l' hopital

transporting food, medicine, and much needed supplies is a very rewarding type of flying. although the days are long, you feel a profound satisfaction at the deep tiredness of your bones. we are the last link of the humanitarian chain, as far as getting the aid to its destination after it's long journey from the west.

often times, as soon as we unload our aircraft at a strip in the bush, we either wait with the plane for our outbound cargo and passengers, or simply depart immediately on the next leg of the day. we don't often get to see the medicines being given to the sick, the food portioned out for the starving, or the well tapping into a source of clean water.

we are an important part of the chain but it is sometimes easy to overlook our contribution, especially since distribution mostly takes place out of our sight. occasionally though, we witness the harsh, humbling, and heart-breaking realities when least expected.



the village of shabunda is just over an hour's flight from goma. on this day i am flying three round trips, the back of my airplane filled with bags of concrete mix. about 22 bags per load, nearly 7,000 pounds worth throughout the day. loading and unloading 100 pound sacks that spray fine concrete dust everywhere with the slightest handling. backbreaking work, crouched down in the rear of my aircraft.

i am already covered in sweat from the sweltering heat of the midday congolese sun, it's arc tracing a trajectory directly overhead like a white-hot nuclear fireball. as i fly low over the runway to clear off stray goats, chickens, and children, what seems like the entire town comes running to investigate the steady dull whine of a turbopropeller in the sky.



i touch down and taxi to the grass and gravel parking area alongside the middle of the runway. as i wait for my purring PT-6 to stabilize her temperature, the crowd is gathering quickly. twenty feet away, behind the sagging fence that keeps nothing out, villagers are packed in, all waving and smiling at me. i see the medecins sans frontieres (doctors without borders) land cruiser pull up at the edge of the crowd. little kids are fighting for a front-row view of my magnificent flying machine. i feather the propeller, which makes a deeply satisfying whoosh sound. after shutting off switches and pulling the condition lever to cutoff, my bird quietly spools down.

i open the door and lower the ladder steps, hopping down to a chorus of "bonjour mzungu!" and "bonjour captain!"

there are other shouts from the crowd but my ignorance of languages reduces me to smiling and waving.

the village elders walk out to shake my hand and welcome me. after greeting a row of them i turn around to open the cargo door and begin unloading concrete, eager to return for my next load. today is a long day, and i don't have much extra time if i want to complete the rotations before dark. there are no runway lights in congo.

the strong young men assist me and soon 2,200 pounds of concrete mix are sitting in the grass, next to my bird, who seems grateful to have been unburdened. you can hear the quiet ticking of her engine cooling in the humid breeze. a village elder points 140 miles to the eastern horizon, where small puffy cumulus clouds are floating over the town i came from. he mentions something in swahili that i can only guess is a type of weather forecast.

i depart, return, depart, and return with the last of the concrete. each time the crowd enthusiastically gathers and greets my arrival. i am ahead of schedule and have a few minutes to relax and talk with the elders in a mixture of swahili, french, and english. finally the MSF representative comes over and enthusiastically shakes my hand. we exchange small talk about the flight and the weather, and both laugh at how i am covered in concrete dust from head to toe, my blue pants now grey. she smiles.

"thank you for flying all of this in. there are no roads good enough to get it here from bukavu."

"we are building a hospital, and have been waiting for concrete for months. today is a great day, and as you can see, the people of this town are very happy."

i am visibly exhausted. the elders summon their sparse english, pointing at me. "tired. food. primus (local beer). sleep. go. merci."

after a last round of handshakes, i climb into the cockpit and cruise through the before-start checklist, methodically bringing life to my bird. her pratt & whitney turbine spools up and i taxi out. little kids run alongside on the edge of the grass runway, waving and jumping, some holding cats or chickens or sticks. they have been yelling "goodbye mzungu!" nonstop since i shut the door.

a hundred miles east, as i fly off into the growing shadows, the clouds have indeed turned into an impressive thunderstorm requiring some creative deviations. i think back to the elder's quiet eyes full of wisdom.

nyesha mvua. rain.