A Day and a Half in Congo

                                                                                                  By Dan Wise

April 4 2008

I am doing a 30 day contract for a South African aviation company piloting a Beechcraft 1900 based in Kinshasa (the capital of the DRC) flying for the United Nations.
 Life in Kinshasa is different in many ways from life in Pretoria. The first thing you notice is the cost of things. The other day I was desperate for a bit of 1st world food, so I trekked to the local KFC clone called CFC (Congo Fried Chicken). It actually wasn’t too bad, but a 3 piece lunch box was priced at 9.50 USD. And of course the teller says “the change is finished” so it really costs 10.00USD (100 Rand).  Chicken is expensive because transport is expensive, and transport is expensive because fuel is expensive, and fuel is expensive because the people delivering the fuel eat chicken.
 The company I work for has done well with the accommodation here in Kinshasa. We live in a big apartment building and usually 2 guys to an apartment. We can’t even smell the normal Kinshasa sewage smell. The company also has signed us up for the local gym. This is a good thing as there often is no other way of exercising.
 One bad thing about the company I work for is the lack of proper maintenance for the aircraft. On this tour we have a very good engineer which makes thing much better, but he is not a magician. What we need is an engineer wearing a long white robe and carrying a wand. Beechcraft and the South African CAA get together and make a list of thing you cannot fly without. (Fire extinguishers, radios, engines, wings..etc…) We call these MEL (Minimum Equipment List) items. My previous tour was in Khartoum and that airplane had 7 failed MEL items. Each item forbids flight till repaired. Grounded. However… The company says “You don’t have to fly this plane, BUT… if you don’t fly, we really have no use for you, or your skills do we?” So I end up flying unsafe planes on a regular basis.
 This lack of safe maintenance is actually caused by the client. (In this case the UN) The UN always accepts the lowest bid by competing contractors. So our boss’s bid either gets undercut by the Russians, and he goes out of business, or he lies and tells the client he can maintain a plane with a certain amount of money, when he knows it is impossible. He lies to the client and tells him he will keep on hand a list of certain essential spare parts, but he knows he cannot afford to with the money they are paying. He promises to have one licensed engineer with each aircraft. But he knows he cannot afford to do that. (In Khartoum at one time we had 11 aircraft and not one (Zero, None) licensed engineer.) (I should mention that during this time the boss did manage to buy himself a Ferrari.) So the boss gives his word to the client that he will do something, but in reality he has no intention of keeping his word. He also signs a contract with no intention of honoring it. To be a boss in aviation you must be a liar and a dishonest person. Dishonesty in business is called fraud. Almost every aviation company I have worked for in Africa was owned by a dishonest fraudster. They call themselves “Businessmen”, but they are just crooks. If all aviation bosses were jailed the worlds average morality would raise significantly.
 All the mosquitoes here are the Malaria carrying type. They are large and stealthy silent. When they land on you, you feel nothing unless they accidentally touch a hair. They start drilling a split second after landing. I brought my own mosquito net with from Pretoria. One of the UN planes here is grounded because of the crew having malaria.
 The UN is one of the worst run organizations in the world. If my taxes went to the UN, I would be angry. They seem to be run by incompetent people, who must hire other incompetent people or else some competent person will take their job. So the average competency of the UN is steadily decreasing. This is a situation not unique to the UN. The governments of Zimbabwe and South Africa are similar. I have made it my personal quest to not encourage incompetence. So I often butt heads with these people. The UN here is the only aviation place on earth that uses local time in aviation. All the rest of the world uses UTC so all times are standard. As we have multiple time zones in the country, we have to know the time zones of all the small airports we fly to, because the take off times they give us are in local time. Duh. …
 As an example of UN screw-ups let me tell you about a flight 2 days ago…..
 Twenty four hours before a flight the Captain has to sign the DFS (Daily Flight Schedule). This paper tells him final number of passengers, routing, times, and cargo, so he can put in the correct amount of fuel and do the flight planning. So I sign this paper telling me 10 passengers for tomorrow to Kisangani. I put in fuel for 12 passengers just in case of a screw-up. Then later they bring me another DFS saying 9 passengers. I sign it. Next morning early they bring me one saying 15 passengers. I refuse it as I’ve fueled for maximum of 12 as per the UN order. They then get upset and ask me if I would PLEASE..PLEASE .. Just this once carry 15 with the fuel I have. I ask them if they will sign a paper saying they are requesting me to fly illegal and unsafe. They refuse to sign. They want me to accept the responsibility for the illegal unsafe flight. I tell hem to piss off. What I call unsafe they call UNsafe. Then they bring me another DFS saying 11 passengers, but this one is dated before the last one I had signed. So I am supposed to acknowledge an order I didn’t receive before another one that I did.
 They then come out with another DFS saying it is now a scheduled night stop in Kananga. So I send my copilot home to get us some spare clothes and night stop kit. We always carry an emergency night stop kit, but that one is just bare basics. He gets back an hour later, and I am waiting for the UN to yell at us because the flight is now late, but they didn’t seem to notice. Finally 2 hours later twelve (No DFS ever said 12) passengers show up. We load all the passengers, their baggage, and their guns on board (4 pistols and 2 AK 47s), and take off.
 On landing at Kanaga, they park us in a funny spot next to a band and dancing girls. It turns out one of our passenger is a senior government minister. The UN had forgotten to mention the VIP status. After 30 minutes, and much noise and pomp, the band quits, and the dancing girls go home. We can now refuel, secure the plane and go to the accommodation provided in beautiful Kananga. We are scheduled to take the minister back to Kinshasa tomorrow afternoon. My co-pilot has a UN driver’s license so we drive ourselves to the guest house. There are lots of pot holes and a zillion small goats. The goats here are very boxy things. They are shaped like a shoe box with legs and a head.
 Next day we arrive at the airport 1 hour earlier than normal to do all the pre-flight and paperwork. During the pre-flight I notice that the right engine won’t get any fuel. That fuel valve has been giving trouble for over 2 months now. It is an MEL item. We are not supposed to fly with out it being operational. The engineer ordered it months ago, but the company says it costs too much to fix. We have been flying for 2 months with this faulty fuel valve. If it had closed in flight instead of on the ground, the engine would have stopped. Now we are stranded in Kananga. So I call the engineer in Kinshasa. He says to open the upper wing panels, and try to manually open the valve. So with all the UN staff watching, we climb up on the wing and open up the panels and try to pry the valve open with a leatherman. Fortunately my copilot is strong with small hands. He opens the valve. But as soon as the battery switch is turned on the valve closes again. We pry it open again, and I pull the circuit breaker out and now the valve stays open. I am worried about accidentally hitting the circuit breaker with my knee in flight as this would close the valve and stop the engine. So I wrap a bunch of wire around it to stop it from being able to go in.
 We close the wing panel and wash up. Just in time because the band starts playing and the girls start dancing. Here comes the minister.
 All the UN guys are there to help him on the plane, (There were 17 UN staff present) and the press is taking a zillion pictures. Just as he is about to climb on board, he looks over at a Boeing 727 parked nearby that was also loading passengers. He decides he would rather go in the bigger plane, so he walks over with his bodyguards and secretaries, and aids, and just gets on, telling the crew to take him to Kinshasa.  All the UN guys are running around in circles like headless chickens. I don’t know where the 727 was originally going, but it is now going to drop off the minister in Kinshasa on the way. We watch the 727 take off. Then I ask the UN if we have any passengers for Kinshasa. We delay while they try to find anyone wanting to go to Kinshasa. So finally we leave an hour later with 3 passengers. The DFS says 15 passengers with one a VIP. We land in Kinshasa and the band and dancing girls meet the plane. Soon they realize there is no VIP and they all go home.
 Our engineer has told the UN that the plane is grounded till we get the right valve.
So today is a day off for me. I think I’ll go to the gym.

Al Shifa

                                                                                                By Dan Wise

October 20 2004

 Last week Monday I went to the museum here in Khartoum. I arrived at 13:15. The guard told me it was closed and I should come back after 15:00. So I went to the zoo and looked at the duck and the goose. After 15:00 I went back to the museum, and was told it was closed.
  I asked to speak with the highest up guy present. Soon the Chief Ticket Seller presented himself. His badge said “C.T.S.” in English. After the five minutes of usual greetings and salutations I got around to asking the C.T.S. why the museum was closed. He was fairly literate in English and seemed intelligent. He looked at the hours of operation like he had never seen them before. (He has worked there for 14 years.) I asked him what the hours of operation were on Mondays. He said "From 08:00 to 13:00 we are closed, and from 13:00 to 15:00 we are closed, and from 15:00 to 18:00 we are closed." I said "The sign also says you are open on Mondays. So you can't be closed the whole day." He said "We are open on Mondays; I just read you the times." I then asked him to only tell me the times that the museum was open on Mondays. He slowly read the times again and said "bokra". Bokra is Arabic for "tomorrow". So the times the museum is open on Monday, is Tuesday. We talked for a further 5 minutes. The guy is not dumb or stupid, but there is a huge conceptual difference here. I just don't understand these people sometimes. It’s no wonder there are global conflicts.

 So today I went to the museum again (it is Thursday). A very good museum. It is built like a huge time line from 3500 BC to 500 AD. Nothing more modern than 500 AD. Not exactly what I wanted, I was more interested in which of the buildings in Khartoum were from the British rule 1860-1890. Now the time is 10:30, and I have nothing to do.
 I then got the idea to find the wreckage of the Al-Shifa Pharmaceutical factory in Khartoum that the Americans blew up in 1998. The internet had supplied much info on the attack, and the reasons why, but the exact location wasn't available. The attack was 13 days after the Embassy bombings in Kenya, and 2 days after Clinton's Monica Lewinsky Senate hearing where he testified "I did not have sexual relations with that woman.” It was also 3 weeks after the movie "Wag the Dog" came out. (Wag The Dog was about a President starting a war just to divert attention from a sex scandal in the White House. Very appropriate.)

 So on August 21 1998 the US launched 13 Tomahawk Cruise Missiles from the Red Sea to destroy a "Weapons of Mass Destruction" nerve gas factory, ..... or a medicine factory, depending on your source of information. The attack was based on the following information...
1. The US said they didn't know of any medicines actually produced by the factory.
2. A secret CIA spy took soil samples and found EMTA. An agent used in Nerve Gas.
3. Osama Bin Ladin had shares in the Factory.
4. The plant was heavily guarded and shrouded in secrecy.

 It turns out that...
1. The US had hired the El Shifa factory to send Malaria pills, and horse vet medicine to Iraq as part of the Food for Oil program. So they knew all about what the factory produced, and had even inspected and approved the factory.
2. The entire 100 meter by 100 meter factory was paved, so the "secret agent" had to take the sample from across the street in an empty plot that was used to grow corn. EMTA is used in fertilizer and insecticides.
3. Bin Laden had sold his shares long ago, and a new owner had taken over.
4. There were no armed guards ever, and factory tours were given for free, 3 days a week. Also the plant was built by a British company and the construction consultant was an American company. The CIA had only to ask for all the plans and blueprints, and the secret agent could have just gone on a free tour. 

 Anyway that’s all politics. I just wanted to see the damage from precision bombing. After way too many hours of walking, and searching Khartoum North, I found it. I asked the guard of the destroyed factory if I could come in. He rubbed his fingers together, and I gave him about 50 cent worth of local currency and he said come in. I asked if I could walk everywhere and take pictures. He said sure, and lay back down. For 2 hours I walked through rubble and bomb damage taking pictures and figuring out exactly what happened. There seemed to have been 5 separate explosions. All from above.
 All the twisted and mangled steel structures were there, as well as the crumbled brick admin section. It really looked to me as if nothing had been removed since it happened almost 8 years earlier. I saw nothing that didn't look like it would be used to package medicines.
 There is a refinery about 100 meters north of the factory, and the Coca Cola factory is about 200 meters away. Across the road are large power lines that are about 30 meters high. There really was minimal damage outside the 1 hectare factory site. Very good precision. I wonder what model of Tomahawk missile was used. There are 4 different types. Also were they just aiming for the factory, or were they accurate enough to have one go for the admin block, and one for the packing room, etc. I asked the guard (in Koranic Arabic) if there was any evidence of a cruise missile. (Try that in 5th century Arabic.)

 He said yeah, follow him. He showed me a tail cone, and 5 mangled jet engines. He then showed me where they found the engines. I was pretty close with my guesses. He said there were 5 explosions only. The US said they launched 13 missiles. I wonder what happened to the other 8.
 The jet engines look like single stage, centrifugal compressor, with 2 stage power section. After a bit of aggressive inspection of the engines, one of the axial turbine blades accidentally fell out of the engine into my pocket. How cool is that? I have an actual turbine blade out of an actual cruise missile used for real!
 As I was leaving I noticed the guard's 6 year old boy carving into a cardboard box. On the side of the box was the writing “El Shifa Pharmaceutical Industries Co." in Arabic and English. Cool, another souvenir. I asked the kid if he would sell me the box. With a look that said very plainly "stupid white man" he agreed on enough for a coke.
 Only after I started cutting up the box (because I only wanted the sign) did I notice he had been carving an AK47. That’s got to be a good souvenir by itself. I wonder what the implications are of a young child raised in a violent setting carving an AK47. Kind of scary.
 Altogether, I liberated a turbine blade, a side of a box, a medicine bottle, and a short section of jet engine fuel pipe.

I chatted with the guard of the next door candy factory. He hadn't been employed at the time of the attack. I asked him if he felt America had attacked Sudan. He said "Yes America had attacked, but they also got attacked back on 9/11". I asked him if he thought that the 3000 deaths of innocent people on 9/11 was a proper response. He said that the people that died on 9/11 were not innocent, because they had bought the missiles that attacked Sudan with their taxes. Hmmm...
I needed to think lots about that.

 Then I had the dubious pleasure of a further 8 kilometer walk.

While crossing the new bridge across the Blue Nile, I saw two kids about 10 years old each. One had a stack of newspapers on his head, and the other had a donkey on a lead, with nothing on it's back. My first thought was that obviously these kids had never heard of a symbiotic relationship.
 They were spitting off the bridge. It seemed to be a contest. Well I'm a pretty good spitter so I thought I'd get a chance to show off a bit. After a bit of lurking to get the rules, I figured out that they would spit at the same time, and the fastest spit signified the winner by hitting the water first. So I joined in. On a dropped hand we would all spit. (You can't yell GO with a mouth full of spit.) Their spit was always faster than mine. How embarrassing to be out spit by some kids. I got desperate and hawked up a huge lunger. Squeezing out all water. Now there was only a thick heavy missile. I spit straight down with all the "ptewwy" I could, and beat them both. Now that I had some credibility, I decided to try to explain gravity and air friction (In 5th century Arabic). They just laughed. Maybe I'm trying to teach grandma to suck eggs. As I walked away they were still hacking and spitting.  
 Total walking on my pedometer was 25.8 kilometers. I started at 09:30 this morning and got home at 17:00. High temp today was 40 degrees Cent. So it’s not only "Mad dogs and Englishman" that go out in the noon day sun, but bored Pilots also.

Whop-Whop-Whop

                                                                                                 By Dan Wise

 December 17 1985

Whop-whop-whop--
Very softly.
Whop-whop-whop--
 A helicopter?
A medivac? .....or just a dream.
Whop-whop-whop--
or an enemy gunship?
I sit up, suddenly awake with a pounding pulse.
Whop-whop-whop--It really is a helicopter!
 It is almost day light out. What time is it? And where is the coffee?

 I look around in the dawn light. I am in bed at a luxury game lodge in Northern Botswana, and was trying to sleep a bit before having a big breakfast with the rich German clients.
 Whop-whop-whop. What on earth is a helicopter doing over Savuti at this time of morning? The Sun isn’t up yet. The clients won’t be happy about the early wake up call. We had spent most of the night watching lions hunt impala.
 There are only a few helicopters in Botswana, and my first thought is it must be bringing someone who needed a fixed wing pilot and aircraft urgently. Savuti is a long helicopter flight to the nearest hospital. The Cessna I had flown the Germans here in yesterday, would be much quicker. I get up, and shake my shorts, and t-shirt, (to get any critters out), put them on, and wander out of the tent toward the toilet, the helicopter, and coffee. All three calling me with an equally strong attraction. 
 The helicopter lands, and I walk towards it. Three guys get out and walk to the dining area to talk with the camp owner. I see that no one is in panic mode, so my walking diverts from the helicopter and dining area to the other important task.
 The camp toilet is under a big Acacia tree. It used to be the only flushing toilet for 100 miles, but during a drought, the elephants had broken it up to get the water out of the cistern, so now it was just a fancy long drop with burlap sacking around as an attempt at privacy.  It is OK for squirrels, birds, and small reptiles to watch us ablute. We humans only want privacy from our own species.

 Next task is some coffee. The Savuti cook makes early coffee in a typical bush manner. First stir and spread last nights coals from the fire, and put on a pan that looks like a big wok. Then throw in a hand full of ground coffee, and pour some water into the wok. Wait. Then carefully scoop up some liquid off the top, so not to get too many crunchy grounds. The cook does all this to get the staff their first caffeine fix, and then makes some fancy filter coffee for the clients. I sneak around back to the kitchen and gently scoop up some coffee from the wok.
 Coming around the kitchen, I see the three guys from the helicopter looking at me, and the camp manager pointing at me. The guys introduce themselves. I know the helicopter pilot. The other two are a veterinarian, and an electronic fundi. The word “fundi” is Zulu/Swahili/Bantu for an educated expert in something.
They explain that they need someone who can sit in a helicopter all day, bouncing in turbulence, with some occasional low level maneuvering, all with out puking his guts out. Also someone who was comfortable around dangerous animals, and can work hard, doing physical labor. 
 None of that sounded like me at all.....Nope.....
 Then they said they needed someone to dig tunnels under elephants.
 Oh...Now that sounds cool...I smiled. This will look so great on my resume.

 We all grab some toast and more coffee while they explain things to me. The plan is to fly around Chobe National Park looking for large herds of elephants. Herds of elephants are always females and babies. Males are either alone, or in small groups. We will then fly around the herd causing them to run. 
 The vet will select the leader of the herd, the matriarch, and the pilot will fly close to her and the vet will shoot her in the ass with a tranquilizer dart gun. We then back off till she gets drowsy and falls down on her side for a nap.
 We will land close to the matriarch and jump out. The pilot will take off and fly around keeping the other elephants (and hopefully lions, buffalo, hyena, wild dogs, and other malicious wildlife) away from us.
 The vet will make sure the elephant is OK and not having a bad reaction to the drug. He will then check for any injuries, or sores, and then start taking measurements for the records.
 My job was to put a wet cloth over the matriarch’s eyes to keep them from drying out, then start digging a tunnel under the neck of the elephant. This is not as easy as it sounds, because the elephant is usually laying on its ear. Just digging a tunnel will damage the ear.
During this time the electronic fundi is preparing a collar that has a radio transmitter on it so the Wildlife Department will be able to track the herd. An elephant collar is not a wimpy thing. It was very thick, and stiff leather. Hence the need for a tunnel to get it under and around the elephant’s neck.
 Once the collar was on, and buckled tight. The electronic guy would test the radio. I would take off the eye cloths, and both of us would run to the landing helicopter. When we were safely on board, the vet would give the elephant a wake up shot in the vein behind it’s ear, and run for the helicopter. About 15 seconds later the really upset elephant would stand up. We wanted to watch this event safely from up above.
 After 3 elephants our total time was down from 15 minutes, to under 10. The less time the elephant is out the better. My back was sore, and I had blisters on my hands. But this was kind of fun. It was afternoon now and very turbulent. We all felt nauseous. The pilot said he was burning more fuel than he had planed, so next time after clearing the area, he would land instead of circling, but would keep the engine running, and the vet would have a radio to talk to the pilot if there was a problem.

 We found another big herd, and the vet shot the matriarch. She went down in a plain with very tall grass. Long grass is bad news because things can sneak up very close before you see them. We joked about the book “Death in the Long Grass” by Peter Capstick, but it wasn’t really funny.
The pilot had trouble getting close to the downed elephant because the tall grass would damage the tail rotor. The pilot finally hovered over an big termite mound, and we hopped out on to it. The vet was worried because the elephant had now been out for several minutes. We went straight to work. The pilot found a place about 200 yards away to land. I wasn’t happy in the tall grass without the helicopter overhead.
 I was digging away, when I heard a snort. All three of us were looking around with large eyes. I was ready to hit something with the shovel, and the vet had his syringe, and the radio guy was armed with his test box. After a few seconds the vet said to get back to work because the elephant had been out for too long.
 Then I heard a roaring sound, and saw a puff of dirt. I did a superman leap over the elephant, and collided midair with the radio guy. We crashed to the ground between the elephant's legs, and cushioned the fall of the vet when he landed on top of us a split second later. He was yelling into the radio “Mayday-Help-Mayday-Help!”
 There is a joke about when you are confronted with an animal that’s going to eat you, you should reach behind you, pick up some dung, and throw it at him. Some one always asks, “What if there is no dung?” The answer is “Don’t worry, it will be there.” That’s how I felt.
 Ever so slowly the helicopter rotor spins up, and ever so slowly it comes our way. There has never been a more lethargic Whop-whop-whop.
 Finally the helicopter appears overhead. It is making lots of what must certainly be animal scaring noises. I hope that the lion/buffalo/hippo/bear/dragon or whatever, now has it’s own dung to throw.
 The pilot flies around a bit, then moves off so we can hear him when he talks on the radio. He tells us we must be on drugs, because there is nothing there except us and a sleeping elephant. We peek over the top of the elephant, and see nothing, then a snort, and a big puff of dirt. I swear my heart stopped.

 I hope that, whatever it is, will get full eating the elephant first before eating me. I remind myself to breathe. The pilot again assures us there is nothing there. He hovers up real close, I can see him looking where we think something is. He shakes his head. The others push me to go look. They must have selected me because I am armed with the shovel.
 I crawl around the elephant and look where the snorting is coming from, and find the end of her trunk in the long grass. She is snoring. Each loud snort makes a puff of dirt. I wave the guys over, and we grab her trunk and pull it straight so we can see the end. We quickly finish the collar, and run for the termite mound and get in the helicopter. The vet injects her and runs. He gets in just as the elephant stands up. We are all covered in a thick mud layer, from all the sweat, and dust kicked up by the helicopter.
 We decide on a lunch break, and to let the pilot refuel. We did one more collar that day, and three the next day. We all agreed: No more tall grass! 
 I learned a few things. An elephant’s neck is huge, and the ears really get in the way. And I’ll always remember to pull an elephant’s trunk out straight before digging a tunnel under one.
 That night, we were standing around the fire, listening to lions and hyena, there was a sudden primeval feeling of ...of what? We froze, and didn’t move.
A herd of elephants then walked right by us, and through the camp.
 Dark gray and silent.
 The locals call it Ghosting.
 The elephants walked right between the tents, in the dark, and never touched a tent, tent peg, or tie down rope.
 It was a midnight ballet by one of God’s greatest creations.

Same Like The Dog

                                                                                                  By Dan Wise

July 12 1986

 While working as a freelance pilot based in Pretoria, South Africa, my wife and I purchased our first house. On a good month we could just make the repayments, on a bad month we had to dig into our savings. I was flying for whomever needed a pilot, and flew what ever aircraft needed flying. My favorite flights were to the Okavango Delta in Botswana.
 The summer January rains that fall in the Eastern highlands of Angola form the Cubango river.  The river has many names as it winds its way over a thousand miles. Cubango, Okavango, Boro, Thamalakane, Botlete. It finally fans out into the Kalahari desert in Northern Botswana about April, forming the Okavango Delta. The Delta is a Garden of Eden. If you put me down there naked, I could survive with least hassle of anywhere else I know of on Earth. But, you must keep in mind, that you are also just one link in the food chain.
 One charter flight assigned to me, was flying some rich Americans from Johannesburg, South Africa, to an airstrip on the north edge of the Delta. We left from Lanseria, and 3 hours later landed in Maun for Custom and Immigration. Maun is a town on the edge of the Delta, and has a small International Airport.
After refueling we flew another 45 minutes to a short dirt strip near the Okavango river itself. There, was a small, luxury, tented camp. The reason we were there was so the clients could get onto a big house boat and cruise the Delta for a week.
The clients wanted the pilot to stay near the airplane, in case emergency transport was needed. Staying with me in the camp was a very thin, old gardener and a very fat maid. These two people had been born and raise only 100 kilometers from where the camp was located. They spoke little English, and my Setswana was only at the daily use level.
 The clients all boarded the house boat and waved good bye, and I settled down to a quiet week in a luxury camp with a stack of books brought from Johannesburg. I also had the company of the camp dog that was very sick. They think he had been bit or stung by something.
 The next morning, I didn't feel so good. It felt like a bad cold or flu coming. The following morning, I couldn't get out of bed.  The world was a heated blur, but hopefully the cold/flu would be gone before the clients returned. At least I could rest undisturbed.
 The next thing I remember was the huge maid sitting next to me sponging me down with cool water, while I shivered and shook. I passed out quickly, and only woke up occasionally.
 Before I continue, let me talk a bit, about the most dangerous animal in Africa.
The Anopheles mosquito. It flies silent, and the female only lands on you with four legs, the back two are curved up to the rear. It is the saliva of the female Anopheles mosquito that carries malaria to man.
 Malaria comes from the Latin “Mal Aria” (Bad Air). It was believed that air blowing off of water caused the disease. It was only around 1900 that the mosquito was found to be the culprit.
 Malaria is not uncommon among contract pilots of Africa. The side effects of most of the malaria prophylactics are not compatible with the operation of heavy machinery. Different strains of Malaria need different preventive medicines. Because contract pilots could be in many different Malarial zones in the same month, most pilots used mosquito nets and insect repellent as first line of defense against malaria. Obviously I hadn't done that very well.
 In one lucid moment, I remember the maid saying “You are too much sick. Same like the dog.”.
 The next time I woke up, I was on my back in a shallow, leaking dug out canoe in the middle of a river. The gardener standing over me was under orders from the maid to pole me 15 kilometers up river to a clinic at Seronga to treat my malaria.
 The next wake up reveled a small, crying black child in the crook of my left arm. I was lying on a garbage bag on the floor of a hot windowless room with about 10 other people. Some barefoot local lady came over and took the child from me, and stuck a tit in it's mouth. I did not feel very well at all. A nurse came past and saw I was awake. She handed me some pills. The water tasted muddy, and gritty.
 The next wake up was with a different, small, black child sleeping next to me. I was still on a piece of plastic, and was still with many other people on the floor of a still hot, windowless room. But now I felt much better, just very tired. A nurse took the child and asked me if I would please give my sleeping spot to someone else who really needed it. She picked up my garbage bag and replaced it with a new one. The clinic in Seronga had no beds, no running water, and no electricity. There were 2 nurses that worked shifts. The nurse said I had a bad case of malaria, and that she had given me Fansidar, and Chloroquine both. She said they had given me a large dose, and there could be bad side effects, so I should stay in the clinic another day. I slept that night outside leaning against the wall of the clinic.
 Next morning, I was feeling better, but very sore and tired. Some lady came by and gave me a small child to hold while she got examined by the nurse. I looked around, and saw that everyone, including me, had a small child or baby with them. The nurse explained it was the clinic’s weekly baby check up day.
  A mother and her baby came forward to get checked over. The nurse poked and measured the baby, then asked the mother to put the baby on the scale so she could weight it. The baby quickly crawled off. The mother put it on again and it squirmed off. All the women in the line, waiting, were giving advice and clicking their tongues.
 The nurse said that she had a good idea. They would weight the mother while holding the baby, then put the baby on the floor and just weigh the mother. Then with the calculator box, she could do some math and figure out the weight of the baby. This produced lots of tongue clicking from the admiring ladies. So the mother holding the baby stands on the scale, the nurse writes down the weight, then they put the baby down, then the nurse says “Stop. Start over.” The mother must first take of her sandals while holding the baby, because you can't get an accurate weight with shoes on. I started explaining to the nurse, how that was not necessary because she was going to subtract the weight anyway, ...and ....all the women were looking at me, and talking at once. I caught a few parts of the chatter. Like  “Is this white man trying to tell us how to weigh babies?”  “How many babies has he ever weighed?” “White people always think they know everything”. So I shut up, and just watched.
 I ponder at how Africa's move into the 21st Century has been by leaps and bounds, missing the gradual growth in knowledge. The basics of a simple thing like weighing a baby was done as memorized in school, with none of the concepts fully understood.
 And the calculator box is how you do math. There is no other way.
 The next morning the nurse released me from the clinic. I had no money with me, but she said that the bill was the equivalent of one US dollar, payable the next time I came through Seronga.
 Feeling better now, I polled the dugout canoe all the way back to the camp with the old man sleeping in the bottom. Of course it was downstream now, and a lot easier. We arrived back at the camp, and the maid cooked me a big plate of spaghetti. She said it was good after malaria.
 The next day the clients arrived, and I was feeling much better. We flew to Maun for Customs and Immigration, then on to Johannesburg.
  That night back in my new home, while my wife was hearing all about Seronga, I started to feel a bit woozy, and went to bed. A few hours later I awoke with a screaming headache, and a very stiff neck. My wife took me straight to the hospital where we waited a few hours until a stack of papers were filled out and signed, and the financial arrangements were deemed satisfactory. Then another 3 hours in a crowded, noisy waiting room till the doctor could see me. He checked me out, and said to go home, and if there are any worse symptoms to come back tomorrow. On the drive home things got much worse. My wife stopped and couldn't decide if we should go back to the hospital. Then my eyes became uncontrollable. One would wander off on its own while the other pointed somewhere else. This made me dizzy, and nauseous, and very scared. We zoomed back to the hospital. I was unconscious by the time we arrived. My wife carried me in, and waited for another 2 hours till the doctor could squeeze me in. They gave me a lumbar puncture, and a bit later the doctor came out and made everyone in the waiting room put on a mask. I had infectious viral meningitis.
 After spending 5 nights in isolation, I was allowed to go home. The Civil Aviation Administration had pulled my aviation medical, so now we had no income. We moved into a friends spare bedroom and rented out our house to help make the repayments. The Doctors only re-approved my aviation medical a month later.
 We assume the meningitis was contacted in the Seronga clinic, probably while I was sick with malaria. We also assume I gave it to the multitudes of people waiting in the hospital. I am grateful that the diseases this time were identifiable and treatable. A few years later I would get very ill with an Undocumented Tropical Disease. The Doctors could only treat the symptoms. They never did identify what was wrong with me then.
 I am a bit uncertain whether I would rather be sick in a first world hospital, where paperwork and financial arrangements seem to take priorities, or a bush clinic where they just want you well and out of the way so they can treat someone else.
 I did manage to send 100 US$ up to the camp. Half went to the gardener and the maid. The other half went to the Seronga clinic.
 Fortunately the camp dog also got better, and didn’t become...“Too much sick. Same like the pilot.”

Banking with a Sudanese Donkey

By Dan Wise 

 November 1 2005

 I had just arrived in Khartoum (that's in the Sudan) on a 3 month contract for Petronas. This was my 10th contract flying in the Sudan. Most contracts had been as a pilot for the UN or the Red Cross, but this one was for a Malaysian oil company. The Government of Sudan liked Petronas because it was a Muslim owned and operated company.
  When starting a contract in Sudan, it usually takes a week or so for the work permit paperwork to be done, before a pilot can start flying. So with a few days to do nothing, I decided to visit a bank and see about opening an account with Internet banking, and see how to transfer USD to banks in the U.S. or Malta.
  Arriving at a bank, I see a large line coming out of the door into the 42C (107F) degree heat. The little Arabic that I can speak is, mostly pleasantries. Trying to establish the lines correct destination was a time consuming challenge. How do you say "Internet Banking and Foreign Currency Exchange" in basic Arabic?
  I eventually found out that this was indeed the line for Foreign Currency Exchange; however I was a bit confused as the last "person" in the line was a donkey. So I asked other people in the line, if I was behind the donkey or was he just standing there. They said that I was definitely behind the donkey as he had arrived in the line before me.
  The donkey was carrying about 15 crushed cardboard boxes, and some empty water tins. I was happy for the light load, as some Sudanese donkeys carry amazingly heavy loads. His one ear looks like it had been chewed on, and was missing about 6 inches off the end. I guess donkeys cheat in fights just like some boxers do. What a donkey would have that is worth fighting for escaped me.
  After another 10 minutes our line of mammals had moved about 5 yards. I was looking forward to the air conditioned inside of the bank. I was about 3 yards from the steps, but as donkeys are quite long, I contemplated cutting in front of the donkey to speed up my cooling off significantly. Do donkeys care if you cut in front of them? I better not...maybe that is why the mangled ear came into being.
  Just then a guard comes out of the bank. He wasn't even sweating. It must be cool inside! He had his trusty, rusty AK-47, and he walked right up to me! Did he know I was going to cut in front of the donkey? In better English than mine, he asks me to follow him. As he was headed back into the cool bank I quickly followed. Once inside...AAAhhhh Bliss!
 He took me straight to the Foreign Currency Exchange section and introduced me to a Bank Manager. I strongly object to preferential treatment and the cutting ahead in lines (with people that is). However I tend to be less strict when it is me that gets the preferential treatment. I gave a quick look before sitting down and saw the donkey was now at the bottom of the outside steps leading up to the main door. The manager explained that I looked Ferengi so they thought I might be rich.
  The word Ferengi is Arabic for a foreigner (and also the name of a Star Trek Alien species). I wonder which use of the word came first?
  The Bank Manager had a trainee manager with him and both were very polite. He asked me if I would like some tea or coffee. I said "No thanks", and they both frowned. Maybe “they” wanted tea and coffee. I quickly added "only if you will join me". They both smiled. I explained to them that I was an American (they both frowned) but I had been away from the United States for 25 years living in Africa (they smiled).
 They moved the conversation from whether I wanted sugar in my coffee to the US State Department’s policy on terrorism in a quick and practiced manner. It seemed that's what they really wanted to talk about.
  I explained that I wanted to send some money to the US (they frowned) but in the interest of world peace I was going to send it to Malta instead (they smiled). When they found out that the US IRS would see none of the money they were suddenly my good buddies. So we chatted about money laundering, terrorism, and the Great Satan's policy on terrorism. The manager said he really liked Americans, but hated the American Government. He said that America was a beautiful country, (he had been there twice) but the Government was meddlesome, both in America, and overseas. The American Government was only concerned with growing the American Government. He sounded like a T.E.A. party Libertarian.
  After very strong coffee, we discussed the many options I had to move money around. They advised me not to open an account in Sudan. If the US froze Sudanese assets, or the US did another missile strike against Sudan, then Sudan might freeze all Americans assets, and I would loose all my money. The topic again quickly moved to the Great Satan's policy on terrorism. The bank manager asked me if I had seen a blue Rockwell Saberliner at the airport when I was at the airport. I said I had. He said that it belonged to Osama bin Laden, but that he probably would not be arriving soon to get it. We all laughed at that.
 The manager then said I should stick with the trusted M&M (Malta and Mauritius) for my banking needs.
 I wanted to know about the donkey, so I used all my negotiating skills to move the topic away from terrorism and money laundering to the donkey.
 Finally the conversation got close enough, (something the manager said about Bush being an ass) for me to ask them about the donkey waiting in the Foreign Currency Exchange line.
 I asked "Why was the donkey in the line? Did he just want the air conditioning for a few minutes, or did he want to exchange money?"
 The manager looked at me and said "It is a she, not a he".
 Hmm... I wasn't ready for that.
 I was just about to ask how a Bank Manager would know the sex of a donkey outside his bank. But the two mangers were having a very rapid discussion in Arabic. They sure do talk fast. "With the speed of summer lightning" comes to mind. About a minute later the assistant answered. "Either A:the owner went to eat, or B:the owner went to the toilet, or else C:the owner went to take a nap." Then the Bank Manager added "But probably B and C because of A".
 The Bank Manager then told me the story of the terrorist Carlos “The Jackal”. Carlos was kidnapped by the French in a very bold raid and flown out of Sudan to France before the Sudanese even knew it. He was taken from a house a few blocks from where I live in Khartoum.
 I asked him what he thought about the 9/11 attacks. He said the whole thing was cruel and evil. The target should have been the American Government, never innocent people. But then he mentions that the only source of money to fund the US's war on places like Sudan comes from the taxes that all Americans pay. If you pay for a crime to be committed, you are still guilt of the crime. Are there really any “innocent” Americans?
 After saying pleasant goodbyes, and another quick talk about US State Department policy on terrorism I went out into the now 44C (111F) degree heat past the donkey that was next to go into the bank. He was (oops) She was sticking her nose as far forward as possible to smell the cool air. There were about 10 people behind the donkey. None of the people behind the donkey seemed to even consider cutting in front of a donkey. My morals and ethics must be a bit lower than the average Sudanese.
 I walked across the street to an Ice Cream parlor. It was very crowded because the customers don't go out side as the ice cream melts to quick. Most Ferengi fear dairy products in Sudan. Whenever I first arrive on a Sudanese contract I go to an Ice cream parlor and order two scoops in a cone, and a glass of local tap water. These makes me very sick for a few days, but then my body can handle dairy products for the rest of the contract. (I still can never handle the water).
 I stood inside the parlor with the other customers, and ate my ice cream. I thought about how mixed up the world is when …
...a Sudanese Bank Manager would be at home at a Libertarian TEA party convention
...people eat ice cream to 'get sick'
and
... only female donkeys do Foreign Currency Banking.

The Riot

 By Dan Wise

July 30 2005

 The very fragile peace of Sudan was destroyed today by the death of John Garag. He was the opposition (SPLA) leader, and Vice President. He was in the Ugandan president’s helicopter coming from Uganda. It apparently crashed in bad weather. But many people think the government may have killed him. 

  There has been lots of rioting here in Khartoum, and my two favorite restaurants have been looted. All the roads were closed, and everyone was walking. No white faces were visible. 

  Many of our pilots were at the airport when the rioting started. I went and stood on an old 707 passenger loading stairs that was parked near the main road with some local mechanics from the hanger where we do our maintenance. From this high vantage point we could see 4 separate pillars of black smoke from burning cars, and one gas station (where I had drank a coke yesterday). About every minute a truck full of police in riot gear or an army truck would come by. The trucks all had 50 cal machine guns and all the guys in them were armed. 

  The local guys I was with were all Muslim, and when ever an army or police truck came by they would all yell and scream "ALLAHU AKBAR" (God is great) and "MARHABA" (literally "welcome", but meaning "we support you") So I joined in and yelled till my throat hurt. It felt like a Lawrence of Arabia movie. Every truck load would scream back "ALLAHU AKBAR" and "LA ILAHA ILA ALLAH" (There is only one God) and some waved their AK47s. It was so cool. I was hoping we could go burn something, but we didn't. 

  The army finally came on to the airport and made us all to go home. All the other foreign pilots had barricaded themselves in the hanger office. Wimps!! 

  The local guys I was with were concerned for me walking the 2 Kms to the house. I asked one of the army guys if he thought it was safe for me to walk since I was an obvious "ferenghi" (foreigner). He laughed and said that there were army guys with either a machine gun or AK47, every 50 meters along the road to the house. He smiled and told me that whenever there are this many guns, there is always peace.

So I just walked home. Past looted buildings and many broken windows. I said hello to most of the army guys, they smiled the relaxed smile that men with guns have when everybody else is unarmed. 

One saving grace was that the Vice President crashed in his own SPLA territory, so his own people will investigate the crash site and be able to determine if there was foul play or just the normal Russian pilots killing themselves again. There would be many more problems if the results of the crash were investigated by the government. Nobody would believe the results of a government investigation. 

  The Khartoum airport was closed, and there will probably be a few days of mourning, so my flight for tomorrow is canceled and probably the day after also. Cool. A few days off will be welcome.

Teachings of a Madagascar Air Hostess

By Dan Wise

May 30 2002 

An important part of my aviation education began one day at a little airport on the East coast of Madagascar. I was supervising refueling (actually just eating a sandwich) while standing on the top of the steps of a Beechcraft 1900D parked in front of some nameless air terminal. The co-pilot was filing flight plans in the tower, and the Air Hostess was watching the local refuelers with a hawk like eye, and may God help them if they touched the refueling hose on the de-icing boots or scratched the wing. She would erupt into a tornado of Madagascarian fury at the slightest damage to "Her" aircraft. I was also very aware of the 28 confirmed and ticketed passengers pushing and shoving to get through the departure gate to board our 18 passenger aircraft. We could only carry 17 passengers because the Air Hostess needed one seat.

  We had ferried 2 Beechcraft 1900s from Johannesburg a few days earlier to "Tana" (Antananarivo). We were 3 Captains, 3 Co-pilots, one engineer, and had a whole lot of aircraft spares and plenty of US Dollars. We were kind of on our own as there would be no quick help from head office in South Africa. Orders from the boss were to call him if there was a problem, and tell him how we had solved it. 
  We were a good bunch, with a total of almost 60 years spent flying contracts in Africa. I was selected as the "Contract Manager" only because the boss had handed me all the money. Our job was to fill in while a new startup local airline waited for its new aircraft to be delivered. We stayed at the Tana Hilton. Cool! No living tents or containers on this contract.

  After arrival in Tana we had to undergo a lecture on Madagascarian Air Law by the local Civil Aviation Authority. The CAA guy made a quick, practiced speech:
Flight plans are always required, even between airports with no tower or ATC.
Any aircraft that is certified for more than 17 seats needs an Air hostess.
Life jackets are required for all passengers, on all flights.
Search and Rescue is the responsibility of the next of Kin. (What???)
He suggested always carrying a packet of cookies in case of crashing so we have something to eat while waiting for our friends and family to find the wreckage! (Is this a joke?)
This was not a joke, he was serious!

  After this bit of a wake up call, I needed to find the local "Air Hostesses Are Us" store to hire one, because our airplane is certified to carry 18 passengers. I walked across the ramp to an Air Madagascar 737 and ask someone there where I could hire an air hostess. Shortly, a slim, attractive, Malagasy lady walked up to me and asked in English how much I pay. We negotiated and Nini took the job. Nini turned out to be a very important part of our crew. She had worked for Air Madagascar for about 10 years, and spoke French, English, and Malagasy. She was born and raised in Tana, and knew the local aviation scene intimately. Hiring her turned out to be the best decision I made while in Madagascar.
  When Nini had been with us a few days, we had a night stop in Toamasina. At supper Nini shyly asked if she could say something. “Please” she said “Always let me walk a few meters behind you. Don’t open doors for me, and don’t offer to carry my bags. This is how things are done here, and I feel embarrassed and uncomfortable with the way you have been treating me. What you consider polite is seen as condescending to me and my friends.” She was so serious. To break the ice I asked if she would like to always carry my bag. She smiled and said “Yes. Thank you. I will.”

  Madagascar seems to have evolved on its own with out interference from the rest of the world. Just about every aspect of life has a unique Madagascarian flavor. The names of towns are long and tongue twisting. Like Antananarivo, Ambatolampy, Fianarantsoa, and Toamasina. Because of the poor roads and bandits operating in the rural areas, airline travel is becoming more popular. The local minibuses that would carry 6 school kids in America, carried 26 Madagascar commuters. The buses are in poor condition, and any parts that came loose or fell off were simply discarded. Between the poor maintenance and the bandits, a bus trip was uncomfortably exciting, and often fatal. To get around Tana for the duration of the contract we hired our own driver and minibus.

  One of our first flights was a charter for the President of Madagascar. He wanted to take his family on holiday, and his private jet was down for maintenance. We took him to Maroantsera. A pretty sea side town. The President and his family got off carrying all their bags and boxes, and boarded a bus to take them to a charter boat. They were going fishing for a week. We had to refuel the aircraft and get ready to take passengers back to Tana for the airline. Nini comes up to me and says "There are no life jackets on board." I told her that they were there, because I had checked them on the pre-flight. She says "There are no life jackets on board. The President and his family took them all." I check and sure enough all the life jackets are missing. I start to go stop the Presidents bus, but Nini stops me saying “He is the President. Are you going to accuse him of theft?" My first thought was “Of course I am." Then I decided we could just add the cost of life jackets to his bill. But now the immediate problem is not being legal for the next flight. I asked Nini what she recommends. She thought a bit, and then said she would sort it out. Soon I see her pushing an Air Madagascar baggage trolley across the apron coming from an Air Madagascar 737. The trolley was full of Air Madagascar life jackets. As she walked past she said "You owe me 200 US Dollars." Problem solved... or was it just problem transferred? Anyway, that problem wasn't mine any longer. 

  Ok, now back to the 28 confirmed passenger stampede, waiting to charge. I ask Nini why they booked so many passengers knowing we would be way over weight, and we only have 17 seats available. She shakes her head, and takes me aside. With a look like she was explaining something that was obvious to even an idiot, she said:
 "These people have come to our airline wanting to get to Tana. There are 28 confirmed passengers, but another 50 on standby. The only other option for them is to take a bus. You've seen the crowded unsafe buses, and you know about the bandits all over the route to Tana. These people on a bus would have a very uncomfortable 2 day trip. They also would have a very good chance of being hurt in an accident, or the bus breaking down. They also have a good chance of being shot, robbed, raped, or killed by bandits. You say we only have 17 seats, but these people have never sat "one to a seat" in their lives. You say we would be over weight. But even with 28 passengers, this aircraft would still be the safest transport these people have ever had. The chance of them getting safely to Tana with you is a thousand time better than any other means they have. If you really care about the safety of our airlines clients, then you will take them all."
  The contract with the client said they wanted a Part 121 operation, so complying with the contract, we took off an hour later with 17 passengers, and a very pensive Captain.

  About four weeks later two Antonov AN-28 aircraft park next to us. They are our replacements. We had been fired. The AN-28 is also an 18 passenger aircraft, but the crew say they will carry 28. I walk over to talk with one of the Captains. I ask him why Russians always fly overweight and unsafe. The captain answers, "Unsafe compared to what, safety is always a relative thing. I try to do what is the safest for each situation. It is Americans like you that are wrong. You always worry more about your personal legal liability, than about helping the people in whatever land you happen to be in. And I am a Ukrainian, not a Russian. You Americans know so little about the world you keep meddling with."
  I had no good reply, but I had to have the last word, so I said "America is a continent that has many counties in it. The country I am from is the United States. And with air safety, we strive for perfection and often achieve mediocrity, you strive for mediocrity, and often kill people."
  Now what to do with two aircraft in Madagascar with no contract. Luckily the Presidents jet was still broken, and the presidential elections were coming up so we got a contract flying politicians all over Madagascar campaigning.
  We did about 150 hours for both planes in two months, and we didn't kill anyone, and we made the company lots of money. But my view of aircraft safety has changed a bit. Ultimate safety may not always the best choice.