I was once on a flight in Africa E-Book

Esbjörn Södermark

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 176

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

A recently retired accountant living in a small town in Sweden travels to Africa to explore the possibility of finding a more exciting life and perhaps another place to live. During this African adventure he finds himself on an airplane which becomes hijacked. He now has to wrestle the questions: Is he willing to risk doing something about this situation, and is there actually anything he can do? Eventually he is faced with an even more disturbing question: “Does anyone know how to fly the plane?” The answers to these questions result in an adventure of a lifetime…

Leseprobe

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Epilogue

Prologue

I was once on a flight in Africa. That’s where it all happened.

It definitely affected me. I think it may even have changed me to some extent. For the better, I hope. At least it must have helped me grow as a person in some way, like problems, trouble and hardship often do – if we allow them to.

I can walk you through it, if you would care to let me do that.

I can definitely say that if events had not unfolded in the way they did, I would not be around to tell the story – and that is the story of what actually happened on flight AFRA314 from Maputo, Mozambique with destination Windhoek, Namibia.

Had I known before I went on this trip what I was about to encounter on that flight, I would never have left home. And then I would have missed out on what would become an adventure of a lifetime. I’m such a coward! Good thing that I didn’t know.

Chapter 1

Please, allow me to make a boring introduction of myself. My name is Karl Sandström. I’m a Swedish citizen, and a recently retired accountant. I was born and raised in the north of Sweden but nowadays I live in a small town in the south.

My physical appearance is (apart from being terribly old) rather tall, almost no hair, a trimmed beard which does its job to cover things up and a waistline replaced by unnecessary extra weight. In short, an old man whose appearance is marked by too little sleep, too little exercise, too much food and a fair amount of stress.

My life up to this point has rendered me four children and a broken marriage. The children have their own families and they all live far away from me. I see them from time to time, though, but not too often. They call me when they need me, which is beginning to be less and less frequent. It’s been said that parents have the task of giving their children two things; roots and wings. I think perhaps I’ve been successful in giving them wings. At least the wings have been successful in carrying the children away.

But it’s good to know that they manage. That is how I choose to interpret the fact that I don’t hear from them too often. I must have done something right in my parenting, if they manage life without too much help from me.

Not long ago I moved to a new apartment in the town where I live. I must say, I enjoy my new apartment very much. It’s a nice apartment in a nice part of a nice town. Perfect for my needs, and much to my liking. After being properly installed and set, I noticed that I began being inflicted with some sort of sad boredom, almost resembling a mild depression. I realised that I was really lucky, and that I really had everything, and that I really had absolutely nothing to look forward to, and that I really struggled to find a reason to get up in the morning. This is a wonderful spot, I thought to myself, in which I can sit and slowly wither away until the day when also my withering days have withered away.

I became acutely aware of the fact that my career had ended, and no one needed me anymore, and that I had nothing to make me excited about the future. Also, as I mentioned; my children had all since long moved out, and they now have families and lives of their own.

Luckily, at least I didn’t feel sorry for myself. Definitely not… Ah, who am I kidding? Of course, I felt sorry for myself. Heaps! My pool of self-pity was frequently in use, not only because of the fact that the edges around it are slippery and sloping… Besides, there was not much else to occupy one’s time with.

So, I lead a quiet life in my apartment. It is actually quiet to the extent that I regularly find myself talking to myself on various subjects. Sometimes the subjects are simple, such as what to wear outside today or how to best open a jar. But from time to time, I engage in lengthy and/or heated discussions with myself – which I always win, I might add. That’s just one way of boosting one’s self confidence, although at the same time one’s self esteem takes a hit from the fact that the only way to achieve the win is to have the fight with oneself and thereby beat oneself up in the process. All a bit sad really.

One thing which is good for body and mind is taking walks. I try to take walks, if not every day, at least every other day. It’s just that I find walking so terribly boring. I need a goal and a reason for walking. Walking for its own sake just doesn’t do it for me. To motivate myself I try to find a reason for the walk, which most often is just going to the store to buy groceries or other necessities. The problem, as I see it, with walking in the neighbourhood where you live, is that however hard you try to make it different each time, you still leave from the front door just to return to the same front door a while later. One day you start the walk to the left and the next day to the right, but after a couple of times you’ve seen everything there is to see in walking distance of your home.

During one of my boring walks, I was passing through town. There I ran into an old acquaintance. I can’t say we’re close but he looked happy to see me and I was happy enough to see him, so I said “Hi! How are you?” And he said “Yeah well, you know…” (This was not the kind of situation in which to say. “No, I don’t. That’s why I asked.”)

“What about you?” He asked. “Yeah, yeah.” I answered.

That concluded the greeting ceremony and it was time to tackle more important topics like… ahm… like… ahm… like the weather! (Always a safe conversational rescue in Sweden.) “So, the weather could be better or what do you think? Still, it is what it is, right?” I started off strong. “Yes, that’s true. I’ve seen worse, though. Do you remember last winter?” he asked. Yes, I do remember last winter. I just don’t remember the weather. But then again, my life and the weather were as bleak then as they are now so it was no stretch to imagine it, even though I had no recollection of any specifics. “Yes, last winter… Yes, that was really…”, I said, trying to make it sound convincing that I actually did remember the weather of last winter.

Anyway, with that said, the possible conversational topics were exhausted as was my conversational endurance and we said goodbye in the form of: “Good talking to you! Bye!” “Yes, bye!”

After this exciting event, I went home to enjoy some wellearned rest.

Yes, I lead a boring life. Fortunately, I haven’t developed any obsessive compulsory disorder habits, aka OCD habits, at all. None whatsoever. I find it perfectly normal to empty the vacuum cleaner on the first day of each month, just to see and visually inspect how much dust has been sucked up the previous month. To buy eggs only in cartons containing 15 eggs is both practical and aesthetically appealing. Everyone knows that if you have an egg carton in your fridge and you keep picking the eggs closest to you when you remove eggs from the box, the centre of gravity will move farther and farther to the other side of the box and you will end up with the risk of dropping the box, and thereby causing you to engage in serious cleaning activities as an undesirable consequence. Who wants that? Also very important is the aesthetical aspect, and cartons with fifteen eggs in three rows of five, are the only ones where you can remove even or odd numbers of eggs and still be able to create a symmetrical pattern inside the box that will be aesthetically pleasing when you next time open the box.

Someone once made a remark about avoiding the entire weight distribution problem by just taking eggs from the far side of the box and not the closest side, but honestly, you don’t have to listen to everyone.

There are possibly a couple of other minor issues, but nothing actually worth mentioning here. All of which I can totally defend, I might add.

As entertainment, or rather pastime, I’ve found YouTube invaluable. You can find almost everything on YouTube and spend hours and hours watching clips which YouTube decides to recommend to you. The video clips popping up are for the most part really interesting, persuading you to not turn the computer off, and thereby preventing you from going to sleep. Then again, perhaps not the best pastime for someone who has trouble sleeping, after all…

The YouTube channels which interest me the most are channels with real pilots talking and showing clips about everything that has to do with aviation. I find investigations of accidents and incidents especially interesting. I enjoy following expert investigations, which sometimes take years, in their relentless pursuit of the answer to the question “What went wrong and why?”

My son-in-law is a pilot, working for a major airline. He has provided me with every season of National Geographic’s “Air Crash Investigation”. I have seen every episode at least twice, and some episodes four, five times. Whenever I’m about to go on a trip which involves flying, I always try to find the time to watch one or two episodes of “Air crash Investigation”. I like to think that I’m prepared for every eventuality. I’m not, of course, but I like to think that I am.

It’s been said that “time flies when you’re having fun”. Well, my time didn’t fly. It dragged along slowly like an old retiree moving on tired legs on an uphill path. I knew for a fact that my path led me and my life downhill, but that didn’t seem to help the time becoming airborne. Another breakfast, another day. Another dinner, another Netflix-or YouTube-evening, another sleepless night. Rinse and repeat.

I knew I had to do something. Maybe pick up a hobby, any hobby. How about stamp collecting? This must be exciting and exotic since no one nowadays uses stamps for sending mail with the post. I shivered. No, the excitement a latent philatelist should feel at this prospect refused to present itself. What else is there? Days went by and the weather in February in the south of Sweden also did a good job of keeping my spirit firmly on a low level.

Then it dawned on me; perhaps a little trip to a part of the world where the climate was more inductive to spirit-lifting. Where could that be? Thailand? No, if I really wanted to get away and experience new things, a country where half of Sweden’s population was hiding from the weather at home was not it. Why not Africa? I’ve not seen much of Africa and somehow the prospect of exploring Africa on my own seemed intriguing.

Africa is of course a vast continent and where would I go? I thought about it long and hard, allowing the idea to mature into something almost resembling a decision. Did I know someone somewhere in Africa who could perhaps introduce me to the continent?

I then remembered that last year, on my birthday, I received a text message saying “Best birthday wishes from Nils in Africa”. I also remember thinking “I don’t know any Nils and I don’t know anyone in Africa”. This was truly a startling mystery. Who in the world could that be?! (Or rather, who in Africa could that be?!) This really bothered me. It could of course be a mistake, a message meant for somebody else, but it was undeniably my birthday and something about the name and Africa resonated with me.

From some dark and almost never used corner of my brain, a memory asked for my attention. At a reunion with mates from my old high school someone had said something about a guy from school who had moved to, and now lived in, Africa. His name was (and apparently still is) Nils. The intriguing question was of course, how did he know which date my birthday was (and actually still is)? We have had no contact since I left school, more than 45 years ago.

I answered his message and learned that it really was the Nils that I knew in high school. Apparently, he was now living in Mozambique. The explanation to why he managed to congratulate me on my actual birthday was that he had signed up at some internet site or other which specialised in letting school mates keep in touch. This website had old registers of classes in different schools with birth dates and such. The website then brought to his attention that this particular day was my birthday. He then just searched the internet for my phone number.

Imagine that! Internet… Who would have thought?

This was now my only lead to Africa and I decided to give it a go. First, I wanted to know where exactly in Mozambique he had settled down. I sent him a text in order to find out. The answer was Maputo, the capital. Next question: If I pop by, is there chance of getting a cup of coffee? The answer was yes, together with the reassuring message that I was very welcome to visit. That settled it. I was going to Africa! Preparations could start.

Visa application with photograph and my passport sent to the Mozambique Embassy in Stockholm. Supplementary vaccinations and prescription for malaria medication acquired. Passport and approved visa returned from the Embassy. Prescribed malaria pills purchased. Search for plane tickets initiated.

There are a number of possibilities to get from Sweden to Mozambique. One can take off from either Stockholm, Gothenburg or Copenhagen, then go via London and Johannesburg or via Frankfurt and Addis Ababa or via Geneva and Addis Ababa or via Amsterdam and Addis Ababa or via Brussels and Addis Ababa or just with one short stop in Paris, in Dubai or in Doha. I chose to buy a ticket for a flight from Stockholm to Maputo with a short stop in Doha, Qatar. More comfort, fewer stops, quicker, and less risk of having the checked in luggage being lost.

Planning was an essential part in my previous occupation as an accountant. In order to be able to keep deadlines e.g., a thorough planning was of utmost importance. The plans had to be well grounded in a correctly evaluated environment and contain adequate safety margins. It was not an option to declare to the employer or to the authorities; “Sorry, I didn’t make it. But, let’s forget about now. Let’s look forward, and hope that I’ll be able to do better next year!” No, if I wanted to keep my job, I had to deliver quality, on time, every time.

Perhaps that is why I’ve found myself planning every move in my own home. Or is this perhaps just a consequence of who I am? Nevertheless, a journey between two rooms in my apartment entails a planning phase which begins with scanning the room in which the journey starts, identifying every object that possibly could be regarded as being misplaced. If such an object is identified, the planning process continues with establishing where this object rightfully belongs. Is that a room which I would pass when moving from room A to room B? Would it be necessary to move the object now or could it possibly wait until next time such a trip would be made?

It may sound like my apartment is huge. It’s not. Sizewise it could better be described as small. So, it’s not the apartment that is big. It’s the planning process that is disproportionally extensive. The same planning process would be initiated even when moving around in the same room, e. g. the kitchen. Moving between the stove and the refrigerator involves a certain amount of planning, containing questions like; “what goes where, when and why?”

On the other hand, when I leave home for a journey I like to relax and leave as much as possible of worries and planning at home. Over time I’ve become more and more inclined to avoid unnecessary planning when I go on a trip. Previously I always bought return tickets and planned the whole trip before leaving home. This time I thought it would be more interesting to just buy the first ticket and then decide step by step where to go next and where to eventually end up.

A certain amount of preparation was inescapable, however. I was about to leave the latter part of winter in Sweden for the latter part of summer in Africa. This required a bit of preparation in the form of e. g. buying clothes suitable for an expedition such as this. Therefore, I bought myself a pair of khaki-coloured cargo-trousers and a couple of shirts in matching colours. I decided that this would have to do, since it could fit with what I already could find in my closet.

Along with the idea of exploring Africa perhaps in the hope of finding more favourable weather, or just for the sake of it, came a thought of possibly finding an alternative residence there. This thought was under development and perhaps not entirely serious at this point, but still, something worth considering. Maybe, and why not? I was looking for a change. Why not a more permanent one? I kept this thought as something to have in mind and to consider during my trip. Nothing much tied me to Sweden. Especially in this day and age geographical location holds less and less importance. Much of my social interactions were already on the telephone and over the internet, which made my actual location more or less irrelevant. Furthermore, much of Africa was in the same time zone as Sweden, which meant that there would be no need for anyone to interrupt their sleep at night in order to have a telephone conversation with me.

Arguments kept stacking up, and I felt more and more intrigued, more and more into the idea. It could of course also be because I did a good job of talking myself into it. This was even before I started my trip to Africa. I had no idea of what awaited me there, and yet, I was soon convinced of all the advantages of permanently living there.

Perhaps some of my friends and family members might argue against it, but in the end, they would understand. (Or simply be forced to accept it…) I kept thinking; Why not find a place to live which would be a bit more exciting than small-town Sweden? Maybe this could actually turn out to be the change I subconsciously was looking for? I wanted to find that out, and I wanted to continue considering it a possibility.

I realised, of course, that one of the more fundamental realities of moving from point A to point B is that one has to leave point A. Was I really ready to leave the comforting familiarity of the place I knew, in exchange for the scary, but exciting unknown? This was a question which, at least at a later stage, needed serious consideration.

Anyway, for the moment, I pushed all hesitation aside. This was exciting! Africa, here I come!

Chapter 2

My father used to say; “The only thing you need to bring on a trip is passport, tickets and money. Everything else you would need you can buy later.” This was a long time ago but it is still true, with a couple of exceptions; you still need a valid passport but instead of tickets and money you need a smartphone and a credit card. Sometimes you actually need tickets on paper, but often a ticket in your smartphone is quite sufficient. In fact, sometimes the ticket it simply tied to your passport number, thus making it possible to check in for the flight only by showing your passport.

Having checked that I had passport with the visa, ticket, credit card and smartphone also with ticket in an app, and that I also packed “everything else I would need”, I locked the door and went down the stairs to the taxi waiting in front of the house.