QUICK RECAP:
Libreville Airport. Bellview Airlines. LBV-LOS. Martin. Flight delayed. Cameroon Airlines. LBV-DLA. Refuelling stop. €400 deal. Passport stamped. Pilot befriended. Flight boarded!
CHAPTER SIX:
Bon Voyage Patron!
Once comfortably seated, it felt like I was finally about to leave the airport of Libreville. But then I remembered Martin and suddenly, I kind of missed his presence. I am sure he would have been very proud of his employer, and would have narrated exaggerated stories to his local colleagues, about how his ‘patron’ navigated his way through the Gabonese civil aviation system, despite not having a visa or a ticket, and without even speaking the language properly.
But since he was not there yet, it dawned upon me that I was about to land in a new country with less than a €100 equivalent in cash, and no valid entry visa. And I still had to buy a flight ticket and clearly grease a few more palms on the way. In Africa (and in much of the world), if you are carrying cash, you have the means to solve most of your problems. But with €100 left with you, you are just another person of no interest. I prepared myself for the eventuality of having to ask my Douala friend BS, for a significantly bigger favour. Asking someone to spend money for you, is far more embarrassing than asking him to ‘activate an asset’. But I have always convinced myself against worrying too much about things beyond my direct control. So I decided to worry about the Douala problem, once I landed in Douala.
From my window seat, I could actually see the people below, busy recoiling a thick and long pipe that went into the underground fuel reservoir, the heavy metal lid of which was now lying to the side. It looked like the refuelling activity was finally over.
I looked around the cabin and checked out my fellow passengers. A few eyes were still fixated on me, probably helped by the fact that I was the only non-African face around. I gave an awkward smile whenever my eyes met someone else’s, and then decided that staring out of the window was the wiser thing to do.
That is when I spotted the familiar frame of Martin about thirty odd meters away from our plane. He was hurriedly walking towards another aircraft, somewhat in the opposite direction. And I noticed with a mix of relief and concern, that in his hand, he was carrying a fairly large black plastic bag, which seemed quite heavy from the way he kept switching it between his hands.
I jumped up from my window seat, much to the surprise of the other passengers, and scampered towards the exit door that was still open. The hostess (I realised that she was the only crew member) rushed towards me with a frown and I somehow managed to utter the words “chauffeur, pour moi” (Driver, for me) as I pointed at Martin through the glass. She peeked through the window, and while I am not sure she understood what I was trying to say, she immediately guided me through the door. Luckily, the single story wheeled stairway to enter the aircraft was still in place and I almost ran down it, making a loud thumping noise with every step I took.
By the time I reached the ground level, the refuelling was completed and when the ground staff saw me running towards them, they looked alarmed. Frank rushed to me first with a quizzical look on his face. I pointed at Martin at a distance and uttered “Martin, chauffeur” and he got it right away. He joined me in shouting and waving at Martin, who finally turned around, saw us, changed his direction and started walking towards us at a speed, that can be termed ‘very fast’ by Martin’s standards.
“Patron!” was the first word that came out of Martin, once he had reached us, and had managed to catch his breath. I can safely presume, by the way he was panting, this quick walk (just short of a run) over these forty odd meters, was his hardest workout in probably a decade.
He murmured something to me, and I could not decipher what he said, but it felt like some message from the Finance Manager. He also handed over the black plastic bag, carefully knotted near its mouth like a bundled trash bag. I pulled him closer and asked; “Combien?” (How much?)
He answered calmly; “Dix mille Euros” (Ten thousand Euros).
As I turned away from Martin, I realised that every pair of eyes there, including those of Frank and Landry, were staring straight at the black plastic bag I was holding in my hands now. Martin had basically announced to the whole world that I was about to board a flight with €10,000 Euros in cash!!!
Without saying another word, I turned and started walking towards the plane, as fast as I could. The only positive thing was that the people inside the airplane wouldn’t know what I was carrying, or else it could have been a bit risky. Martin realised that his purpose had been served for now and as I stepped onto the stairway leading to the plane, I heard him utter the words;
“Bon Voyage, Patron!!”
I don’t remember exactly, if I had the courtesy to say “Merci!” in reply.
