Roman lettering on terminal signboards spelt unfamiliar words to her. Confused and jet-lagged, she clutched her handbag tightly and watched streams of passengers exiting various gates and head to Immigration. She followed them and waited in line with trepidation, softly praying. Her documents were in order, including the invitation letter from her soon-to-be employers.
Larger persons blocked her access to the baggage conveyor. She squeezed through with difficulty. Various bags, boxes, packages, even a folded pram, passed by. Reminded of her little girls, she wiped sudden tears away.
Luggage safely collected, she made a lengthy stop at the ladies. She walked through sliding doors out of the terminal into a sea of faces. Most looked foreign to her when in fact, she was the foreigner. The hard bite of the winter dawn confirmed that.
A large woman waved, Agency placard in hand. What a relief it was to see this stranger’s face. After introductions, both women got into the back of a car that pulled out as soon as the doors shut. Through the window, she saw passengers standing in line for taxis. Others were crossing the road to get into waiting cars and buses. She was glad there was an Agency representative coming along to get her settled in.
City lights flickered in the distance. She felt a twin surge of excitement and fear on seeing this. The Agency woman recognised the look. She said, as usual, “Yes, there it is. Welcome to London.”