Just like home

Wed. Jan 28, Johannesburg. Good times!

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No Comprende'

Crew Briefing at 15x10 Office

Dispatch man arrives with weather packet.

Dispatcher: “Here is your weather Captain. As you can see the forecast shows clear at your destination.”

Phil or Andrew: “Yes it does and that is very nice but it’s from yesterday. Can we get a current forecast?”

Dispatcher: “Yes Captain. Here is satellite picture. No Charlie Bravos (CB’s or thunderstorms), mostly clear.”

P or A: “But the picture only shows north Africa and Europe. We are in South East Africa. We need another…”

Dispatcher: “Yes Captain. I also fueled airplane to 5000 kilos.”

P or A: “What is the passenger and cargo load?”

Dispatcher: “I don’t know. Maybe 72 passengers.”

P or A: “We will be overweight by around 1800 kilos. Why did you fuel to 5000 without load data.”

Dispatcher: “Yes Captain, that’s what we did yesterday. 5000 kilos no problem.”

P or A: “How many passengers did you have yesterday?”

Dispatcher: “35 passengers.”

P or A: “I’m not sure what to say now.”

Dispatcher: “Yes Captain.”

Flight Attendant: “It is time for our briefing Captain.”

P or A: “Yes, well…weather’s good, flight time 1hr and 20 min, 60 passengers to Beira, it should be a good day. If you have questions during the flight please let us…”

FA: “What is flight time?”

P or A: We just did this flight a couple hours ago do you remember…”

FA: “Yes Captain what is flight time and altitude?”

P or A: It’s the same as before, 1hr 20min…the same as it always is…no…wait a minute. This time it will be different. Flight time will be 3hrs. Yea..a bit longer than last time. Then when we return it will be 20 min’s, a lot shorter. I know it doesn’t make sense but in the end does it really matter? Oh, bye the way, please keep passengers from touching the side of the aircraft because our speed will be Mach 2. The Q400 is warm at Mach 1. It glows at Mach 2. Also, we will need plenty of water because re-entering Earth’s atmosphere makes us thirsty.”

FA: “Yes Captain.”

Aircraft dirty windows

Crew asks for window wash from mechanic before departure. Mechanic picks up rag and soaks it in large puddle of “Blue Juice” or aircraft lavatory waste that spilled onto the tarmac. The mechanic climbed a ladder to wash window with the beautiful sewage rag. He was stopped on the last step be a visiting Bombardier mechanic who sprinted across the ramp to stop him. The rag had gravel and you know what all over it. Excellent!

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Vilankulos Shoreline

How do I recharge my batteries? Go to the beach at Vilankulo and help this guy work on his boat. The rotten fish water that filled the inside needed bailing. I told him I was qualified for the job and would gladly do it if I could take a picture of his boat. He smiled and said he needed whiskey. He drank and I bailed.
Apparently a big catch was on so I had to help these other dudes haul in their nets. The big catch happens two times a day. It was a good thing I was there to help or the fish would have never made it to market. I'm pretty sure I saved the village. That's why they laughed at me the whole time. It's a village custom.
Then I had to dance with kids because that's what grown American men do in Africa, or at least they should.
Next it was time to look at cool boats at the marina. The 4th picture down is the marina.
Video below is downtown Vilankulo. If you look closely you won't see a Target or Home Depot.

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It's obvious what's not, but what is.

It was the usual route through Maputo to the Aero Porto on another early morning. The work van was hot from thick humid air. After a minute my clothes were already wet. The Embassy dwellings were first to go by. The street is rough here with deep holes that never heal from the rain. Guards were still sleeping in their sidewalk chairs under low hanging shade trees. This is nice Maputo. Bellevue Maputo. Within three minutes we drive through shanty Maputo. Everywhere are make shift fort like structures set at random angles, dirt, dust, unclothed kids sitting in questionable drainages with nowhere to go, some kids lying still, other kids throwing rocks, alleyways of corrugated metal, blue and yellow cement walls, and what seems like a thousand eyes looking at you from behind shady lean-tos. I drive by here everyday. My face is always pressed to the window mesmerized by the scene. I have no words to describe how I feel about seeing this.

On this morning, in the middle of shanty town, our van was stuck in traffic. Somewhere ahead a vehicle broke down. So there we sat. It had rained the night before and the street was slick with red mud. A sweet wood smoke from morning fires was drifting over the line of stalled cars. Out the right window, across a ditch, was a big pile of garbage. A woman with a rake, knee deep in trash, was slowly sifting through every piece, one by one scrutinizing each item for any value. Items that held some promise went into a brown sack attached to her hip. It wasn’t very full. As I watched her I began to see a rhythmic pattern to her movement. She would rake some, then bend down and use her hands then slowly return upright, wipe her wet forehead, turn her head as if looking for someone, and start over. I watched for what seemed like hours. Her motions were always the same.

The sun was now above the shack roofs. It was a good light, warm looking, the kind photographers like. It began to spread where the garbage was. It lit up the woman’s head wrap, brown, yellow, and red. It was beautiful. I hadn’t noticed it before. Things in the heap were taking on color from the sun. Green glass and red coke cans, paper and cartons, silver metal…everything just beamed with color as she raked in her rhythmic way. I just stared out the window, mouth open, trance like.

It kind of sounds beautiful, and for a few moments I thought it was. But then I looked back at the woman sifting through the debris and it wasn’t beautiful anymore.

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Comments

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Tchau

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When clouds speak

The top two pictures are of the sun setting behind a thunderstorm in central Mozambique. We were northbound to Quelemane on Jan 18. The side window in this aircraft is a bit scratched up so the picture quality is poor.
The pictures shown at bottom were taken Jan 19 westbound to Johannesburg. Thunderstorms can be huge this time of year. Andrew and I are very grateful for the "good" radar in these planes. The one's we have at QX wouldn't cut it here.
These storms build fast. From little clouds to run for your life clouds in 20min. The frequent, intense lightning is amazing. On some nights it seems there's more light than dark. They say this is an exceptionally bad year for storms. Lucky us...I think.

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I will never know

His eyes tell you that he has seen things that no one should see. There is a haunted resignation in them, like someone who has witnessed the apocalypse but still has to go to work every day to feed his family. His name is Alexander. He is a Mozambique First Officer. He has been in the Q400 jump seat observing aircraft operations. He’s a quiet man. When asked about the twisted scars on his arm his eyes bored into mine a look that told me I would never know.

Alexander studied aviation in Moscow during the mid 70’s. He then returned to fly Antonov 26’s for the Mozambican Air force during the civil war. I asked him what it was like to fly in the war. He said, “I dropped bombs on people. I saw many things. It was hard aviation.” He went on to explain how government and rebel forces used tactics of fear, intimidation methods to coerce the public to one side or another. “Cutting off ears or noses, killing…unspeakable things. The fighting here was very bad” He said.

After the war he spent time flying in the Congo. While on assignment there he and several other pilots were taken hostage. After two days he was released. The others were killed. “Why were you released?” I asked. “Somebody paid for me.” He said. Alexander is a quiet man. I can only imagine why.

After listening to him talk about his life experiences I made a promise to myself. The next time I have someone in my jump seat railing about compensation, work rules, scheduling conflicts, and the FAA, or if I’m doing it myself, I will think of Alexander. I will think of his life and remember that I will never really know.

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