Olga and her husband were sleeping peacefully in their tent. They had camped here in Chobe National Park several times before, and their experience gave them great respect for the wildlife around them - particularly elephant, which are found here in the greatest concentration of anywhere in Africa.
Nothing prepared them for what was to happen next.
At about 5:30 in the morning, they started to hear the rustling, breaking branches, and heavy footfalls of an elephant herd approaching. With no discernible provocation, one elephant became suddenly agitated, trumpeting and stamping very close to the tent. Suddenly a tusk came through the wall of the tent, pierced Olga's back, and lifted her off of the ground. In shock, neither husband or wife was able to move before one of the elephant's legs crushed the side of the tent, quickly followed by another tusk which this time completely impaled Olga.
I was sitting in the office on flight standby when the call came. We knew that with the level of medical facilities available in the town of Kasane, we would have to be as fast as possible in getting advanced care to Olga, and just as fast in transporting her to the hospital in Johannesburg. We launched with a doctor and a medic on board, and after a two hour flight had Doc and Collin busy stabilizing her and preparing her for the flight south. When they returned from the hospital, we were fueled and ready to load her and her husband onto the aircraft.
When we have patients on board, we use the radio callsign "Mercy One." This tells the traffic controllers and other aircraft that we require a clear route ahead, with no delays to our flight because of its critical medical status. Upon our safe arrival in Johannesburg, Olga's husband shook our hands, saying in his broken English, "You are called Mercy One. That is a good name. Thank you for showing us mercy today."
I am thankful that the Lord has given us here at Flying Mission the ability to translate, in some small way, the deep mercy He has shown us into mercy for others.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Mozambique and Beyond
We just returned a week or so ago from a long road trip through South Africa, our much-loved Mozambique, and (briefly) Swaziland. There were many highlights on a very memorable trip indeed, but chief among them was the great joy of introducing Malena to her homeland. Caleb was about four when we left, and he has a surprising breadth of memories of our time there - his very earliest memories, in fact, are of Moz. But Malena was only one when we departed, so all she knew of the place were stories she'd been told and pictures she'd seen.
Driving into Maputo brought back to us all we'd forgotten, and revealed how different it is from Gabs: crowds of vibrantly dressed people all over town, riding perched on top of 18 wheelers, hawking steering wheel covers on the side of the road, women carrying their little ones wrapped up in capalanas, commuters packed by the baker's dozen into honking, sidewalk-driving minibuses. Maputo is a seaside mix of high-rise communist era apartment squalor, decaying excesses from the days of the Portuguese, interminable hovels made of concrete blocks and aluminum roofing, and narrow slices of opulence, which the cynical among us would say are inhabited primarily by UN aid workers and other governmental development people.
We stayed with my old Air Serv boss, Chris Branks, and his family for a few days while we reacquainted ourselves with the city. It turned out to be quite an adventure. Riots started in the city over a rise in the government-set price of a basic staple, bread, just 36 hours after we arrived. We were forced to hunker down for a couple of days, listening to sporadic AK-47 fire and keeping a close ear on the radio news. We were distraught to hear that ten or so folks died and a good number were injured in the chaos, with people lighting tires on fire and burning buses and cars around the city. Mozambique remains one of the poorest countries on the planet, with a vast gulf between the rich and poor. What we consider an inconsequential rise in food prices can have a substantial impact on those living on very little indeed.
Fortunately, things calmed down enough to get around the city a bit. We visited our old house, which we believe the current tenants have not improved.
We also were able to visit the Hospital Central where we first found Malena, and to see the orphanage where she would have grown up had we never met. At the orphanage, Malena spent a bit of time with a baby that looked much like her at six months. I found myself simultaneously occupying both 2003 and 2010, looking down at the beautiful daughter that God brought into our lives, and that other little girl that very well could have been Malena seven years ago. I wondered what Malena's life would look like today, and perhaps more acutely, what our lives would be like today had we never met. We wouldn't know it, but we would be impoverished beyond reckoning had this clever, lovely, and funny girl never entered our lives.
We also spent some great time catching up with our dear friends the Reeves, and had some serendipitous chance meetings with a number of old friends and acquaintances around town. Then it was north to Chris's beach paradise near the town of Xai-Xai, the subject of my next post. . .
Driving into Maputo brought back to us all we'd forgotten, and revealed how different it is from Gabs: crowds of vibrantly dressed people all over town, riding perched on top of 18 wheelers, hawking steering wheel covers on the side of the road, women carrying their little ones wrapped up in capalanas, commuters packed by the baker's dozen into honking, sidewalk-driving minibuses. Maputo is a seaside mix of high-rise communist era apartment squalor, decaying excesses from the days of the Portuguese, interminable hovels made of concrete blocks and aluminum roofing, and narrow slices of opulence, which the cynical among us would say are inhabited primarily by UN aid workers and other governmental development people.
We stayed with my old Air Serv boss, Chris Branks, and his family for a few days while we reacquainted ourselves with the city. It turned out to be quite an adventure. Riots started in the city over a rise in the government-set price of a basic staple, bread, just 36 hours after we arrived. We were forced to hunker down for a couple of days, listening to sporadic AK-47 fire and keeping a close ear on the radio news. We were distraught to hear that ten or so folks died and a good number were injured in the chaos, with people lighting tires on fire and burning buses and cars around the city. Mozambique remains one of the poorest countries on the planet, with a vast gulf between the rich and poor. What we consider an inconsequential rise in food prices can have a substantial impact on those living on very little indeed.
Fortunately, things calmed down enough to get around the city a bit. We visited our old house, which we believe the current tenants have not improved.
 | ||||
| Caleb and Malena believe our old back yard may have shrunk in our absence |
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| outside Hospital Central |
 |
| getting to know some of the kids at Primiero do Mayo orphanage |
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| Primiero do Mayo |
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Recent Adventures
Here are a few pictures from some out and abouts we've had this past month. If you're looking for more, check out Pete's Facebook page.
Caleb trying out his birthday present. I told him when he was six that he could have a BB gun when he turned ten. . . this was the sweet reward for many years of patience.
Malena helping me navigate the rutted tracks of the Khama Rhino Sanctuary. She did a great job, and so did Caleb - who drove the car all by himself for a good portion of our two day visit.
Malena checking out a few white rhino. Those dudes weigh as much as more more than our CR-V.
Caleb and Malena found this stick bug not far from our house. Impressive.
Caleb trying out his birthday present. I told him when he was six that he could have a BB gun when he turned ten. . . this was the sweet reward for many years of patience.
Malena helping me navigate the rutted tracks of the Khama Rhino Sanctuary. She did a great job, and so did Caleb - who drove the car all by himself for a good portion of our two day visit.
Malena checking out a few white rhino. Those dudes weigh as much as more more than our CR-V.
Caleb and Malena found this stick bug not far from our house. Impressive.
Outreach
I've become involved with the music team at church - here's a picture of the men rocking out on Men's Day. . . not to be confused with Father's Day. We were, in a word, awesome.
When time allows, our family goes on Friday afternoons down to Old Naledi, the poorest part of Gaborone, and helps out with a feeding and evangelism project for about 100 kids. Here's me being the evil old King Saul, just realizing that David cut off part of my tunic while I was taking care of, um, physiological matters in a nearby cave.
Monday, July 12, 2010
A day in the life of an air ambulance pilot
"Honey, your phone is ringing."
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is! That thing six inches from your head on your side of the bed is your phone, and it's ringing."
"That's not my phone."
Smack.
"Jeez! Okay, okay. Hello?"
Thus begins another day, or in this case night, of medevac flying. I of course deny that the above conversation ever happened. The first thing I remember is answering my phone out of a dead sleep at about 10:30 pm and hearing Tim, our chief pilot, tell me that there's been a rollover car accident up north in the town of Kasane that requires a flight. But Shelley claims I repeatedly denied that I ever even owned a phone for a good while prior to that. . .
All is dead silent on the flight line when I arrive. Sir Seretse Khama International closes at 10 pm unless there's an emergency. But Tim has once again applied his phone charms and roused the airport personnel for the airports we'll be flying to tonight. Andrew, the first officer I'll be flying with, is already preflighting the plane, so I head inside to take care of paperwork. A few minutes later our medics, Patrick and Colin, arrive. 44 minutes after the initial call, we are a disappearing northbound speck in the ink-black Botswana night. This country is one of the least densely populated in the world, and it is evident from 27,000 feet. I can't see a single light on the ground in any direction, and on a night like tonight, with clear skies and no moon, the only way to tell the ground from the sky is to note where the stars end.
Kasane sits in the northeast corner of the country, near Chobe Game Reserve. A good portion of Botswana's 130,000 elephants live up here; I saw four or five walking down a paved road while on approach to the airport just a few days ago. Flying into Kasane at night is what we call a "black hole" approach - with absolutely no lights around the airport and no instrument guidance into the runway, pilots can easily become disoriented, thinking that they are higher, lower, or in more of a bank than they really are. We have special procedures and cooperate closely as a crew to make sure that we land safely.
The ambulance is just pulling on to the tarmac as we taxi in, and the medics quickly talk to the nurse. One man's neck is broken, the other has head injuries, broken ribs, and possible further internal injuries. As they stabilize and load the two men, we check the plane over, and make sure everything is ready for our one hour flight down to Francistown. I gulp some lukewarm coffee - it's a little after 2 am now, and the 45 minutes of sleep I got is starting to feel a bit paltry.
With the two men secure, we fire up our engines, check our systems, and blast off again. The air is buttery smooth, there is nothing to see, and one can almost forget that he is flying an airplane - until a groan from the cabin behind us brings back how critical it is that we are flying southbound at almost 300 miles per hour. 55 minutes later we are shutting down the plane, and helping the medics lift the two stretchers out of the plane. I pray silently over these two men for a brief moment, and then watch the rear doors slam shut in the eerie red and white strobe light.
It's 5:15 in the morning. Time to find the house that we rent here in Francistown. . . and the beds therein. Although we don't know it yet, we'll be flying back up to Kasane at 3 this afternoon to pick up a woman who needs an emergency c-section.
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is! That thing six inches from your head on your side of the bed is your phone, and it's ringing."
"That's not my phone."
Smack.
"Jeez! Okay, okay. Hello?"
Thus begins another day, or in this case night, of medevac flying. I of course deny that the above conversation ever happened. The first thing I remember is answering my phone out of a dead sleep at about 10:30 pm and hearing Tim, our chief pilot, tell me that there's been a rollover car accident up north in the town of Kasane that requires a flight. But Shelley claims I repeatedly denied that I ever even owned a phone for a good while prior to that. . .
All is dead silent on the flight line when I arrive. Sir Seretse Khama International closes at 10 pm unless there's an emergency. But Tim has once again applied his phone charms and roused the airport personnel for the airports we'll be flying to tonight. Andrew, the first officer I'll be flying with, is already preflighting the plane, so I head inside to take care of paperwork. A few minutes later our medics, Patrick and Colin, arrive. 44 minutes after the initial call, we are a disappearing northbound speck in the ink-black Botswana night. This country is one of the least densely populated in the world, and it is evident from 27,000 feet. I can't see a single light on the ground in any direction, and on a night like tonight, with clear skies and no moon, the only way to tell the ground from the sky is to note where the stars end.
Kasane sits in the northeast corner of the country, near Chobe Game Reserve. A good portion of Botswana's 130,000 elephants live up here; I saw four or five walking down a paved road while on approach to the airport just a few days ago. Flying into Kasane at night is what we call a "black hole" approach - with absolutely no lights around the airport and no instrument guidance into the runway, pilots can easily become disoriented, thinking that they are higher, lower, or in more of a bank than they really are. We have special procedures and cooperate closely as a crew to make sure that we land safely.
The ambulance is just pulling on to the tarmac as we taxi in, and the medics quickly talk to the nurse. One man's neck is broken, the other has head injuries, broken ribs, and possible further internal injuries. As they stabilize and load the two men, we check the plane over, and make sure everything is ready for our one hour flight down to Francistown. I gulp some lukewarm coffee - it's a little after 2 am now, and the 45 minutes of sleep I got is starting to feel a bit paltry.
With the two men secure, we fire up our engines, check our systems, and blast off again. The air is buttery smooth, there is nothing to see, and one can almost forget that he is flying an airplane - until a groan from the cabin behind us brings back how critical it is that we are flying southbound at almost 300 miles per hour. 55 minutes later we are shutting down the plane, and helping the medics lift the two stretchers out of the plane. I pray silently over these two men for a brief moment, and then watch the rear doors slam shut in the eerie red and white strobe light.
It's 5:15 in the morning. Time to find the house that we rent here in Francistown. . . and the beds therein. Although we don't know it yet, we'll be flying back up to Kasane at 3 this afternoon to pick up a woman who needs an emergency c-section.
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