A lot happened over the next few days, so this post is going to be longer. Hang in there...there is an end.
On this morning we stumbled onto our buses idling outside the hotel reception area and headed for an airport still enveloped in darkness. I heard someone ask if anyone had seen Maurice. I hadn't seen Maurice on the bus, but more than one vehicle was heading to the airport. I didn't think about Maurice. I didn't think about much of anything except cleaning our cockpit windscreens, folding and putting away our cockpit covers, stowing our bags under our seats, and getting to Gambela, checking into our hotel and taking a nap! We took off at 0804 -- well after daybreak -- for our refueling spot, Ed Damazin, in southern Sudan. Our slight delay out of Khartoum was not extreme or out of the ordinary.
Maurice at Khartoum. We were happy to see he hadn't slept through his alarm, but if he had he would have had that extra hour's sleep as we were late departing anyway. More customs paperwork to deal with and airport officials were slow moving. Nobody likes waking up to alarm clocks. John, pilot of the Stearman, is in line to get forms of some kind.
The flight to Ed Damazin was about 2 hours and 50 minutes and was bumpy. Locals once again had come to the airport to welcome and greet us. A large group of men playing long didgeridoo-like instruments stood in a semi-circle in front of the terminal; very colorfully dressed women were grouped close to them dancing to the beat of the instruments in expressive fashion while standing in one place. Amazing. They may stamp their feet but they stay pretty much in one place. The main movement of their bodies is in their heads, necks, shoulders, arms, and backs.
Musicians, singers, and dancers performing for us in front of Ed Damazin terminal. They were amused and delighted when a couple of us joined them in dance. Music and dance is important in their culture and they like sharing their enthusiasm.
I find the 'Little Wee Folk', (I am reminded all the time how redundant this is! -- but I can't help myself.) irresistible. They go along with everything -- no clue why or how. They rightfully assume - until given reason to assume otherwise - that wherever they are, they are okay. This little girl was doing just fine until she recognized her mother standing 6 feet away and began to wonder why she wasn't in HER arms.
We all refueled our aircraft which took a while as the 50 gallon drums in the back of a pick-up truck needed to be refilled after 3 aircraft were fueled. The pumping of fuel took time as well due to the hand held filters which we had to share with each other. The next leg was going to be almost 3 hours and we knew we had to depart Ed Damazin soon. It then occurred to us that Maurice hadn't even arrived yet. Word filtered out that our current delay was waiting for him to catch up. Then an update along the lines of what we all had begun to suspect: Maurice had declared another emergency due to engine problems.
It was hot on the ramp and Estelle had passed out a couple of rounds of bottled water to all of us. Finally Maurice arrived -- his engine quit short of the runway, but he managed to land safely. He was then able to restart his engine and "limp" into the parking area. Sam was not happy about this recent bit of drama and the delay it had caused for all of us. Maurice was then "kicked out" of the rally and told he needed to get his airplane properly tended to and inspected. He would have to file his own flight plans and was essentially on his own for lodgings etc. As Maurice still needed to refuel and take care of landing fee forms etc., we were told to not wait any longer and launch for Gambela. We did.
Soon into this leg of the flight, Cedric and Alexandra's radio gave them problems so we offered to relay for them any communications with Max in lead aircraft, ATC, or other pilots on the 123.45 frequency. We flew close enough to them that we could hear them where others could not. Then we found our GPS started acting up and our signal became intermittent which meant on our iPad screens the flight data would freeze, then start up again, then freeze. So staying on the magenta line became a little problematic. We then knew we had to stay in close visual contact with planes ahead of us. Numerous brush fires in the area were filling the area with obscuring smoke. We had ridges to cross so had to stay sharp in our own assessment of our surroundings and listening to the chatter among others in our fleet who were passing on FYIs. The flight was beginning to be less fun and more work. Eagle Eye Me had to keep scanning the airspace for others in our formation. Keith and Colin were ahead of us and so I focused mostly on them while keeping an eye on The Stampe.
A curious transmission from Max came over the group frequency. We had to turn to a new waypoint and avoid Ethiopian airspace for a little while. We all acknowledged this by counting off on the radio our team number. "Team 11, copy". We passed the info on to Cedric and Alexandra. The new routing added more time to our flight but just before getting to that point, we got another transmission from Max that we could now proceed directly to Gambela. We got the tower frequency and were told the active runway. We still had about 45 minutes to go before calling in to the tower.
Max's plane was way in the lead and he got to the airport control zone ahead of us. We could hear him on the radio though it was a little garbled. One word I distinctly heard was "emergency". On the intercom, I asked Nick if he had heard that too. He said, yes. Then Pixie in the Tiger Moth could be heard declaring their intentions to land and then the controller asking her if she was declaring an "emergency". Others ahead of us entering the pattern were stating their positions for landing and the controller kept saying something or asking something that I couldn't clearly understand except it didn't sound like the usual, "Proceed, report short final", or "Proceed to enter left downwind for runway 36". What was all this talk about 'declaring an emergency"? When we called the tower to report our intention to enter the pattern for landing, we got no response. We could see some of our team aircraft on the parking ramp so continued our approach. Nick kept calling the tower, "N6263 following N8708 (Keith's plane) entering left downwind for 36.", then "...turning base." Still no response from the tower. Another plane was behind us and Keith on final in front of us. We kept going. "N6263 on final for landing." It was done. We had just landed at Gambela Airport without any acknowledgment from Gambela tower. What had just happened?
Others landed behind us. At the parking ramp, there were no greeters, musicians, dancers, flag waving school children, or trays of cold beverages. I was still in the cockpit filling out my flight log with 'down' and 'shut-down' times when Nick said to me, "Lita, climb down now." I looked over my shoulder and saw a ramp agent asking for my passport. I gave it to him. I began gathering my belongings and Nick said again but more emphatically, "Lita, get out of the airplane NOW." I said in irritated fashion after a trying leg of flying, "Don't rush me!" I then started to say something to Nick like, "Always telling me what to do!" but saw the other men gathering around our airplane and the look on their faces. They were as serious as startled cobras. I followed Nick and them, and other pilots being similarly escorted into the terminal.
Once inside the terminal, a story of what was going on began to unfold. We all entered Ethiopian airspace and landed at a non-port of entry airport without permission. When Max called the tower for landing instructions for the whole rally, he was told we did not have permission to land and that we had to turn around and return to Ed Damazin. None of us had the fuel to do such a thing, so Max informed the tower of this. We were still denied permission. So Max declared an emergency on behalf of all of us due to fuel shortage.
This was serious. We were surrounded by about 15 men in different uniforms - some green, some blue. Two or three seemed to be in charge in some way and they barked at us and each other in broken English and in their own language. One short, thin, balding man seemed particularly agitated and he was having a discussion with Max who was being our spokesman and who looked wary, weary, but calm and serious. He towered over the short man, (not knowing his name, I'll refer to him as "Oscar") and tried to listen carefully to what Oscar was telling him. At one moment Max shook his head and said, "No..." which was all I could hear. After more agitated speech from Oscar, Max announced to the rest of us who now gathered closer together that we had to surrender to the authorities there in the terminal all our electronic devices - mobile phones, iPads, laptops -- everything. We all had A LOT to say about that and lots of questions but it became readily apparent that continuing on that path of righteous indignation was not in our best interests. Our devices were gathered up by a soldier, placed in a big bag and taken to a room with one entry. Max demanded that the door be locked and that he be in possession of the key. This was arranged. We all then were subject to having the rest of our belongings screened and ourselves body-searched for hidden devices. This screening process repeated itself two more times. What we did not know and what Oscar and his team did not know was that Beatrice, Sam's wife who flew with us to Gambela in one of the Cessna's instead of the Caravan, had sneaked into a women's bathroom with her iPhone and texted Sam back in Ed Damazin to alert him to what was going on. Because of dealing with Maurice back at our refueling stop, and because the Caravan flies so much faster than the rest of us, and because re-fueling paperwork needed to be completed, Sam, pilot Steve, Jeremy, Nathalie and David were still there after we had been off Ed Damazin 45 minutes. What Beatrice was informed of during that quick texting back and forth was that Maurice took off on his own shortly after we all left and was headed our way. Also, when the Caravan taxied out for take-off, the Ed Damazin tower called them back to the ramp because it had gotten word from Gambela that our aircraft were heading illegally towards Ethiopian airspace. The Caravan people were now stuck in Ed Damazin. Sam was calling the Ethiopian Civil Aviation Authority to straighten out what to him was a huge mistake in that the ECAA had weeks before issued email and verbal clearances for us to land at Gambela . They knew we were coming on this date and that fuel for our aircraft had been delivered to the airport with "our name on it". The ECAA said something to the effect that it wasn't that simple. Indeed it was not. An Ethiopian military officer in Ed Damazin at the time got into it by assuring Sam that the military was expecting us and that we were clear to go to Gambela. Two entities said they were expecting us. The problem, as it turned out, was a third entity - The Ethiopian Ministry of Foreign Affairs. They demanded our landing permit numbers which we did not have as the arrangement had been issued for all of us as a group and in this case no permit number - only a verbal and e-mail agreement made in advance.
The MFA claimed they knew nothing about us. Ethiopia was in a state of emergency in certain parts of the country and house to house searches had been done the morning of our arrival. This turn of events and the fact that two pilots in our group were Egyptian (Yasser and Timur) whom the Ethiopian government were highly suspicious of due to a disputed Nile dam construction project, conditions were ripe for us being detained which is exactly what happened. Beatrice learned that the Caravan would be arriving at Gambela at 0900 the next morning and with landing permission.
From our point of view, we had gotten into a mess and the rally organizers would have to deal with getting the matter cleared up. A couple of guards in military uniforms were standing near the security screening set-up near the entrance and they had AK-47s on their shoulders. I wasn't very comfortable with this and for a second or two felt really uneasy. "Get a grip!" -- my new mantra -- and I quickly realized that no such stupid thing like a shooting was going to happen. Maurice soon arrived and was escorted into the terminal to take his place with all of us. He looked none the worse for wear but was wearing a large, vintage London Bobby hat! What bad thing could possibly happen now?! He surveyed the terminal room and slouched into a chair weary like all of us. We settled into seats in the terminal while Estelle and Beatrice worked with airport staff to get word to our hotel in the city that we could not board their bus which had been waiting outside for us. They also got the airport staff to call the hotel and see if hot food and cold beverages could be delivered to us.
We waited for some time to find out if Oscar and his 'team' would be able to make the necessary calls to clear us so we could go on to the hotel. A vain hope. We were then asked to hand over all our flight bags, backpacks etc to be placed in the locked room. We were allowed to keep out toothbrushes, shampoo, and one change of clothing. We clearly were not going anywhere.
I have no photos of any of this as my camera and iPhone were locked up. Just picture 40 of us wilting in the humid heat of a fairly modern but dirty airport terminal with no activity going on except for a bunch of unwanted foreigners milling around and murmuring amongst themselves. The bathrooms did not have TP so we complained about that and soon a cleaning lady arrived with half used up rolls of TP. Food did arrive from the hotel -- aluminum foil wrapped hot rice with beef and some grilled veggies. Bottles of water and fruit juice came also. After eating, we started looking for sleeping sites. Our guards were in seats by the terminal entrance and some sat outside to catch a breeze. Fabian approached them to see if he could step outside for a smoke and some air. They weren't happy to oblige - at first. We soon saw resourceful, diplomatic Fabian enjoying a smoke sitting in a chair on the threshold of the double wide sliding doors. He smiled and chatted up the guards. They watched him carefully.
A thunderstorm was building. We had been having quick little brown-outs with the lights flickering. During our third security screening --after we had surrendered our bags -- the lights went completely out and everybody cheered. Some auxiliary system kicked in and the power came back on. The wind suddenly grew strong and blew down the security screening frame near the front entrance. The pilots all went into alert mode and urgently asked our guards for permission to go out on the ramp to secure our aircraft. It took a little pleading but they were willing to allow this under supervision. They ran out and in the darkness managed to not just secure the aircraft but actually move them into a large hangar with the help of the guards. Very nice.
Max appointed Olivier, one of the video film crew, to sleep on the floor in front of the locked storage room with all our belongings and electronics. The rest of us scoped out our sleeping spots. Some picked the luggage belts that were reasonably clean. Most ended up on the dirty tiled floor or the dirty area carpets. The many benches had permanent armrests so the resourceful among us turned benches around to face each other so one could recline in a seat with feet up on the opposing seat. In an adjacent boarding area there were more benches set up in rows facing large windows that looked out on the ramp. In this room, Nick and I found a set of benches with no armrests and they were slightly padded. They were also positioned under what seemed to be the only working AC in the main terminal. A large flat screened TV was on the end wall tuned to BBC World and two reasonably clean bathrooms were to the left down a short hallway. The bathrooms in the airport, by the way, had regular toilets. They also all had nozzled hoses mounted on the walls right next to the toilet seats. These would come in handy for "showers" and hair washing.
We hunkered down for the night having found a way to turn off the TV and dim the room lights. Mark found his bench behind us, Pix found a spot at the end of our row and her dad Brett lay on a piece of carpet near the wall with the AC. Julia and Martyn were at the back of the room - she on a bench and he on the floor. Helicopter pilots Boris and wife Yulia had their spot between rows on the floor near Pix. I actually slept for a while waking during the night to a gentle symphony of snoring from every corner of the room. There was a definite string section, brass section, and percussion section. It was amazing. An intake of air in B flat to my far right was melodiously linked to an exhale of staccato E sharp tones to my left. Somewhere was the putt-putt-putting of a metronome which I couldn't be sure was Norman on the floor near the door or water pipes behind the wall where the TV was mounted. It was all okay. A guard came in the room and quietly surveyed the area and walked out into the main lobby where lights were still on as that was where the main band of guards and insomniacs from our group were congregated. I nodded off again after making sure Nick was still asleep near me. The wind outside had died down.
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