “not yet” moments.
I think we often treat life like a to-do list: go, go, go, tick, tick, tick. But there’s magic in the pauses. There’s growth in the delays. And there’s strength in being able to sit next to a poepol and still pass him a cup of water.
Next week, I’ll share more about the trip itself – the fairy-tale of Prague, the unexpected beauty of Budapest, and all the lessons packed into winter coats and cobblestones.
Until then, breathe deeply. Be kind. And don’t forget your passport.