It's hard to believe how much s*** can happen in the course of one single day.
I was supposed to take off from Nairobi Airport direction Somaliland last Saturday at 8 am, to move back to my dutystation Hargeisa. The night before I had told a friend, in a kidding voice, - who knows, maybe we are experiencing technical problems and therefore have to turn back to Nairobi. I curse myself for having said this.
Ten minutes after take off, I heard a loud noise, felt a cold breeze over my shoulders, and when I turned my head around, I had to realize that the door of our plane had gone! It was a small plane (a beechcraft, ten seater), and I had the honour of sitting right in front of the -by now- missing door. I could of course have taken one of the front seats of the plane, but according to my old theory, seats in the back are saver in case of an emergency landing. I did of course not take into account the probability of loosing the door when coming up with this hypothesis. Peaking down through the hole, I was able to see the lush geen fields of Machakos, a district outside Hargeisa. For a moment I was sure that this was the last time I saw green color through living eyes. The nose of the plane pointed steep down, for a perceived eternity. I was the only one to scream, holding my hands franatically on the seat in front of me. Was I the only one to worry? Of course, I was sitting closest to the door, meaning that I would be the first one to be sucked out. Or where the others too resignated to even be sorry about their lifes ending in such a tragic way? Maybe they simply knew more about planes than I do. After few terrible seconds, the plane stabilized at around 2000 Foot, made a 180° turn and we flew back to Jomo Kenyatta Airport in Nairobi. Our landing was welcomed by fire fighters, police men and the emergency cars. It was not possible anymore to walk out the plane (doors in this small planes have a double function: to close the plane when in the air, and to serve as steps when on ground), so we had to jump out of the plane. I was quite under shock, and could for the first few minutes not realize what happened. I simply wanted to go home, hug somebody, and get some credits for still being alive. After all, had this accident happened at 30.000 feet instead of 11.000 feet, we would have been sucked out (n.b.: my theory, disaprooved later on by a collegue in the field who apparently nows more about planes than I do).
One additionla hour we had to stand around the demolished plane, until we were aloud to leave the airport. Later, when I met some friends for a coffee, I was asked about my thoughts during this close to death situation. To be frank, the only thing I thought was - why did I ever chose to work in Somaliland? No philosophical recaps over my life. Time was simply too short.
But as the saying goes in German, ein Unglueck kommt selten allein (one misfortune seldom comes alone). After some back and forth, I agreed to accompany some collegues to a place outside Nairobi, where they were planning to spend the weekend. Deep in my heart, the only thing I really wanted, was to lay in the arms of a close person and forget about the lush green fields of Machakos.
I was supposed to take off from Nairobi Airport direction Somaliland last Saturday at 8 am, to move back to my dutystation Hargeisa. The night before I had told a friend, in a kidding voice, - who knows, maybe we are experiencing technical problems and therefore have to turn back to Nairobi. I curse myself for having said this.
Ten minutes after take off, I heard a loud noise, felt a cold breeze over my shoulders, and when I turned my head around, I had to realize that the door of our plane had gone! It was a small plane (a beechcraft, ten seater), and I had the honour of sitting right in front of the -by now- missing door. I could of course have taken one of the front seats of the plane, but according to my old theory, seats in the back are saver in case of an emergency landing. I did of course not take into account the probability of loosing the door when coming up with this hypothesis. Peaking down through the hole, I was able to see the lush geen fields of Machakos, a district outside Hargeisa. For a moment I was sure that this was the last time I saw green color through living eyes. The nose of the plane pointed steep down, for a perceived eternity. I was the only one to scream, holding my hands franatically on the seat in front of me. Was I the only one to worry? Of course, I was sitting closest to the door, meaning that I would be the first one to be sucked out. Or where the others too resignated to even be sorry about their lifes ending in such a tragic way? Maybe they simply knew more about planes than I do. After few terrible seconds, the plane stabilized at around 2000 Foot, made a 180° turn and we flew back to Jomo Kenyatta Airport in Nairobi. Our landing was welcomed by fire fighters, police men and the emergency cars. It was not possible anymore to walk out the plane (doors in this small planes have a double function: to close the plane when in the air, and to serve as steps when on ground), so we had to jump out of the plane. I was quite under shock, and could for the first few minutes not realize what happened. I simply wanted to go home, hug somebody, and get some credits for still being alive. After all, had this accident happened at 30.000 feet instead of 11.000 feet, we would have been sucked out (n.b.: my theory, disaprooved later on by a collegue in the field who apparently nows more about planes than I do).
One additionla hour we had to stand around the demolished plane, until we were aloud to leave the airport. Later, when I met some friends for a coffee, I was asked about my thoughts during this close to death situation. To be frank, the only thing I thought was - why did I ever chose to work in Somaliland? No philosophical recaps over my life. Time was simply too short.
But as the saying goes in German, ein Unglueck kommt selten allein (one misfortune seldom comes alone). After some back and forth, I agreed to accompany some collegues to a place outside Nairobi, where they were planning to spend the weekend. Deep in my heart, the only thing I really wanted, was to lay in the arms of a close person and forget about the lush green fields of Machakos.
Before reaching Naivasha, I further became witness of a road accident that had happened some hours before, leaving eight people dead, as I got to read the next morning. There was not much left of the bus and the small lorry that crashed into each other, than some unrecognizable metal scraps.
In the evening I had to drive back to Nairobi on my own, since the others had already ealier decided to spend the night in the Malewa camp. Kenyan roads are not fun by day (see previous post), but defenitely a very bad tip during night time. Apart from that I had forgotten my glasses in Somaliland (very stupid), I had drunken one or two beer during the day, and didnt therefore feel at all prepared for sitting two hours alone in the car. But what other choice did I have? My flight to Somaliland was alraedy confirmed for Sunday.
As anticipated, driving back was no fun. The roads are dark like tar, and you have to share them with crazy matatus, huge busses, slow trucks, and speeding jeeps. Somehow, dont ask me how, I managed to drive savely back to Nairobi. Only one little incidence occured on the way: a man was suddenly standing in the middle of the road, out of the nowhere. Being unable to break in time, I hit him slightly with the left mirror of the car. I immediately stopped to see whether hes ok or not. I shouldnt have done that, of course. But I am simply not able to drive on, not knowning what happened to a fellow. Out of the nowhere, ten youngsters surrounded the car, waving, shouting, etc. Quite scary. After some negotiating I agreed to bring the guy to the closest hospital (by then I had already gotten hold of a girl about my age who succeeded in calming down the crowd). In the hospital they approved what I had already sensed: the guy was more drunk than the night dark, and he was not injured at all. Quickly I gave him some small money, thanked the doctor, and drove the last kilometers home, by now completly exhausted.
I guess, looking back at all these events, I was in many ways quite lucky. I could have been twice in big trouble. On the other hand, if I wouldnt have gone to Naivasha, life would look brighter by now. I could have spend the day at the pool, meeting with some people in Nairobi, and gaining strength for the next day. Instead, I drove to Naivasha and had to go through this ugly experience at the end of the day. But then again, how much sense does it make to think through these "what could have been if" ghosts? All what is there is the result of actions that I took based on intuition and little rationality. Thinking back I might say, it was the wrong intuition, but in that very moment it was the only thing my mind and heart told me. So, in Edith Piafs words, I dont regret...
I dont regret, but I will for sure try to forget this day. For now, all what is remaining is a sunburn on my shoulders from the afternoon in Malewa, a broken side mirror in the car of my friend and a light flash back whenever I feel fresh air over my shoulders. And also these traces, will, one day, soon, by gone.
Happy 2007 to all of you, and if you have any good advises on how to relax and breath out, let me know. Improving in those two fields is one of my biggest resulotions for my future :-)
Epilogue:
The next morning the plane to Hargeisa was again delayed. Reason: Somebody had forgotten to switch off the cabin lights the night before, resulting in a flat battery. We got another plane and landed savely in Hargeisa at 2 pm.
The day after, I got notice that another Echo plane had to turn back to Nairobi, due to technical problems. This time it was the cabin pressure that failed...
