Long Flight Home

Friday, 4.00 pm

The news of my father’s demise came to me on a dusty Friday afternoon in Aweil a small village north of South Sudan as I was winding up a long day of interviews and was looking for some rest.

More than the tragedy of the news, the question how the hell I’m going to get back to Chennai hit me hard. For here I am, 600 km. from Juba the capital city from where I could take a flight out.

Because of the conflict and insecurity there are no inter-city commercial flights in operation. Aid workers rely on UN Chartered flights that operates on fixed days. They do not fly on weekends.

It was already Friday afternoon when I heard the news from my sobbing daughter,  that meant that the last UN Flight out of Aweil had already taken off 5 hours ago. The prospect of holed out in Aweil till Monday to catch the flight to Juba psyched me out.

Desperately, I called up my boss, David Ayaga who had left early to his village as it was a Friday. His phone was switched offer. After a series of phone calls to all my contacts, Michael Ofwano the finance manager picked up the call. I broke the news to him and said “Michael, I don’t know what do, but I need to get to Juba by Saturday or Sunday, please help me”

In the next 5 minutes, Michael arrived and by this time, I was crisscrossing the street across the Norwegian Refugee compound where I was staying.  Michael suggested we sit down at our usual haunt – the Ram Sheel hotel. It is a small shack where we had enjoyed the local food on many weekends. But not today.  Because, today we were trying to hatch a plan – an operation that needs to be planned precisely that should get me out of Aweil on a weekend.

06.00 pm.

Every time my phone rang, it was news trickling in from home. My wife wanted to know when I could come, what to do with the body till then, what about coffin dimensions…questions that sounded cold, but essential. Only, I did not have any logical answer to any of them in my state of confusion. I just told her that if I’m unable to come by Monday, please go ahead with the funeral.

Meanwhile, Michael had sent word to David’s house in the village and soon enough David arrived and we huddled together at the small round table in the restaurant. Assessing the situation quickly, David said that the only way to get to Juba before Monday is to risk taking a road journey up to Wau the nearest town from where we could chance a commercial flight that may be going to Juba.

I jumped at this crazy idea with the enthusiasm of a child and said “Yes I will do it!”

David gave me an amused look that seemed to say – do you know what you are getting into? Then he laid out the plan to me so that I understood the risks associated with the journey and the chances I’m taking. The journey by road will take roughly 4 ½ hours or even more if it rains on the way because of the bad condition of the road. And the journey could be undertaken only in the day time that means I can only start tomorrow, Saturday morning. He continued, there will be multiple check posts sometimes controlled by rebels. This means, that our vehicle may be randomly stopped and checked –   especially, if they see a foreigner on board.

As per security protocol, expatriate staff working with NGOs are not allowed to travel by road because of the risks involved. But David is willing to bend the rules because of the extraordinary situation I’m facing. He paused so that I could respond. I nodded my head in agreement.

If I manage to reach Wau by Saturday afternoon, then on Sunday morning there is a chance that a commercial flight –usually bringing traders and goods from Khartoum – may transit via Wau to pick up fuel en-route to Juba. When it stops for refueling, the flight may also take some passengers, desperate people like me I guessed.  Sensing a ray of hope, I agreed and said I will take the chance.

David was able to connect to people in Aweil, Wau and in Juba over the next few hours. How he did it when there was no proper telecommunication networks – I still do not know. But , after few hours, he said that the ticket has been arranged and I have to collect it from Jalal who will be waiting for me at Wau airport on Sunday. He then said that Ahmed the driver who could speak a bit of English and Dominic the mechanic (who speaks only Dinka and local Arabic) will escort me to Wau on Saturday.

Thus started the countdown to what was to be an amazing coordination, communication and multiple journeys with a singular objective to get me on that plane to Juba on Sunday.

Saturday, 9.00 am.

Saturday morning, David introduced me to the driver and said he had given instructions, money for fuel and any other ‘incidental’ expenses on the road. Dominic will be the mechanic who can fix up the vehicle if it breaks down – the prospect of which I could not even imagine. I grimly shook hands with both of them. There will be no phone network on the road from Aweil to Wau so for the next 4 ½ hours you are on your own, warned David for one last time, as if I may change my mind.

The plan is to reach Wau by Saturday afternoon. Stay put in a hotel there for the night. Ahmed will take me to airport (air-strip actually) on Sunday morning. I collect the ticket from Jalal and wait hopefully for a flight from Khartoum that could eventually take to me to Juba at least by Sunday afternoon.

9.30 am

David and his colleagues were waiting to see me off on what was going to be a long journey home. I shook hands with David Ayaga, Michael Ofwono and Martin Omong. David hugged me and said, ‘don’t worry, you’ll reach safely’. After the formal hand-shakes and hugs, I braced myself for that long journey of hope…

10.00 am

The Toyota Land Cruiser, is the most trusted and reliable vehicle – and probably the only vehicle that could tackle this treacherous terrain.  You feel secure and confident once you are seated so high above the ground. But on that day, it reminded me of the auto rickshaw rides back home. The vehicle rocked back and forth as the four wheel drive tried to find some inch of traction on the stretch of mud and loose gravel. Ahmed and Dominic were immersed in loud conversations in their local language as if it was a Sunday morning drive to church.

With one hand I held the rail on the dash board and with the other I grabbed the handle right above my head. In this position, I was still shaking like a ragged doll just discovered by a hungry terrier. Ahmed skillfully managed to strike a fine balance between speed and stability and all the time chatting with Dominic…

At every check point, Dominic would get down from the vehicle and before they could approach the vehicle or catch a glimpse of me sitting on the front seat, would talk to them and ensured that they did not get a closer look inside. During these stops, I tried to squeeze myself into the seat, pulled down my cap and believed that somehow that will make me invisible. It seemed to work and soon we headed into Wau town. The time on my watch read 2.30 pm.

3.00 pm

The car pulled up on to the porch of the Safari Hotel. I wondered, who would go for a safari in this war torn country? The lady at the counter confirmed that a room had been reserved in my name and handed over the key. I turned around to Ahmed and thanked him for bringing me safely. He smiled in return and said tomorrow (Sunday) 7.30 am he will be back to take me to the airport. We shook hands and the lady escorted me to my room.

Thankfully, the hotel had a working wi-fi network. My phone was filled with whatsapp messages and SMS texts, missed calls –I went through each of them and replied. It was annoying to get text messages from Buhari Hotel and Naidu Hall promising wonderful discounts on Biriyani and assorted undergarments respectively – while important messages from my family seldom reach me. Maybe the advertising companies had a high speed direct connection to poor hapless souls toiling away in ‘out of reach’ mysterious Countries.

I called up my wife to inform her that I had arrived in Wau safely and hopefully should catch the Sunday morning flight to Juba and onward to Chennai. What I did not tell her is I still do not have the ticket for the Wau Juba flight, nor had any idea what time the flight (if it arrives at all) will take off from Wau.

7.00 pm

Kirtivasan from Bangalore had sent me the confirmed tickets from Juba to Dubai, connecting to Chennai for Sunday afternoon reaching Chennai Monday morning. Before leaving for Wau from Aweil I had called up Kirti to inform him about my urgent need to get to Chennai from Juba by Monday morning. Kirti is a wizard and one of the now near extinct tribe of travel agents. He could book tickets from his kitchen from Chennai to Antartica via Siberia. I don’t know how he does it, but he had been booking tickets for me over 20 years now. While all my family and friends book theirs online. So this time also, he managed to book me by the relatively fastest route and most reliable airlines – Emirates. His only caveat before confirming the ticket was I should reach Juba at least by 12.00 noon on Sunday. 

So, now I have a deadline to look up to.  Something to focus on. So by all means I should catch the Sunday morning flight from Wau and reach Juba by noon.  Strangely, I felt reassured even though I was not sure if I would get out of Wau.

Sunday – 07.30 am

Ahmed turned up promptly by 7.30 am to pick me up from the hotel. He said he had spoken to Jalal in the airport and he will be waiting for us with the ticket. I asked him what time the flight will take off. He turned to me and said, “let’s see” and switched on the ignition and fired the Land Cruiser alive. This is it I thought then, there is no turning back now.

Sunday – 08.00 am

As we pulled up into the make shift airstrip, I could see that the entire place was deserted and donkeys and goats were grazing smug in the knowledge that no flights will be able to disturb their Sunday morning ruminations.

Ahmed parked the vehicle, eased out my bags and started walking towards a tree and said, “we wait under tree”. We placed ourselves on the chairs that were arranged under the tree – this is a good sign, maybe people come here after all and this could be the ‘waiting lounge’. I had in many trips across South Sudan enjoyed the airport lounge experience under neem or mango trees.

Soon enough, a young man in a bright orange T Shirt waved at us. Ahmed waved back and said that is Jalal with the ticket. We walked up to where he was waiting. Jalal grinned widely and shook hands firmly and handed over the ticket. Ahmed paid him 20,000 SSP packed in a bundle of small notes. Then Ahmed said, “let’s have tea”.

That sounded like a good idea and we went back to our waiting area under the tree. An old lady was briskly cleaning up the chairs and was getting ready to boil water from the small charcoal stove. I could count maybe 10 chairs and a long wooden log that could take another 5 grown up South Sudanese men. Maybe she is just being optimistic or maybe she knows for fact that customers would soon come. I would like to believe in the latter because that means a flight would indeed be taking off.

I looked at the ticket booklet in my hand, the last time I saw one was in the 1990’s an Indian Airlines ticket in glossy orange shade with several small pages filled with boxes of unintelligible alpha numeric characters on which we were supposed to get tiny white stickers that said OK. This ticket I had now was from “Kush Air” and it was an open ticket – which means there is no date or time on the ticket. So if the flight turns up, I will get it stamped and could fly, if not I could use if for some other lucky day –a prospect that I dreaded.

I sat on the now cleaned chair and sipped my black tea pondering on the possibility of spending the night in Wau if the flight did not turn up. But, I could see a smattering of people lining up with their bags against the walls. The sight of people with their baggage lifted up my spirits. It should also have lifted up the spirits of the old lady, because almost all the people made a bee-line to where we were sitting to sip tea and munch on a mandazi (soft round bread) business as usual then.

I settled down and gazed down the airstrip. Now a cowherd is gently guiding the assorted cattle to a safer side off the landing strip. The motley crowd continued their animated conversation, perhaps discussing what urgency that might have brought this foreigner to their airport on a Sunday morning.

9.30 am

I saw activity at the terminal building and gestured to Ahmed. Ahmed picked up my bags and I joined the queue to check in. After the check in formalities, I was ushered into the waiting room. Ahmed said he could not come into the waiting area in the building. I shook hands with him thanked him for his help and walked into the waiting room.

10.30 am

I woke up on hearing a thunderous noise that meant only one thing. The aircraft has landed! I could not contain my excitement. Through the windows of the room where I was sitting I could see the source of the thunder – a propeller aircraft that had certainly seen better days. It was painted in what was once a bright red and blue colours  - the corporate livery of Kush Air. To me, it could well have been RMS Carpathia  – the ship that showed up finally to take home the surviving passengers from the Titanic off the ice cold waters to the comfort and warmth of humanity.

10.45 am

The security guard opened the doors of the waiting room – that means we are boarding. Through the wide doors, I walked out towards the aircraft, my heart pounding with excitement. I should be able to reach Juba after all!

As I walked towards the aircraft, I heard a familiar voice that called out my name “Prince” I turned around and saw Ahmed, standing behind the fence, his hands raised above his head. He clasped his hands together and smiled at me. His smile and the gesture told me that indeed we have done it. I waved back to him crazily till I entered the aircraft …

12.00 noon

The flight landed in Juba on Sunday at 12.00 noon. Edward the operations manager and Paul my driver in Juba were there to receive me. Edward had already taken a print out of my Juba / Dubai / Chennai tickets and handed them over to me. I did not know how he managed to print out a ticket on a Sunday afternoon, I did not ask. But, Edward mentioned that he went to Victoria hospital in Juba and convinced the staff there to take a printout using the hospital printer.

There was no time to waste. I proceeded to the check in counter. Edward gave me a pack of biscuits, which I thankfully accepted. This will be my lunch for the day as the fly Dubai airways that will connect me to the Emirates flight in Dubai serve lunch which would cost more than the ticket itself. I thanked him and checked into the flight that will take me home.

Monday – 08.30 am

I landed in Chennai airport 30 minutes ahead of schedule. Since I did not have any check in bags, I was out by 09.30 am. Prem was there at the exit gate of the international terminal to pick me up. I sat in the luxurious Toyota Innova cabin a far-cry from the rugged Land Cruiser back in Aweil and called up my wife and said “Leela I’m coming home”.

05.30 pm

As they gently lowered the coffin containing the mortal remains of my father, I closed my eyes and heaved a heavy sigh. The images of Ahmed flashed across my mind. His smile of satisfaction, the clasped hands raised above his head captured the essence of what we had achieved that day. I could feel the presence of everyone who on that day had helped me to reach home: David, Michael, Martin, Ahmed, Dominic, Jalal, Edward and Paul. All of them from a country that had no road, no electricity, no proper phone network. Yet, they formed a human chain, a bridge across time and cultures and managed a passage that smoothly transported me all the way home.

No wonder that, soon after I completed all obsequies to my departed dad I was on a flight back to my adapted home.