2.2 My First Journey to Elsewhere

It was Saturday, March 20, 2004.  Piet Botha, the mechanic, and I were in a Samil 50 recovery vehicle, fitted with a mine protected cabin on our way from Asmara, the capital of Eritrea to Shilalo in the south-east of the country.

I arrived in Asmara just before midnight on March 18, 2004.  I would work for Mechem, a South African landmine clearance organisation, which had a contract with the United Nations Mine Action Service (UNMAS), for three months, standing in for another person who was home on sick leave.  On Friday, the administrative process was completed and I became the proud owner of a UN ID card.

And so my first trip to elsewhere began.  But that was not all.  Piet also had a trailer behind the vehicle with a front end loader loaded on it.  And 30 bags of cement and some other stock.  It was intended for the UN's mine action coordination centre’s office in Shilalo.

 It was a tarred road for the first 50 kilometres to Mendefera, the last big town we would drive through on the way.  After that it was a gravel road - a total of 200 kilometres.  In Eritrea, distance is a relative concept, as I would find out later on.  250 kilometres can take a few hours.  Or almost 11 hours, like on that day.

First, the dirt road was built up, later only a graded strip, and then two tracks.  The gravel road initially was quite spectacular, winding through the mountains, mostly down, one pass after the other – Shilalo was in the eastern low-lying region.  I marvelled at the Italian engineering work in the passes.  And the amazing scenery with the morning sun painting the mountains in dramatic colours.

Our progress was slow – never faster than 60km/h, often 20-30km/h.  The cargo was heavy and we could only drive quite slowly down-hill.  And also up-hill without much momentum when we had to climb.

And then the trailer's brakes started to give trouble.  They did not release after a long down-hill, and we had to pick up speed again.  Piet had no choice but to disconnect the air pressure pipes.  Now it was even slower downhill in a low gear.  And no momentum for the next climb.

And then the engine started doing its tricks. It was losing power.  Piet replaced the diesel filter, but it did not help much.  So we just had to go on very slowly.

The road seemed to be without end.  Now it was rocky, and then sandy.  And then only two tracks, seemingly going nowhere.  And corrugated.  And it just went on.  It felt like your bones were on the point of cutting straight through your buttocks.  The Samil 50's suspension was not really serious competition for that of the average luxury passenger car.  And the seats in the mine protected version of the Samil 50, it felt it later on, was even worse than the suspension.  And a red fire extinguisher, just to the left of my seat, was occasionally digging into my buttock.  But sit, you had to sit.  And, I have to add, my buttocks were also not very luxuriously upholstered.

Then I was sitting on this side.  And then on the other.  Now on one buttock, then on the other. Then I raised myself on my arms with both buttocks off the seat.  And then the buttock changing process started again.  And the road just wouldn’t end.

I was once again feeling for a grip to lift my buttocks off the seat.  Just when my arms took the weight, I heard a loud noise next to me and the cabin was filled with white smoke.  But it did not smell like smoke and I did not see anything burning.  Piet stepped on the brakes and opened his door at the same time.  And in a flood of (some not quotable) words I heard "fire extinguisher".

Powder, that's what it was.  Fire extinguisher powder.  While trying to lift myself off the seat I inadvertently got hold of the handle of the fire extinguisher and sprayed the cockpit with powder. Where the safety pin was in my moment of distress, I did not know.  Needless to say, Piet and I did not start off on good terms.  Later on however, especially when we worked together in Afghanistan a year later, we became good friends.

That evening my first taste of Asmara beer went down well.  And my first real African journey to elsewhere has become an unforgettable experience.