Invertebrate molestations and other security issues...

Her fingers were slowly moving up the inside of my leg, teasing me as she went. I squirmed and she stopped, I was greatly disappointed. She picked up on my disappointment and started again, this time also walking her fingers up my chest. Then something struck me as not right, something was askew, strange…my chest itched and her finger was scratching at my leg. What the hell is…?

I opened my eyes and instead of finding a beautiful, voluptuous girl on top, sensually teasing me I found something which made me scream like a little girl and curse like guys I used to work with on fishing boats. On my chest slowly crept up towards my mouth the biggest, blackest, largest eyed and antennaed desert cricket I had ever seen. It remained the largest cricket I’ve ever seen for approximately three tenths of a second before my eyes darted to my crotch where another of the black behemoths was casually strolling towards a nice warm place to hang out. This fellow now took the prize of largest cricket Jesse has ever seen, and I wasn’t pleased that he was so close to being intimately involved with me. Elizabeth laughed after realizing what was going on as I kicked and scratched and rolled out of the mosquito net onto the dirty tile floor. She laughed carelessly until noticing that other black, privacy invading villains had surrounded her as well and were attempting to overthrow our sleeping spot. No need for a caffeinated cup of coffee in the morning when one awakes to mutant sized crickets attempting a molestation, you’re already wide-awake. Damn N’djamena fire ants must have passed the word along.

Confusion still reigns in Chad as to the current and future happenings of the rebels and government forces. After the Goz Beida seizure the rebels seemed to have split into separate columns and set out west towards the capital city of N’djamena. Reports pour in from everyone and their dog that this town has fallen or that town has been blown to pieces, and that the rebels are marching down Avenue Charles de Gaulle in N’djamena, or outside our compound in Abeche at the very moment in pink ballerina dresses singing songs from the musical Cats. And like the previous sentence, most are not true. I remember when I was about six we used to play the telephone game. Everyone sits in a circle. Someone whispers something into the adjacent child’s ear and it is passed around at a whispered tone until it comes full circle, where it’s voiced aloud, followed by the original message. It’s usually a gross exaggeration of the original text, and sometimes nothing of the original remains. This is the current situation in Chad with the international community, and it gets frustrating trying to sift thru the garbage to find the truth. It is also amusing at times.

Upon the fall of Goz Beida, the WFP (World Food Program and principle aviation entity of the United Nations Refugee Commission) announced they would absolutely not fly anywhere near the town. The UNHCR then came to us: ‘Will you fly down there?’. Sure for a twelve pack of beer and some chewing tobacco we’ll do anything.

Ok, I’m kidding but I tentatively said yes, to the dismay of my copilot, pending our receiving bona fide security information stating that all affairs were normal. A few hours later an entourage of the UNHCR’s top security personnel in Chad approached our plane with what they’d learned from investigation.

“It seems the majority of the rebel forces have moved south and west from Goz Beida, and are no longer occupying the town or camps. It’s true they shot a rocket-propelled grenade at a French aircraft yesterday, but they’ve apologized now and stated it was an accident. They have also repeatedly stated that they are not purposely targeting humanitarians or their organizations. We BELIEVE this information to be true and correct, but cannot ascertain for sure its validity, and we THINK your OK flying down there to Goz Beida. Just do not fly over any hills or the town.”

I voiced the fact that the report they just gave us was about the shittiest piece of intelligence I’d ever been privy too. I never would have thought 6 months ago that in October 2006 I’d be standing on the tarmac of an African desert town’s airport telling a bunch of high ranking UN officials I basically thought they were idiots. Yet I was a little more couth than that. We discussed the fact that not over flying hills is not an option, seeing as how Goz Beida was surrounded by hills. I further voiced my frustration with their obvious lack of organization in the field and with the fact that if so many UN personnel had spoken with these rebels and been assured that NGOs would not be targeted, why hadn’t anyone thought to mention that a humanitarian aircraft may be coming down to evacuate some people? Hmmm??? ‘Please don’t shoot at our silly looking white and blue aircraft that is so slow that it cannot get out of its own way’ is what I suggested they state the next time they had a heart to heart chat with the rebs.

A few more matters were discussed and I felt confident (mostly) that we could execute the flights without incidence. We boarded the few individuals who for some masochistic reason or another wanted to go to Goz Beida before hopping up into the cockpit. The security entourage waved goodbye and it’s head officer approached for a last pertinent piece of advice. “Good luck, just come back in one piece” was o so wisely stated. He then walked away leaving Myriam and I looking at each other dumbfounded and me with the burning desire to run after him and kick him in the ass. We then took off.

In flight, passengers and pilots kept a vigilant eye on the desert floor below, scanning for military convoys crossing in pursuit of another victory. Occasionally we’d hit a pocket of turbulence that made everyone gasp and grip the seats in front of themselves before looking up to the cockpit for a glance from Myriam or I assuring them that the bump was not a missile strike. We picked an altitude that put us just feet below the cloud bases, making us very difficult to spot from the ground below (I told myself repeatedly) and maintained it until we were directly overhead the dirt strip. Scanning the surrounding hill tops and arid landscape below we deemed it safe and I partook in a ‘fun for the pilots, scary for the passengers’ maneuver, making a steep circular dive 9000 feet to land on the runway below, much as they do flying into Baghdad.

After the parking brake was set and we hopped out a group of anxious passengers happily greeted us and for a while I really appreciated my job incredibly, gloating in the praise we received. The base manager approached us and asked why we did our spiral approach to land. When I explained it was for safety and security, avoiding the surrounding hills he calmly stated that ‘there are no rebels here…they left days ago…it’s calm and boring’.

I felt silly. The next morning made me feel better, in an odd way, when we learned his version of the story was not correct either.