Saturday, February 9, 2008
Friday, February 1, 2008
David Launches to Kenya
I am on my way to Kenya to work on a crisis response project with displaced Kenyans from the Nakuru area. Stay tuned for Photos, Video and updates...
Thursday, January 17, 2008
It's just an Ilyushin
Apparently airline flights in Africa account for only 2% of the world’s air traffic yet plane crashes in Africa account for 28% of the world’s airline disasters. With that in mind let me take you on a ride from Nairobi, Kenya to Hargeisa, Somaliland on board a plane that could well be the next contributor to that unbalanced statistic.
“Oh Dallo Airlines, sorry to hear that” laughed Anders, my Danish colleague, over lunch in Nairobi. I had just arrived after an all night flight from Senegal and was already jittery from sleep deprivation and bitterly jetlagged from a recent trip to America.
As Anders began to recount the numerous horror stories he had heard about Dallo Airlines I sat back and acknowledged each one with a nervous smile. There was the usual: bald tires, check, Ukrainian crew drunk on vodka, check and of course a story about a hair-raising takeoff or landing, check. I’m no stranger to the Soviet Flying Antiques of Africa, and I know miracles do happen, every time one takes off and lands safely!
I usually take European Union funded charter flights out of Nairobi to the various spots where Operation Blessing works. But this time, to my dismay, all the ECHO flights were full. So I found myself half asleep at 5:30am fighting to get through the circus that is the Dallo Airlines check in desk at Nairobi airport. At one point an airport worker singled me out in the line and asked what flight I was on. He was convinced I was lost.
To be fair I was the only Caucasian person checking in. The rest of the passengers were mostly Somalis. The older men with their dyed orange beards and ‘standard issue’ walking sticks, the women covered in their hijabs. As with most internal flights in Africa, each passenger checking in seemed to have the total maximum take off weight of the aircraft on his or her trolleys alone. African luggage mostly consists of boxes and bags of all shapes and sizes, crudely taped and usually leaking some fluid that was marginally cheaper to buy in bulk (and spill over my suitcase).
I eventually made it through customs and after a compulsory stop at Java House Coffee (Best reason to visit Nairobi) I sat in the waiting lounge and pulled faces at a little Somali boy who laughed out loud in return. I noticed his mother trying to hide her smile from me. Laughter can often be our best ambassador.
Just when the funny faces were becoming monotonous a man stepped in and introduced himself.
“I’m Matthias,” he said with an accent that I mistook to be Irish. “I think we’re going to the same place.”
“Hargeisa?”
“Ah no, I’m getting off in Mogadishu,” he said in a more serious tone.
We raised our eyebrows and exchanged the smile that means ‘funny but not that funny’.
Matthias is a Swiss freelance photographer who has been to some of the globe’s hot spots and has even taken pictures along side the legendary James Nachtwey in Iraq. Now Matt was headed to what is probably the world’s second most dangerous city (after Baghdad). It turned out that he had his fair share of African flying horror stories so we exchanged a few as we waited to board for the flight, which was already an hour late.
Once the Dallo plane finally pulled up I peered through the airports glass doors and cringed at what I saw. Matt and I exchanged the same ‘funny but not that funny’ smile at the sight of the vintage Ilyushin IL-18 that we were about to board. Seeing the Russian built prop plane sitting there baking on the tarmac of Nairobi airport was like seeing a ghost.
Matt and I exchanged a few jokes about “multiple rolls of duct tape holding the thing together” and then joined the mad dash of passengers who had formed an orderly mob trying to be first on board. As I walked towards the plane the closer I got the more dents, missing bolts and frightening imperfections I noticed. As we stepped inside the cabin Matt began laughing and pointed to a strip of duct tape on the door, oh boy.
The cabin interior looked like it had been designed before the Wright brothers were born. The air was filled with a thick smell of mold and the floor was covered in Khat stems (a leaf that is chewed for its narcotic effect). I took my seat and looked out of the scratched window as the engines began to fire up. A voice suddenly blared out a few crackly instructions over a car stereo speaker that had been crudely screwed into the ceiling to serve as a public address system.
A member of the Ukrainian flight crew with fiery red hair emerged from the cockpit and trudged over to slam the (duct taped) door shut. He looked every bit the part with a khaki vest stretched over his beer belly. He grinned at us revealing a gold tooth and with a flick of his arm drew a dirty curtain across the cockpit entrance. We began to taxi.
“Ok you can pull up now,” I said nervously after an eternity of rolling down the runway. “When ever you’re ready,” Matt laughed sarcastically.
“Ok, seriously, pull up”, I said under my breath as the joke started to wear thin.
Either because we were grossly overloaded, the pilots were drunk or a combination of the two, we used up every inch of the runway before the Ilyushin groaned and lifted off.
My nerves calmed down once we climbed above the clouds and the relic of an aircraft actually turned out to be fairly smooth in the air. Matt and I began to discuss each other’s assignments. He was on his way to Mogadishu to take photographs for an Italian news agency. It was to be his second trip to Mog’.
“Are you nervous?” I asked.
“No I have a good security team” Matt replied with the confidence of a veteran. For $500 a day you can hire a ‘tactical’ all terrain vehicle complete with 6 armed (to the teeth) security guards. This level of defense is mandatory in such a lawless place.
I had been into Somalia before and knew all to well what it was like to sit between two Khat chewing security guards. I was glad that on this occasion I was headed to the relative calm of Somaliland.
After some odd clunking noises in the wings we began our ear popping decent into Mog’. Because of the violence most aircraft make a very hasty and erratic approach into Mogadishu airport. We descended in tight circles, so tight that the wings made some even stranger noises. As we banked steeply for our final approach we were so close to the Pacific Ocean that as I looked out of the round window it looked like we were in a submarine. With armrests gripped and teeth clenched we touched down in Mogadishu.
I wished Matt good luck. “I’ll need it,” he said as he stepped out into the ferocious sun. Even though Matt was disembarking at one of the most inhospitable locations in the world, I was slightly envious of him since he was avoiding another take off on Dallo airlines.
After an hour roasting on the ground the ancient engines roared back into life and the plane made another “every inch of runway possible” take off. As we climbed quickly to avoid the crosshairs of an RPG I glanced down at the shell of Mogadishu cathedral. It has been gutted, burned, shot at and forgotten. My journey was taking me to visit a group of orphans in Somaliland not to dissimilar from that cathedral.
I wrote this story to lead in to the video that can be seen below. What I have written is only one glimpse into some of the difficult and dangerous situations that we must go through in order to carry out our mission. Although this story is slightly humorous there are many times when aid workers must endure mental and physical hardship that is very difficult to handle. But after watching the video you will see exactly why we do it.
“Oh Dallo Airlines, sorry to hear that” laughed Anders, my Danish colleague, over lunch in Nairobi. I had just arrived after an all night flight from Senegal and was already jittery from sleep deprivation and bitterly jetlagged from a recent trip to America.
As Anders began to recount the numerous horror stories he had heard about Dallo Airlines I sat back and acknowledged each one with a nervous smile. There was the usual: bald tires, check, Ukrainian crew drunk on vodka, check and of course a story about a hair-raising takeoff or landing, check. I’m no stranger to the Soviet Flying Antiques of Africa, and I know miracles do happen, every time one takes off and lands safely!
I usually take European Union funded charter flights out of Nairobi to the various spots where Operation Blessing works. But this time, to my dismay, all the ECHO flights were full. So I found myself half asleep at 5:30am fighting to get through the circus that is the Dallo Airlines check in desk at Nairobi airport. At one point an airport worker singled me out in the line and asked what flight I was on. He was convinced I was lost.
To be fair I was the only Caucasian person checking in. The rest of the passengers were mostly Somalis. The older men with their dyed orange beards and ‘standard issue’ walking sticks, the women covered in their hijabs. As with most internal flights in Africa, each passenger checking in seemed to have the total maximum take off weight of the aircraft on his or her trolleys alone. African luggage mostly consists of boxes and bags of all shapes and sizes, crudely taped and usually leaking some fluid that was marginally cheaper to buy in bulk (and spill over my suitcase).
I eventually made it through customs and after a compulsory stop at Java House Coffee (Best reason to visit Nairobi) I sat in the waiting lounge and pulled faces at a little Somali boy who laughed out loud in return. I noticed his mother trying to hide her smile from me. Laughter can often be our best ambassador.
Just when the funny faces were becoming monotonous a man stepped in and introduced himself.
“I’m Matthias,” he said with an accent that I mistook to be Irish. “I think we’re going to the same place.”
“Hargeisa?”
“Ah no, I’m getting off in Mogadishu,” he said in a more serious tone.
We raised our eyebrows and exchanged the smile that means ‘funny but not that funny’.
Matthias is a Swiss freelance photographer who has been to some of the globe’s hot spots and has even taken pictures along side the legendary James Nachtwey in Iraq. Now Matt was headed to what is probably the world’s second most dangerous city (after Baghdad). It turned out that he had his fair share of African flying horror stories so we exchanged a few as we waited to board for the flight, which was already an hour late.
Once the Dallo plane finally pulled up I peered through the airports glass doors and cringed at what I saw. Matt and I exchanged the same ‘funny but not that funny’ smile at the sight of the vintage Ilyushin IL-18 that we were about to board. Seeing the Russian built prop plane sitting there baking on the tarmac of Nairobi airport was like seeing a ghost.
Matt and I exchanged a few jokes about “multiple rolls of duct tape holding the thing together” and then joined the mad dash of passengers who had formed an orderly mob trying to be first on board. As I walked towards the plane the closer I got the more dents, missing bolts and frightening imperfections I noticed. As we stepped inside the cabin Matt began laughing and pointed to a strip of duct tape on the door, oh boy.
The cabin interior looked like it had been designed before the Wright brothers were born. The air was filled with a thick smell of mold and the floor was covered in Khat stems (a leaf that is chewed for its narcotic effect). I took my seat and looked out of the scratched window as the engines began to fire up. A voice suddenly blared out a few crackly instructions over a car stereo speaker that had been crudely screwed into the ceiling to serve as a public address system.
A member of the Ukrainian flight crew with fiery red hair emerged from the cockpit and trudged over to slam the (duct taped) door shut. He looked every bit the part with a khaki vest stretched over his beer belly. He grinned at us revealing a gold tooth and with a flick of his arm drew a dirty curtain across the cockpit entrance. We began to taxi.
“Ok you can pull up now,” I said nervously after an eternity of rolling down the runway. “When ever you’re ready,” Matt laughed sarcastically.
“Ok, seriously, pull up”, I said under my breath as the joke started to wear thin.
Either because we were grossly overloaded, the pilots were drunk or a combination of the two, we used up every inch of the runway before the Ilyushin groaned and lifted off.
My nerves calmed down once we climbed above the clouds and the relic of an aircraft actually turned out to be fairly smooth in the air. Matt and I began to discuss each other’s assignments. He was on his way to Mogadishu to take photographs for an Italian news agency. It was to be his second trip to Mog’.
“Are you nervous?” I asked.
“No I have a good security team” Matt replied with the confidence of a veteran. For $500 a day you can hire a ‘tactical’ all terrain vehicle complete with 6 armed (to the teeth) security guards. This level of defense is mandatory in such a lawless place.
I had been into Somalia before and knew all to well what it was like to sit between two Khat chewing security guards. I was glad that on this occasion I was headed to the relative calm of Somaliland.
After some odd clunking noises in the wings we began our ear popping decent into Mog’. Because of the violence most aircraft make a very hasty and erratic approach into Mogadishu airport. We descended in tight circles, so tight that the wings made some even stranger noises. As we banked steeply for our final approach we were so close to the Pacific Ocean that as I looked out of the round window it looked like we were in a submarine. With armrests gripped and teeth clenched we touched down in Mogadishu.
I wished Matt good luck. “I’ll need it,” he said as he stepped out into the ferocious sun. Even though Matt was disembarking at one of the most inhospitable locations in the world, I was slightly envious of him since he was avoiding another take off on Dallo airlines.
After an hour roasting on the ground the ancient engines roared back into life and the plane made another “every inch of runway possible” take off. As we climbed quickly to avoid the crosshairs of an RPG I glanced down at the shell of Mogadishu cathedral. It has been gutted, burned, shot at and forgotten. My journey was taking me to visit a group of orphans in Somaliland not to dissimilar from that cathedral.
I wrote this story to lead in to the video that can be seen below. What I have written is only one glimpse into some of the difficult and dangerous situations that we must go through in order to carry out our mission. Although this story is slightly humorous there are many times when aid workers must endure mental and physical hardship that is very difficult to handle. But after watching the video you will see exactly why we do it.
Every so often in amongst the fatigue of jetlag, through the sweat stinging our eyes, after hours of paperwork, endless emails and behind the meetings, we are able to see the fruit of our labors in such a profound way that it puts everything into perspective in an instant. To see the difference we have been able to make in the lives of those orphans makes any dangerous flight worthwhile.
The flight home was equally interesting. I flew out of Berbera International Airport, which consisted of a few 40-foot containers and a dirt strip. There were motivational slogans crudely painted on the inside of one of the containers. “Rome was not built in one day” seemed a funny one since Berbera international airport clearly was built in one day. As I looked around I couldn’t help but notice the carcass of a crashed airplane on the side of the runway. Just when I thought I had been permanently trapped on the set of a Mad Max movie a shabby looking jet run by East African Express bounced down the runway. I lived to tell the tale, I hope you enjoyed it.
Since writing this article and during Matt’s intended assignment in Mogadishu there was a surge in violence in the volatile city. The BBC was reporting that the bodies of two Ethiopian soldiers had been tied to jeeps and dragged through the city. Somalia is quickly becoming the world’s worst humanitarian disaster.
Operation Blessing is working in 7 of the largest cities in Somalia. We have just launched a vocational training program where we are training young Somalis in the skills they need to rebuild their nation and provide vital income for themselves. Stay tuned for a report on this project in the near future.
Friday, November 2, 2007
Dogs Of War
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