My Mary Poppins Bag

The first time I travelled internationally with a cane, it had nothing to do with birding or nature. (I wasn’t a birder yet.) But it laid the groundwork. It was for a conference — I had to present a paper. So I prepared to travel to Singapore and back again.

Birding in the woods. Photo: Hannah Fischer.

I have lupus, or something very like lupus — possibly a related autoimmune disease called mixed connective tissue disorder. It attacks my nervous system, particularly the left side, making that side weaker, heavier, more difficult to control. On one occasion, I’ve been partly paralyzed. I have other symptoms too: sun sensitivity, rashes, a terrible immune system. As I write this, I’ve had a sinus infection for four months. In the past, I’ve had an ear infection that lasted years.

What worried me about my trip to Singapore was my carry-on. There were some things I didn’t want to put into my checked baggage: my medications, a Kindle, and a change of underwear for the layover. I would need those on board — but how? I couldn’t imagine lifting up and taking down a wheeled carry-on bag from the overhead bins. I needed a large cross-body bag that I could swing over my head. I had to be able to walk with it easily — I couldn’t hit it with my cane on every other step. But could such a bag hold everything I needed?

I became obsessed with my bag, a large leather purse the color of caramel. I stayed up nights, packing and re-packing it in my head. Looking back, it’s clear this was a way of avoiding other, harder questions: was I in any shape to go at all? Could I manage it? What would I do if I got sick in Singapore? What if I became sick and could not board a flight home?

I didn’t — I couldn’t — consider any of those questions. I only thought of my bag. If I could fit everything I needed inside of it I would be fine. If I only had the perfect baggage, I wouldn’t carry any invisible baggage of my own. The more consumed I became by the bag, the more I imagined I might need. But there was no way the bag could hold everything, until I suddenly had the solution: think of Mary Poppins’ bag. Everything fits into it, and everything returns to it. The bag will be enough.

If I only had the perfect baggage, I wouldn’t carry any invisible baggage of my own.

In this spirit, I packed the bag. It was not Mary Poppins’ bag. It did not hold a coat rack or a potted plant or a full length mirror. But it held enough. I was enough.

And so I went to Singapore, and my bag held enough. I gave my presentation, and flew home again.

On safari. Photo courtesy of Hannah Fischer.

Perhaps because of this experience, I felt more bold when, several years later, the same conference was held in South Africa and I was asked to head a panel. I leapt at the chance — I now knew I could do it, and it had always been my dream to go on safari.

Plenty of things went wrong on this trip: I plugged my nebulizer (a device I use for asthma) directly into the wall socket — forgetting I needed to use an electrical currency converter — and set it on fire. (I put out the fire in the sink, but not much could be done for the nebulizer.) Fortunately, my emergency inhalers, which I also carry with me, got me through. My husband broke his toe and had to have emergency surgery. Amazingly, he was through physical therapy and back in our hotel room by the end of the same day.

But the bag — in the sense of all my preparations, arrangements, and backups — was holding.

Lilac-breasted Roller. Photo by Hannah Fischer.

I wanted to go on safari was because it was a nature holiday I could handle. With my cane, I wasn’t going to be hiking the Andes anytime soon, and I didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of roughing it out in the wild. Many people arrange fast-moving safaris, staying at a lodge or cabin for only a night or two; I felt it would be best to stay in the same place for the full length of time. That way, I figured, people would get to know me; if anything went wrong, they’d be more inclined to help me out.

On safari you’re active when the birds and other animals are active. Each day our first game drive set out at dawn, returning at lunchtime for a meal and a nap. We set out again in the late afternoon for a second game drive, a glorious sunset (if you’re lucky), and sundowners (drinks and snacks) at a picturesque location.

On our first drive we climbed into the vehicle and set off. (If you’re not able to climb into the higher tiers of a safari vehicle, you can also sit in the passenger seat beside the driver.) We saw animals of all sorts. Zebras were fighting just out of the lodge’s gates. We felt very privileged to spend time with a lone rhino. We even saw a leopard and her cub.

Long-tailed Widowbirds. Photo: Hannah Fischer.

That was also the day I saw my spark bird: the Lilac-breasted Roller. Their stunning display of lilac, turquoise, and royal blue made me feel like I was Dorothy, stepping from a black-and-white world into a color one. And they do roll! That’s how they catch the insects they feed on.

I have since been lucky enough to go on two more safaris, each of which introduced me to new and fascinating birds. I don’t think I’ll ever fully exhale again after seeing the male Long-tailed Widowbird, with his extravagantly long, silky tail, rising up in a field off yellow, and a flock of smaller, browner females following in hot pursuit.

I hope that one day, with planning, an end to the pandemic, and a great deal of luck, my trusty bag and I will see sights like this again. But really, I count myself incredibly lucky that I discovered my interest in birds before the pandemic started. My bag may be packed away, but there’s so much to learn about local birds and birding — I’ve barely scratched the surface.

I’m looking forward to continuing to explore my local area; sometimes with a cane, sometimes without. But always with the confidence that, with some preparation — as Mary Poppins might say — anything is possible.