It is still Africa...
Just this morning we rocked up at the appointed time on the ramp at DAUH. No shuttle bus in sight and the temperature already heading past 40° at 8:30 a.m.
We show up every day at the same time, five days a week. Is the bus ever there waiting for us? Say what?
The fuel bowser takes everything in strict rotation, so that if you see an An-12 on the ramp you just know you are screwed! My Twotter takes 15 minutes to top off but they drive right past to spend an hour pumping kerosene into that dinosaur.
It's okay though; I like standing around in the sunshine getting a thrill from the feeling of sweat dripping off my goolies. It is one of those kinky thrills I just never dreamt of when I decided to become a professional pilot.
I just never appreciated the pleasure to be derived from a summer rainstorm in northern Europe. Water falling out of the sky... whatever next?
The other morning a bull camel gave me, "Oy, you! You looking at my cow?" Fark! Turns out I should have screamed, shouted and waved my arms or at least thrown him a breadroll. Instead I just turned and stared at him with a rather dull expression on my face. Hey it worked in Nigeria with large, angry men in uniform. I knew enough not to try some dash, at least.