Since this is my Blog, I figure I get to talk about the things that are important to me. I was thinking, last night, about some of the people I know in Africa. Wondering where they were, how they were doing that sort of thing. I was remembering how much each person, working in relief, wanted to the best we could.
A lot of people critize one organization or another... that includes me... But when you really get to know the people on the ground, working in some of these areas you realize somthing. You realize that each one, no matter how bad of a job YOU think they are doing, each one has sacrificed something big to be there.
My first trip "in country" started back in the US. It was at the Baltimore airport. I was dropping my wife and daughter off at one terminal (for a trip to Grandma's house) and then I was going on to the International Terminal. I remember it so well because it was there that I first believed that I was dead.
I had been told that there was a better then average chance that I would not be coming back from the location I was going. Civil war in Sudan was in full swing at the time and it was danger in the extreme. My wife and I knew this, but felt that it was still something we had to do.
So, there I was kissing my wife goodbye and hugging by daughter, and I realized this may be the last time I see them or touch them. I resigned myself at that point that if I was going to get through this I needed to put my life aside and get to work. My wife told me that she had said goodbye for good that day.
All of this came back to me, very suddenly, about a week later. I was flying copilot in a Cessna Caravan talking off from Loki. Just as we clear the threshold we heard a call come in from another pilot. He was flying a LET 410, ex-Soviet plane. The pilot was a Texan though, rumour had it that he was ex-Air America... how is that for irony. Anyway, the call came in that he had lost his nose gear on take off and was coming for a crash landing.
I remember desperately searching the sky for him. He reported that he had 9 people on board. He asked for the firetrucks to wait for him at the end of the runway. Then he asked for them to pull him out first... his attempt at humor. We were the last flight out as he was coming in and we just could not see him inbound. I thought about where I was going and for just a moment I thought about my family back home.
I wanted to turn around and go back. I could have too... I was in charge of this flight and I could have aborted... but I just thought about all the people back home I would disappoint. They were counting on me to get these supplies to people who needed them. They were counting on me.
Strange, for the first time as I write this I'm realizing I was not flying into danger for the people who needed it (the Sudanese) or even myself, I was doing it for the people back home. I was doing this for all the wrong reasons.
At the time there was a price on the head of any aid worker trying to bring help to the South Sudan. We flew in without a flight plan, under the radar so-to-speak. We used coded transmissions to confirm our location with HQ. But every thing went ok on that trip. We delivered what we needed to deliver. We came home in one piece and I went on to do it many more times. Sometimes even more dangerous missions. But... I don't think I did any of them for the Sudanese or for myself... I did them all for the people back home who wouldn't go.
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