Ask the pilot

From Addis Ababa by way of Bahrain: The pilot contemplates African dignity, and understands why he wants to fly.

By Patrick Smith

Mar 28, 2003 | At Charles de Gaulle Airport at midnight, three men in olive uniforms are standing near a doorway. They are straight and tall and their polished shoes are glistening in the fluorescent light. They are from Africa. Their skin is the color of root beer -- an exotic, equatorial brown. Their olive uniforms are crisp and spotless, with gold stripes encircling the cuffs and sharply crested hats. The captain looks at his watch, and you can almost hear his sleeve -- starched and stiff as ironed green aluminum -- snapping taut like a sheet.

I am tired and sweaty and the wheels of my luggage need to be oiled. As I approach, the three men nod without smiling. I know they are pilots, but their impression is almost one of soldiers, of an elite military unit protecting some corrupt head of state.

We are sharing the doorway, waiting for taxis to arrive. Surreptitiously I read the stickers and tags affixed to their flight cases, and I learn they are a crew from Ethiopian Airlines.

Minutes earlier I'd spotted their jet parked on the fog-shrouded tarmac, its old-fashioned livery a resplendent throwback to an earlier, more prestigious era of flight: three colored stripes along the fuselage twisting sharply into a lightning bolt that charges forward to the nose, bisected by the figure of the Nubian lion. High on the tail the letters "EAL" fill three diagonal flashes of red, yellow, and green.

I feel my pulse quicken as I respond to the captain's nod. "Nice flight?" I ask him.

In perfect English he answers. "Yes not too bad, thank you."

"Where did you come in from?"

"Addis," he says. And of course he is referring to Addis Ababa, the mysterious, jagged Ethiopian capital. "By way of Bahrain," he adds. He speaks quietly, flatly, but his voice is stern and dark and full of command.

I look at the smooth brown face of the first officer, and it strikes me that he's probably no older than 25, a fact obscured by the seriousness of his handsome uniform. I remember myself at that age, not so long ago, and how mundane and inconsequential my life and ambitions were, and by most accounts remain. I'm unable to decide in what amounts his presence mocks, dishonors or impresses me, but here is this young man who somehow rose from the rugged, war-torn highlands of East Africa to unprecedented dignity, carrying his nation's flag to places like Rome and Moscow and Beijing. In his passenger cabin, unshaven Russian bankers, Ethiopian businessmen and Eritrean warriors have flung themselves to impossible corners of the world.

Meanwhile, I already know that later I will try to write this down, and when I do it will almost be impossible to find the right words. And the next time someone asks why I wanted to become an airline pilot, I'll wish I could just spit out the image of those three men standing at the doorway in Paris.

Addendum (as contributed by Mr. Russell Helms):

The pilots' names are Getachew, Abera, and Theodros. They have just flown in from Addis. The people are very friendly in Addis. An Ethiopian stewardess lingers behind them. Her name is Edit. She was named after a Swedish maid her mother once employed. Edit's father was a general in Haile Selassie's Imperial Army. He is old now and near death in Washington.

Recently she met an American on a routine London-Addis flight. While at Heathrow this American, Jack, made the mistake of eating a chicken sandwich from Burger King. On board he became ill, nauseated. Twice, three times, he left his seat. In the cramped bathroom, a soiled diaper clogging the commode, he vomited and vomited. Edit became concerned. She brought him a blanket and Seven-Up.

A month or so later she received a gift from Jack. She remembered telling him about learning to play tennis during her overnights in Singapore. She was thrilled at the titanium racquet he had sent her. Yesterday she played with the racquet for the first time. Now she stands almost invisible behind three of her pilots. They are dressed in green.

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