her.
I do not hear any sounds. Must be around mid-night.
Later I wake up and hear roosters. I know it is after 4am, but not light
yet. Later, I hear bees humming in the trees. I know that dawn had
arrived; bees awaken with light. I read, pray, eat a few munchies
(including some dried apples), call Melody, filter some water, pack my
backpack, and walk out to the runway.
A man comes on a moto and insists that I must have some coffee. On the
way, I explain to him that plain water will be fine. Not tea? No coffee?
What? How do you find "la force" with just water? I sit down in a
plastic chair in front of a little table under a sticks-and-grass
shelter. The others arrive shortly. More food arrives, but I'm told that
this food has eyes in it. More hearty laughs.
I see my same platter. White bread, mayonnaise, and this tub of strange
stuff. At least I get a look at this strange stuff. Is it some sort of
sesame thing? I think so. I sort of like it. I sort of don't.
Back at the airplane, I do preflight and prepare to leave. I leave a
French book with the guard. He slept by the airplane on a couple of
cement sacks sewn together. He mumbled something about a disturbance at
three in the morning, but it was mostly Arabic and I didn't understand
everything.
Finally it is time to leave Bailli for Kourno. I talk to the runway
maintainer and tell him he has done a good job. Then I complain about
the bicycle man who drove out onto the runway. "That was me," said the
guard with a big grin on his face. "I was trying to get to the parking
spot before you got there." I told him that the airplane is very
dangerous and that it has a large knife spinning around in front. He
wasn't impressed.
After departure, I radio base with flight info and estimated arrival
time. It is nice to have radio following when flying out over the bush.
We cross miles and miles of vehicle tracks from the oil company. Here
and there are oil wells dug but capped off.
After landing at Kourno, I help the guys for almost three hours to fill
in holes in the runway. Some animals dug burrows under the runway and
they have collapsed, leaving some pretty big pits. Thankfully, they are
off the center. That done, I am escorted on moto about 5km to another
village nearby.
As I sit here typing on the porch area of an uninhabited former
missionary house, curious kids pop their heads around the corner to peek
at this stranger white man. As I turn my head to look at them, they duck
back behind the corner and giggle. Finally some of them get up the
courage to greet me. I invite them over and show them some pictures of
American animals.
I am served a nice salad with onions, lettuce, and tomato. A lady comes
and gives me a Pepsi. I reply that I prefer water. I tell her why, and
she is interested. She wanted to know what I eat. She somehow heard that
I don't eat anything with eyes. She said she would take a portion of the
rice and put just tomato and oil in it. I told her that would be fine.
She asked about our mission with GMI. She asked about my family and
children. I asked about hers. I said, "In my village, sometimes the
girls get married at 13 or 14 years old." She said such an age is too
young and not good. "You should be at least 15 years old before getting
married." I told her that I waited until I was 27 years old and my wife
was 23. "You were wise..."
The day is cooling off. They tell me my bath water is ready. Then we
will probably eat.
Tonight I will share a room with the two other guys I'm flying around.
We each get a thin foam mattress about 2 feet wide. Luxury.
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