Every flight is cancelled

There she was. The woman we had been searching for so long. You should know that in the beginning Amayzine also appeared in English (something about world domination and fierce plans to conquer the world). The problem that arose immediately was finding a translator. Correction: a translator who speaks ‘ose’, or ‘our kind of English’. I went through many. A bedreadlocked Brit, a South African feminist, a lady from Deventer who understood her craft very well but I had to explain to her what ‘hanging in the lamps’ meant and who looked very uncomfortable when she translated my post about why you shouldn't wear tights. To make her legs a skin-colored pair.

Well. On a sunny day, the then head of foreign affairs (we really didn't call her that, but she suddenly pops up now) said she thought she might have found someone. “Do you have that appointment with the translator after your coffee appointment with this model?” I asked her when I happened to run into her by the restroom.

That this was the translator. Skilled and also particularly well accomplished on the outside. Born in London, matured in Paris, but with a Dutch habitat.

Elke was there and fit like a glove. If you want to up your English, I recommend reading our English posts and you will speak current and hip international English. Her pieces were so strong that Liesbeth (skilled and critical) cheered for the translations of her pieces. Finally someone who understood her tone that was so finely tuned and could bend it into another language without losing the power. Elke blushed cautiously because she was shy, that she was. Back then.

Always a bit in the background where she was actually far too pretty and nice for. Maybe it was due to her silent sadness that she hadn't shared back then, but which we all later became incredibly part of. I remember it so well. I was at Menno Kroon to buy a Christmas bouquet for our friends from Chanel who had moved into a new office when I looked at my phone. I did that every minute that day. The day before, Elke had left in a hurry. No, she wasn't allowed to go alone, Lil took her home, where her sister and brother-in-law were waiting and they drove to what would turn out to be the last journey to him. Farewell to Stan. Her deeply beloved father. Stan whom we did not meet, but knew very well through all the anecdotes Elke shared with us.

Quickly, very quickly she came back to work. What did she have to do at home? She belonged here. Moreover, she was needed. Liesbeth spread her wings, so a gap opened up. That was filled by Kiki, but we were hungry for more editors. I spoke with people. And again, and again, but of course I had already found her long ago. She was there, just four meters away from me. It was my task to convince her that she could do it. When that succeeded, she was unleashed. Disconnected. No longer shy. Elke became our DJ, our Elkeholic, and our house model. And how handy was it that you always had someone to call out to how a hyphen was called in English?

And now the moment is here. Elke is flying out. My dear Daan who will stay with me until we are old ladies (we no longer have the need to fly out and know that you won't find it more fun than here) put it so beautifully: ‘Amayzine is a springboard that shows young people what they didn't even know they were capable of. You move safely on it and then suddenly you take off, so hard that you go up high. Very hard and very high.’ That, dear Elkie, is what I wish for you.