CHAPTER 11 - PORT-GENTIL, GABON
The flight was - to say the least - boring. I mean, it was cool flying, but after ten hours, I was done. Like seriously, if I hadn't seen that we were almost there on my radar, I would have handed the controls to Zane.
I glanced at the gauge. We had almost no gas left at all. Actually, it was amazing that we'd even made it. I mean, what are the odds that I would get a plane with just enough gas to get to South Africa? That's what I call a miracle.
Zane had fallen asleep hours before, and was still snoozing in the co-pilot's seat.
"Hello, hello," I said into the radio. "This is the Andrometa requesting special permission to land. Over."
I waited only a few moments before I heard a response. "Yeah, this is Port-Gentil Airport," the man said with a foreign accent. It was hard to make out at first, but eventually I got it. "What is you reason for landing here? Over."
I raised the radio again. "Yeah, we're almost out of gas. Got about ten minutes of flight time left before we start to descend. Do we have permission to land? Over."
"Come on in. Flight Strip three. Over."
I smiled. "Thank you, thank you. Over."
I gave a little sigh of relief. "Hey, Zane," I said, nudging the sleeping boy. "We'll be landing in just a moment."
Zane stretched and rubbed his eyes. "We're here already?"
I laughed. "Dude, it's been a ten hour flight."
"What?" Zane looked at his watch.
"See? It's getting light out."
Zane looked out the window. "Oh yeah. Where are we landing?"
I pointed straight in front of us. We were getting lower, aimed directly for flight strip three. (I knew that because it had a large, yellow 3 painted on it.)
"Where are we, exactly?"
"Port-Gentil. In Gabon."
"Really?" Zane asked enthusiastically. "That's only," he thought a second, "less than four-hundred miles to Owando.
"Great," I said, easing the plane onto the flight strip. (Does anyone else think that sounds really far away?)
After landing, Zane and I made our way into the city of Port-Gentil. We first stopped a local resturant, but didn't stay to eat. Their food didn't exactly look appetizing to me, especually the grilled octopus tenticals. Yuck! Instead, we each got an apple from a local market.
The city seemed small, and the people reminded me of the type that would go to the Salvation Army back home. Thankfully, their smell was masked by the salt from the sea.
"Okay," I said. "How do we get to Owando?"
Zane glanced around. "Do they have cabs?" he asked tentatively.
I shrugged. "We could ask someone."
Okay, so let me just say this: Gabonian people are mean. It took us six tries to get someone to tell us that, yes, Port-Gentil did have a cab service, and direct us to where we could get one. Okay, so maybe they weren't mean. Maybe they just didn't speak English, but I prfer to think of it my way.
It was a small hut, not much bigger than an ordinary bathroom. Inside, there was a desk, and that was pretty much it. A fat man sat at it, munching on - something. He wasn't wearing a shirt, but he did have two shoes, a pair of shorts, and a big necklace around his large neck.
"Excuse me," Zane said once we were inside.
"Kan ek u help?"
"Uh," Zane glanced at me, and I hung my head. Of course, he didn't know English. "We need a cab. A taxi," Zane said slowly. "Taxi."
"Jy wil 'n taxi?" the man asked.
Zane nodded. "Yes, taxi." He seemed pleased with himself for getting the man to understand. "A taxi to Owando, please."
"'N taxi na Owando?"
"Yes."
"Wat sal vyf honderd dollar word," he told us.
Zane gasped. "A hundred dollars?" He looked at me. "Do we have that much?"
I counted my money. "Barely."
Zane sighed. "Okay, a taxi to Owando for a hundred dollars." He stuck out his hand. The man shook it.
"Ek sal my sleutels te kry," he said, riffling through his drawrs.
"Yes," Zane told him. "You - you do that."
The man pointed outside. "Taxi."
I followed Zane and the man through the curtain. Apparently, our taxi was a very, very old, brown car that looked like it could break down at any moment. And, it was the smallest car I had ever seen in my life. I had no idea how that guy was going to fit in it. On top of that, it couldn't have smelled worse.
"Kry in die," the man said and motioned us to get in the car.
The back seat was barely big enough for us, but neither of us could sit up front becasue it was occupied by the massive driver. Our bags were strapped to the roof, and I hoped that the rope would hold them. If he lost them, we wouldn't have enough money to pay him.
"En ons is af..." the man said as he started the car. "My naam is Esak."
"Esak?" I asked, hoping that I was understanding him correctly. "My name is Payson."
Esak began to drive. "Dit is lekker om jou te ontmoet, Payson."
I elbowed Zane. "Oh, yeah, right. My name is Zane."
"Dit is lekker om jou te ontmoet, Zane."
"Uh, thanks," Zane said. uncomfortably.
I had a feeling, it was going to be a long ride.
