Explore "Dreams from My Father" by Barack Obama on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I FLEW OUT OF HEATHROW Airport under stormy skies. A group of young British men dressed in ill-fitting blazers filled the back of the plane, and one of them-a pale, gangly youth, still troubled with acne-took the seat beside me. He read over the emergency instructions twice with great concentration, and once we were airborne, he turned to ask where I was headed. I told him I was traveling to Nairobi to visit my family.
"Nairobi's a beautiful place, I hear. Wouldn't mind stopping off there one of these days. Going to Johannesburg, I am." He explained that as part of a degree program in geology, the British government had arranged for him and his classmates to work with South African mining companies for a year. "Seems like they have a shortage of trained people there, so if we're lucky they'll take us on for a permanent spot. Best chance we have for a decent wage, I reckon-unless you're willing to freeze out on some bleeding North Sea oil rig. Not for me, thank you."