Sand was a constant problem. Sometimes it reduced visibility down to zero. With the drought conditions and the Sahara being so close, the sand went from ground level to 20,000 feet. The sand also affected our airplanes. It peeled most of the paint off the propellers and the leading edges of the wings. The sand would even work its way into our aircraft air-conditioning packs. Halfway through our six week stay, the air-conditioning and pressurization systems were shot. The conditions were so oppressive we stopped wearing flight suits. “T” shirts and shorts became the uniform of the day.
Our longest flight was to Gao, about 2 ½ hours. The shortest was Nara, about 30 minutes. The weather reports were unreliable. Even our Air Force meteorologists couldn’t predict what the sand would do. We would load up, take off, and head to our destination. If we could see enough to land, we did. If not, we’d turn around and go back to base.
Most of the northern runways were short. This required us to perform a specific type of approach and landing known as a short field landing. The glide slope was very steep. The aircraft was configured with full flaps and minimum speed. The aiming point for touchdown was between 500’ and 1000’ down the runway. Once on the ground, we applied maximum breaking and pulled the props into reverse. When the sand kicked up from our reversing props and enveloped the aircraft, we’d bring the props out of reverse and the aircraft emerged from the sand cloud, at taxi speed.
Once on the ground, we were met by a group of laborers, typically around 50 men, with trucks standing by to transport the grain. Without heavy equipment the sacks of grain had to be offloaded by manual labor. The workers would enter the aircraft through the aft ramp and a truck would park right up against the back of the airplane. The workers were not big men. They were all very thin but very strong. Each bag of grain weighed from 80 to 100 pounds. Two workers would grab the ends of the sack and lift it on to the back of a “runner.” These “runners” would carry the sacks to the truck where two men would relieve them of the grain and stack it in the truck. The workers were fast, off loading the plane in less than 30 minutes.
Chapter 16
Timbuktu was one of the locations where we delivered grain. Prior to going to Mali, I thought Timbuktu was a fictional remote city like Shangri-La. But the city was real. The Tuaregs founded it in the 11th century.
Timbuktu attracted both scholars and merchants. It became a scholarly center and important trade port where goods from west and north Africa were exchanged. Salt from mines in the north was traded for gold mined in the south. Black and Arab scholars flocked to this thriving hub and established several important libraries there.
When our sister ship got stuck in Timbuktu, our crew headed up there with a load of grain, maintenance technicians, and spare parts to fix the other aircraft. One of the stuck plane’s engines wouldn’t start. We hoped the two techs plus our two flight engineers could come up with a solution. The problem with the engine couldn’t get solved by the afternoon so we had to spend the night and give it another go in the morning.
The local government assigned a guide to arrange transportation, hotel rooms, and even dinner reservations. His name was Mustafa and he spoke broken, but understandable English. Our rooms in Timbuktu were not as nice as our rooms in Bamako, but they were clean. Some of us even had hot water.
We gathered in the small lobby of the hotel. Mustafa did a head count and led us down the street to the restaurant he had chosen. I don’t recall the name of the restaurant but I’ll never forget the food. The first course was some kind of bird egg cooked in what looked like clippings from my lawn mower. Then came sorghum and small, rock-like potatoes (best guess). The main course was a meat dish. The texture of the meat was unfamiliar to me and was heavily spiced. I asked our guide what it was. Mustafa simply said, “It is small beast.” I left it at that.
The next morning it was back to the airport to try to solve the mystery of the non-starting Number 3 engine. Getting that airplane back in the air was critical. The more grain we could deliver, the more lives we could save.
The Flight Engineer from the crew of the stuck plane was SMSgt Ed Hinesmann. He was the most experienced and trusted engineer, not only in our squadron but also in the entire wing at Pope, which consisted of three squadrons. Our Flight Engineer, Albert Moses, and Hinesmann went to work on the problem. They had run through every start problem scenario without success. Then in a stroke of luck Moses discovered the problem.
The C-130, like most airliners and turboprops, has “T” handles for use in shutting down the engine in emergencies, like engine fires. Pulling the T-handle would cut off fuel, oil and hydraulic pressure to the engine. During an engine fire, this T-handle would flash red and a loud warning bell would sound. What Moses discovered was Number 3 T-handle had been pulled out. The difference between full out position and full in was only a half-inch. No one knew how the handle had been pulled out. But when they pushed it in, the engine started up immediately. Hinesmann was humbled and mortified that he missed such a simple solution.
Malians had many ailments; among which were malaria, dysentery, lack of clean water, and easy access to good medical care. In 1973, Mali had the shortest life span of any country on earth, 34.4 years. A large segment of the population was affected by onchocerciasis, otherwise known as river blindness. It’s a parasitic disease caused by a roundworm infection that is transmitted through the bite of a black fly. The roundworm larva are introduced through the bite and spread throughout the body. This causes severe itching and can destroy optical tissue.
In spite of this and other daily difficulties of life in a dirt-poor country, the Malians were a joyful people. All the ones that I met were friendly, outgoing and appreciative of our efforts in their behalf. Every time I flew, regardless of destination, I would receive an invitation to someone’s home. Due to our schedule, I was only able to accept two of these invitations during our six-week stay. On both occasions I was impressed with their joy for living and their warmth.
On those rare days off we loved to explore the streets of Bamako. One day as we walked along a few blocks from our hotel we noticed a tall tree with hundreds of long black pods, about a foot long, hanging from the branches. A crowd of small children had gathered at the base of the tree. They had several rudimentary slingshots and were attempting to knock the pods from the tree. We watched as an eight or nine year old boy aimed his slingshot and hit his target, knocking the pod to the ground. He was very proud of his accomplishment and brought the pod over to show us. These pods turned out to be sleeping, foot-long bats. The little guy laid the bat at our feet and proceeded to slit its throat with a piece of a broken coke bottle. I knew food was scarce in Mali and now I knew just how scarce. These little guys weren’t shooting for sport; they were shooting for food. As I looked down on the ground at this giant, bleeding bat, I thought about my meat dish in Timbuktu. Small beast, indeed.
The unremitting heat and the daily grind were having an effect on us. Trying to keep the airplanes flying while maintenance issues plagued us caused a lot of stress. We were committed to doing the best we could but, above all else, it had to be safe. If we were able to press on safely in spite of a maintenance problem we would. A good example of this was when our plane had an inoperative air conditioning system. There was a part coming in from Pope but it would take two weeks to arrive. We operated without it until the part arrived. It was uncomfortable but safe.