True to fashion in how David and I had lived our lives up to this moment, everything happened, resonated – and without much thought we threw our passion behind the quest of finding Mansour’s family. An echo between rationale and raucousness has determined our lives so far, and it has led us to deeply engaging and interesting moments, however heartbreaking some of them have been. Such is the liberty I suppose, for those fortunate enough to have been born into the luxury of freedom.
I’m not sure what we expected to find in Moscow, nor what we expected may happen. No grand plans, it just felt right for these two brothers to reconnect those two brothers.
We’re reaching almost 6 years into the past, but memory recalls butterflies rummaging through stomachs as October weaved autumn into spring, and cooler days announced our departure day coming up.
The Aeroflot aircraft had faux-leather in orange and blue, a host of stereotypically drunk Russians, and held three kids with eyes wide open. And on a steel gray afternoon we took off to find Ali in Moscow and to reunite two fragments of family separated by war. Fortunately, the gravity of our mission had not fully dawned on us.
The taxicab that brought us from Domodedovo airport was another classic. A Volga from 1975, springs shot to shit and seats with said same springs pushing out, came full circle in having a half-drunk bottle of Jack Daniel’s knockoff whiskey serving passengers in the back. The driver had his own stash.
By this time in our lives, David and I had lived in and roamed through countless cities through 5 years of nomadic travel, but none of it really compared to what we were about to enter: With each street taking us deeper into the heart of the city, despair followed suit. Detailed hopelessness bristled from street corners as we realized we were in a place that did not value human life much. The one thing that struck us were the dead eyes of most people.
When our driver swerved out in front of an 18-wheeler and revved his carriage from 0-20 in 10 seconds, it brought us back to reality and less concerned with the street theater.
Within 90 minutes, we drew up in front of our hotel, the Seven Sisters, stomping grounds of the former KGB…
Best,
David and Christopher
