Cargo

One of the things we love about life here is that somewhat odd phrases like, "There's a cargo plane landing on the airstrip in two hours that has room on it if you want to go!" is cause for immediate action. Such was the case yesterday. Like other organizations working in this area, our policy is to spend ten to twelve weeks in country followed by two weeks out for R and R. However, unlike other organizations, we don't have our own planes flying in regularly so we rely heavily on the available space of other people's planes coming and going. The difficult part about this is that it requires a lot of flexibility and very loose travel itineraries. The fun part is that you never know quite what to expect.

So at about noon yesterday Bryan and I were plucking damp clothes off the line and stuffing them into our packs alongside travel documents and passports as we rushed to meet the plane that had decided to come in a day early. We managed to pack up in record time and jumped into the ATV with our coworkers Dan and Laura and started the fifteen minute trek out to the dirt airstrip. The UN has been pouring a staggering amount of money into repairing the road to the airstrip lately and despite dodging a few spastic bulldozers, we were making the best time we ever had on the freshly grated road. But as we eased around a bend in the road we saw something that made our stomachs turn.

The first thing that registered was two men sprinting down the road towards us, the second with a big stick in his hand. But our attention was quickly diverted from the men who sped past us to the Land Cruiser stopped at an odd angle on the road in front of us. Its bulbar was nosed up against a mound of dirt on the side of the road and all of its doors were flung open. A donkey lay sprawled in the middle of the road, its load of goods from the market scattered several feet in each direction. Three or four people were pacing awkwardly near the vehicle and one girl, an East African expatriate I recognized from one of the NGOs in town, was staggering towards us. As we pulled up and jumped out of our car she slumped to her knees. I could hear her hysterically crying, "Jesus, sweet Jesus!" over and over again. Following her tearful gaze we could see an awkward mound of fur under the front of the Land Cruiser. Next to it was a long blue form. "There's a man still there!" the girl screamed. "He's under the car." The next few moments were a blur of Arabic, Kiswahili, and English as people from three different countries tried to communicate through their anger and fear and confusion. We were already out of cell phone range so Bryan pulled out our satellite phone to try and reach the doctor in town while Dan went to the front of the car to try and get whoever and whatever was underneath out as safely as possible. In the midst of all this the man with the big stick returned and added his ire to the already volatile situation after unsuccessfully chasing down the driver of the vehicle who had fled seconds after the accident. Eventually someone else got in the driver's seat and began to carefully back the vehicle up. We all held our breath as the car rolled backwards crunching miserably over gravel and sacks of food. I was waiting for the screams of whoever was caught underneath the car and dreading what we were about to see. But instead of the mangled body of a person we all breathed a sigh of relief as we saw nothing other than a second donkey, bloody and obviously in shock, but unbelievably alive and thankfully, alone. Next to him was just a long blue plastic tarp rolled up with string. I never thought seeing such a badly hurt animal would make want to laugh with relief, but it did yesterday, though still through tears.

We eventually made it to the airstrip and climbed a ladder into the belly of the cargo plane. Webbing flapped behind our seats, holding back thirty-five feet of air in the now empty cargo bay as we lumbered down the dirt airstrip and up into the low lying clouds. The praying girl who had also been heading to catch the same plane put a scarf over her face and slept. And as I closed my eyes on tiny propeller-blurred trees and rivers outside my window and settled into the deafening roar around me, I found myself saying a quick prayer too. I really, really hope those donkeys survive and go on to live miraculously long lives and tell their donkey grandchildren about the day they took on a Land Cruiser. Because if they don't survive, I suspect there will be a family in a village far from town that will miss them very badly.