PART 8
Air Kenya– Part 2
Laura McDermid continues her stories about Iris McCallum in East Africa.
The majority of my passengers were German tourists, brought to Africa by The African Safari Club, a company that utilised their own DC-8s for the Munich to Mombasa trip. These were ‘budget excursions’ that attracted a certain type of people who were not very well educated and could not speak a word of English.
The locals hated it when the foreigners arrived as they’d invade the small coastal town of Malindi, swarming all over the beach and brazenly tanning naked, foisting their flabby bits and brashness upon this pristine colonial town.
In February 1979, Coastal Air expanded its fleet, acquiring a variety of aircraft. I transitioned to the newly procured Piper Seneca twin, marking a significant shift in my flying responsibilities.
However, this period also witnessed major challenges.
An embargo imposed by the Arab States led to an oil crisis and severe Avgas shortages during the early part of the year. As a result, I only logged a total of nine flying days in March. We were often grounded, although we still received our full salaries.
We were technically still on standby which meant that we had to remain in the vicinity of the airport, so I spent a lot of time at Ocean Sports lounging next to the pool.
I particularly relished my own space in the cottage with Gigis, where I would sprawl on the veranda, engrossed in a good book while immersing myself in the pristine environment. The Watamu Marine Park was home to over 500 species of fish and I took up scuba diving which I found totally absorbing and relaxing.
Despite all the free time and the enjoyment of my newly acquired aquatic hobby, the uncertainty of whether our jobs were secure or if Coastal Air would continue operating was a persistent source of stress. This anxiety was compounded by a letter I had received from my close friend and aviation benefactor, Isabella Rockefeller, who informed me that her cancer had spread to her jaw, resulting in the loss of her teeth.
On March 19, I was at Ocean Sports when I received a call from the office, urgently requesting my presence at the airfield. The flying doctors from the Medevac team had alerted us about a critical motorcycle accident. The injured patient was en-route to Malindi airport in an ambulance, and they needed me to fly him to Nairobi.
When the unfortunate young man, Retief, arrived, he was gently transferred from the ambulance and placed on the floor of the Cherokee in the aisle behind the pilot’s seat.
His bleeding had been stemmed, and he was sedated, but he was breathing rapidly. and shivering uncontrollably, despite the sweltering heat and the blankets covering him.
I introduced myself to Retief, explaining that I would be flying him to Nairobi.
I omitted to tell him that the fuel tanks were empty. Captain Thomas had contacted the person in charge of fuel and explained the dire emergency.
I taxied to the fuel bay on vapours and a prayer.
The person in charge approached, pointed to Retief, and said, ‘Show me.’
I peeled back the blankets from Retief’s lower body, revealing the mangled flesh below his knees where his shins used to be; it looked like raw hamburger meat. The man recoiled, nearly retching.
‘Seen enough? This man doesn’t have all day,’ I said.
The plane’s tanks were swiftly filled, and before long, I was in the air.
I couldn’t help but feel resentful about the absurdity that we were only granted fuel once the severity of Retief’s injuries was visually confirmed.
Retief displayed remarkable bravery, despite the obvious agony he was experiencing. He bore his pain silently. Within half an hour, I delivered him to the waiting ambulance at Wilson Airport in Nairobi.
Finally, on March 30, South Africa came to Kenya’s aid by supplying the much-needed Avgas. Coastal Air was able to continue operations without anyone losing their jobs, and things returned to normal. I found myself back behind the yoke, flying my well-travelled routes.
On April 6, I piloted a group of German tourists from Mombasa to Amboseli National Park in another Piper Cherokee 6, 5Y-AGO, an aircraft that was universally disliked by the pilots.
In fact, a group of pilots had created a betting pool, where each one contributed a few shillings every month. The goal was to award the collected winnings to the first pilot who managed to damage the aircraft to the point where it was no longer airworthy.
During a short final approach to runway 27 at Kilaguni, I noticed a fine spray of oil coating the windscreen, which became increasingly dense as we approached the runway. I managed to maintain enough visibility to execute a safe landing.
Upon disembarking, I discovered that the oil had splattered across the entire left side of the plane. I informed the tour group that a replacement aircraft was being arranged to collect them, which prompted some grumbling among the German passengers.
One of them, moustache bristling with indignation, pointed to the oil-streaked Cherokee. ‘Vuy you kant take us in zis ehkraft?’
I shoved my hands deep in my pockets in order to control my urge to throttle the twerp. I slowly explained to him, as I would to a small child, that we needed to identify and repair the origin of the oil leak before the plane could safely fly again.
He stared at me like a dim-witted person unaccustomed to critical thinking. As I turned to leave, he kicked me in the rear and shouted, ‘YOU PLANNED ZIS!’
I had just flown through one of the most danger-fraught routes in Africa, yet no one told me that the biggest hazard I was going to encounter would be the passengers.
I shot him a withering glare, spun on my heel, and walked away with my dignity intact.
The replacement aircraft never materialized, and the passengers were left to endure a fourteen-hour journey back to Mombasa in a dilapidated VW Kombi bus, cramped like sardines in a tin.
That night Karma was kind to me. I ate a delicious meal in peace and slept in luxury in the lodge.
As for the despised 5Y AGO, upon inspection, the oil cooler was found to have a crack in it. A year later I heard that someone finally managed to write off the awful machine by hitting something on landing, thus permanently putting an end to everyone’s misery. I often wondered how the lucky pilot got to spend all the money in the kitty.
As much as I had enjoyed my time flying for Kenyan Airlines, I missed my family and found the 550 km road trip from the coast to Nairobi to be an arduous one. Encouraged by my colleagues, I applied to a company in Nairobi called Sunbird Aviation. To my delight, my application was accepted – it was time for me to move on to my next adventure.