BIG-BREAK

BIG-BREAK

The intercom crackled to life with me struggling to open my weary eyes. I could hear a voice in the background but could not make much sense out of what was being said. I sat upright rubbing my bloodshot eyes while listening to the voice of the captain of the Cessna 184 airplane float eerily through the cabin. Then it dawned on me, we were minutes from touching down at um khonto we sizwe Military Airfield. Largely thanks to sanctions and embargoes imposed by the international community, the air force of Tim-Book-To could barely manage fly a kite let alone an F16 fighter plane. Um khonto we sizwe in loose translation means the spear of the nation. I sure hope the spear of this nation would be sleeping come touchdown. I leaned closer to the nearest window wiping frenetically at it in an effort to catch a glimpse of the airfield below.


Sadly, the Cessna was as old as its captain who had earlier on bragged about flying covert missions into the then soviet union during the cold war. Its windows were impossible to see through and left me wondering how the captain managed to take flight and land virtually blind. My application for a permit into this reclusive nation had been turned down earlier on but there was no way I was missing the eleventh coronation of this lifetime President who extolled the virtues of democracy and practiced them selectively like a kid picking peas out of a bowl of salad. This was my big-break, no more selling my work for a few measly bucks to the major news outlets just to get by. Freelancing is no journalistic heaven. I persisted and eventually came across this old coot of a captain claiming ownership of a plane past its prime and on its last legs willing to fly me into Tim-Book-To for a few flimsy bucks.


But now, I was in two minds seconds from touchdown, fearing the worst and wishing I had stayed home to watch a re-run of Two and a Half Men on TV. I was on edge digging my fingers into the last remnants of an arm rest that had seen better days while praying the darkness would be enough to mask our entry. Earlier on, the captain had declared boastfully that his hopscotch manoeuvre was enough to evade detection by the obsolete equipment in the employ of the control tower. He sure sounded like a genius back then but now, I harboured doubts while imagining how my small frame would fare under torture. Torture was a notoriously effective method employed by the security service of this country. Brace yourself!! Hollered the captain over the intercom, rudely intruding on my train of thought.


I held on for dear life, debating which would be better, death on crash landing or torture upon survival. After a few heart stopping moments, nosedives and suicidal manoeuvres with me enduring a few dizzying bouts, the captain hurried me out of his plane croaking loudly like he just won the ultimate in sweepstakes. Seconds after my feet touched the ground, I turned around and to my dismay, the old coot was gone, plane and all. I could not help but laugh given state of plane and pilot. A bit further to my left, I could hear shouts of Boss! Boss!. It then dawned on me, Joseph; my contact was already in position. I shuffled nervously towards him while avoiding lights that came on and off intermittently. When I finally got closer to him, he asked, how well can you run boss?


Before I could answer I made out a figure vaulting over a fence and running with the wind in his sails. Guess who that was….Joseph. I tried my terrible best to keep up with him but it seemed he was on some kind of performance enhancing drug because despite my best efforts, I could barely keep up. At this rate, he sure could give Usain Bolt a run for his money given half a chance. On making right minutes after Joseph had, I was greeted by darkness. I began murmuring these words, dead man walking…..dead man walking and duck behind some cardboard boxes to catch my breath and ponder my next move. Suddenly, massive hands the size of timber grabbed me from behind, I did not dare make a sound. Either way I’m dead I thought. Out of nowhere, light invaded the dark and I came face-to-face with my captors.


As I looked closer, I could make out Joseph and two other men. This sight brought me a semblance of calm. He said, sorry boss, you too slow. I wait here for 10 hours for you (definitely an exaggeration on his part, I sure am no slouch). You run like you carry baby he said, all three breaking into a fit of laughter as if on cue. We made out of the airport no longer Usain Bolting but rather walking. At a point, we passed by some workmen to whom Joseph seemed familiar because they spoke in a language of which I could make no sense. Ten minutes after making my illegal entry via Um Khonto We Sizwe Military Airfield, I found myself in a slum with Joseph and his two friends for company. They later introduced themselves as Desmond and Oliek. Joseph said, not safe to walk in city at night.


You sleep over here with us, pointing to a shack ahead. I show you freedom square in the morning. The coronation of President Am A Glug Glug was to take place there. They led me to a ramshackle hut with a mat for a bed and air for a pillow. We then said our goodnights and I fell asleep. My head had barely touched the mat when I was awoken to Joseph’s smiling face; cup in hand with something that resembled bread though much more darker looking as complement. He offered me both and I took a few bites and a swig to impress my host. The bread was mouldy and my cup contained a sour brew. He waited on me till I was done and then he began chatting noisily. Like a freedom fighter, he finally declared, we leave for freedom square now while making for the exit.


I grabbed my duffel hastily and followed him gingerly. We made past several huts the size of the one I had slept in earlier on. Some had music blaring from inside with a particular hut proudly declaring a 50 cent tune. This prompted my question, do you have electricity here? Too expensive Mr. Boss, Joseph replied. We use discarded vehicle batteries from the landfill nearby, less expensive and very efficient. I smiled and declared; there’s an engineer in us all. All we’ve got to do is find him. Joseph laughed. We continued the rest of our journey in silence. To sounds, pump and pageantry we sneaked into freedom square avoiding the odd policeman or soldier on our way. We made our nest atop a tree, nervously looking around as the ceremony went on.


Tim-Book-To’s decadent military might was on full display with the odd Abrahams Tank dotting the ground below. I wonder where that came from, I said to myself. School kids and other civil servants filed past, regaling a lifetime President who has ruled this nation with an iron fist for many decades. There was a lot on offer, from long speeches, botched acrobatics, a swearing-in and a minor scuffle leading to a young man being bundled into a waiting vehicle amidst roars of laughter. The ceremony came to an end with a prayer by a man in khaki pants draped in the national colours. Exiting to shouts of Siempre!! Siempre!!, the President was whisked away from the grounds in an open-top vehicle with the words “KING OF KINGS” emblazoned boldly on both sides with him waving back at the frenzied crowd.


We eased out the parade grounds with my camera and notes nestled comfortably in my duffel and made for the lorry station. After long negotiations and intermittent shouts of NO!! NO!! Joseph found me a vehicle (called MATA – TU by the locals) willing to take me to the border. I offered Joseph money but he refused rather saying, I have not had this much fun in years Mr. Boss, thank you for coming. Hope to see you again Usain Bolt, he said; poking fun at my attempted sprint. With those words, he made his way out the lorry station with dust trailing in his wake. I boarded the vehicle and we hurried towards the boarder using rather unconventional routes. The driver, noticing a confused look on my face said, too many checkpoints and questions on the tarred roads Mr. boss.


This route much safer and shorter. I smiled back at him not knowing what else to do. Amidst moments of sudden acceleration, deceleration and near collisions, I made it to the border a bit shook up and crossed into the neighbouring country from which I had earlier made my flight. I then made my way home from there, catching the earliest flight out. I slept the entire time oblivious to my surroundings and woke to the sound of a gentle voice saying, put on your seat belt sir. My eyes opened to a hostess with shiny teeth beaming from ear to ear. I did as told and the plane touched down with minimal fuss. I got home from the airport with a voice in my head saying repeatedly, here comes your big-break. I sure loved the sound of that voice.


Sadly enough, I sold my story and footage of the coronation that very afternoon to a pudgy chap in a suit with musky cologne on driving a sleek Mercedes Benz. My bills were overdue and my landlord was on edge, unimpressed with by inability to pay him his due. Later that night, I saw the pudgy chap on television, grinning like a Cheshire cat while passing off my work as his own. All sorts of accolades were being thrown at him with many suits in attendance. All I could muster were expletives and phrases of insult. So much for my big break, I muttered to myself. Red faced and fuming, I wrote this story a week after my BIG-BREAK-DEBACLE on a bar napkin, drunk and still in search of that ELUSIVE BIG-BREAK. If you chance upon MY BIG-BREAK, do tell him I said hi for he still eludes to this day.