My First Hijac!@$%

Not even a week ago I wrote of Goz Beida as a picturesque valley, inundated with birds but almost a bit idyllic nonetheless? I rescind any peaceful leaning I may have implied. Chadian reality slapped me hard in the side of the face today and I was snapped out of my dreamy romanticized view of the landscape and thrown into the situation that IS Chad.

Last night while eating dinner, Darcy’s phone rang, on the other end the UNHCR, and we found ourselves with an abnormal flight routine for this morning’s dawn. The description vaguely entailed the need for two trips, one with fully malleable and functional passengers and the other with lets just say some passengers who were a bit stiff and not too talkative, aka, D-E-D, dead. We were asked to pick up bodies in Kou Kou, sans body bags. Yeah, BYOBB. Most certainly not a predicament which popped up often during my flying career at Mesa. Most of the mission was a bit shrouded in mystery, which concerned both Steve and I, and we were both uneasy about slopping corpses into zip lock baggies and tossing them into the cargo and cabin areas, especially because of the length of time these corpses had, uhhh, been corpses, and the fact the cause of death was not divulged. (Not too many refrigerated morgues in the Kou Kou area these days.)

Luckily, as we sat debating the predicament, my dinner no longer appealing, another call was received and we were off the hook. Seems the UNHCR decided that 3 days without embalmment and/or refrigeration was sufficient grounds for deposition into the grounds. This however lead us to our second adventure, one that will cause some shock waves throughout UNHCR and Goz Beida communities in the coming weeks. The UN decided that instead of wasting JET A for aerial hearse service we would now pick up a load of lonely, tired ex-pats in the south, and we were to do it early.

This morning we arose early and headed south, south to the land of suicidal kamikaze birds and my pal the Sultan. We arrived overhead the airstrip around 750 am and as usual called the radio base for the field security situation…”aah, yahhhhh, U.N. Tango One, Seguuuriddee es gooood, you land, ok?” . Apparently someone wasn’t looking out their window this morning.

I landed and rolled out down the bumpy gravel runway pleased and relaxed that we had avoided making more Chadian Chicken Chop Suey, and I lazily studied the new abundance of military trucks surrounding the UN and NGO trucks. Military trucks in Chad are all the same between both rebels and state forces. All use Toyota and other miscellaneous stolen pickup trucks, mount AK47s to the roof, drape RPGs over the sides and go barreling around outfitted in raggy and randomly assorted camo fatigues wearing turbans and Ray Ban aviator looking glasses. They do not look like the group who would sit down and peacefully read one of those different “Chicken soup for the…soul” books. More appropriately they look like a hungry, rabid and intoxicated group itching for an excuse to fondle a trigger.

Every morning as we set forth from Abeche we receive a list of names the UN requests us to find and carry from the field. Every day we arrive at the airfields finding chaos ensuing and only a portion of those listed on the manifest actually present. The rest of the airfield’s NGO population that is on the standby list, haggle and argue over who goes and who stays and we watch the childish behavior for a short time before the desert sun makes it unbearable. Only those who have a written, signed and stamped document from the UN saying they need to be on the airplane can go with us, and the local UN staff are required to let the AirServ office know who actually stepped aboard the aircraft via a Sat phone call immediately after our departure.

We stop. The engines spool down and the turbine whine fades. Kids can be seen at the edge of the runway, barefoot, tending a herd of goats or cattle. I jump out, manifest in hand, dawning my sunglasses, in a good mood, and am greeted by the Goz Beida base manager whom I already dislike. I do not like him because he seems inept at following simple rules and directions, therefore putting us pilots in difficult situations where we are either forced to bend the rules he is supposed to have enforced or enforce them ourselves making it appear that we are making them up as we go. He also lies.

The Greeting: “We have a problem”
“What?”…
”We have a very important official here who wants to go. I sent his request in yesterday (LIE), and you did not approve, why?” …
“ I don’t know, the UN must have their reasons for it, its way beyond my job scope, I do not create the passenger manifests, you know that”….
“Ok, he is not on the list…can you take him?”
“NO, not unless he has an order from the UN”

Problem solved, right? Ha! Wrong. Rules apply to civilized nations, not to Central Africa. Somehow I forgot for a brief moment that the armed trucks were looming in the tree shadows. In one of them sat a punk of an official who decided he needed to be in Abeche for a Friday night. According to the base manager, this guy and the Sultan are both up there, about the same in rank, but this guy was maybe only 10 years older than me and as soon as I saw him I did not trust him. We’ll just refer to him as VIP, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

After checking in a majority of the passengers I was approached hastily by the base manager and the VIP. The fat manager was visibly nervous, looking at me, the VIP, and the ground in quick succession. “You have 1 no show. You take him now?” “NO, we have been over this, you know as well as I do that I cannot just take a government official who wants to go for a ride over these people(pointing to the crowd of MSF, CARE and UNICEF workers who were standing by for a seat)” “Aaaah….ooooooo….kkkkk.”

At this point my mute VIP buddy decided to make it known he spoke English, and quite well. “You think about this Captain. Either I go, or YOU (sticking his finger in my chest) do not. Think about it.” And I suddenly was aware of the trucks, the AK47s, the bloodshot eyed, turban wearing sweaty soldiers, the RPGs. Its amazing how many thoughts, or blurs of thoughts can rush through your mind in a moment. What to do, what to do, what to do????? Well, I bit my lip, as I was tempted to say something to defend myself to him, but instead looked at the manifest and walked away from his disgusting presence, admittedly a bit nervous.

“Mahammat Irib?” I called, for it was the next name on the Standby list, a doctor for MSF (Doctors without borders) a far worthier passenger I thought. “Fuck you, I don’t react well to threats”…was throbbing thru my head as I heard the skirmish behind me. I resisted the urge to turn and look. When I eventually did I saw more armed men swelling around the VIP, and the manager more squeamish and sweaty then ever. We casually walked by, making no eye contact and loaded the doctor and his bags, closed the aircraft up and were about to hop in the cockpit when we heard the manager’s voice squeak…

“Please!? Can we …this, please, can we talk this? I am worried, very worried.” It was pitiful. At that another player emerged, one who had previously remained silent, a UN Security Coordinator in our passenger load, and we all gathered round, while the VIP glared at me with his eyes now bloodshot.

It was voiced that the airplane may actually be in grave danger if he were refused boarding, and that it might be better to sort the mess out in the relative safety of Abeche. The trucks and guns hovered. Steve and I thought. It was like dealing with a stubborn child, they will kick and scream for being left out, but are they really going to cause a bigger problem if left out, or is it better to exclude them and teach them a lesson? These guys are like children in a sense, their reasoning has seemingly not progressed beyond that which we relate to adolescence, but they have fully automatic weapons at hand.

We caved and removed the Doctor, and notably upset, loaded the “V-I-P”. The trucks backed off, the doctor seemed not to understand, and our new found friend took a spot front row, glaring into the cockpit, and I found myself glaring at the rusty crash axe by my left foot, wondering if it would ever see action.

The rest would bore most, but upon arrival in Abeche we caused more waves by having armed personnel meet the Twin Otter upon shutdown. It seems that security works for our VIP, as evidenced by the nods, confused looks and random salutes as they helped him with his bags instead of reprimanding and detaining him. Then came the screaming by the Commissioner, as he attempted to save face in front of his boss for deploying security onto such a noble individual. Steve and I stood red faced, tempers boiling, and the crash axe seemed to call like a siren from the nearby airplane.

It went deeper than that though. It seems this individual is a threat, to the point that we will no longer be flying to Goz Beida, so he will no longer be able to hop a ride whenever he feels impulsed to. He is banned from all UN aircraft and a formal complaint is being presented to the President of Chad, Mr. Deby himself. Also, we dug up the fact that we are not supposed to be carrying government personnel anywhere at anytime, it makes us a target especially in an area swarming with rebel forces. It seems one of the bosses here in Abeche has gotten a bit soft hearted for the travel needy officials and allowed an exception. Then another. Another, and another. The repercussions? NGOs in Goz Beida now need to find an alternative means of transportation out of the ‘idyllic’ valley, the chicken shit base manager may find himself 1. A new job, 2. Unfortunately in pain depending on how our now not so VIP takes the news, and finally, Jesse gets to add another few Chadians who do not like him, to the ever growing list. WTF. In the meantime I have been sent to the capital, Ndjamena for a week, then to ferry an aircraft to Entebbe, Uganda where I’ll be allowed to unwind by the shores of Lake Victoria for 6 days while the dust settles in Abeche. Hopefully Mr. Deby takes my side and fires Mr. VIP. I’m holding my breath…NOW!….