Cast From The Herd Excerpt #110: A Storm Deep In The Night

Cast From The Herd:  Memories of Matriarchal Malaysia

M. Bakri Musa

Excerpt # 110:  A Storm Deep In The Night

After that first flight from Kuala Lumpur, I was now a veteran. I walked through a series of what felt like long tunnels to board the plane. As I entered the stretched DC-8, it was as if the tunnel had continued on. I noticed that the mostly Caucasian passengers were carrying thick overcoats. If that was an indication of how cold Canada would be, then I was woefully unprepared. 

            The plane was half-empty, with a disproportionate number of nuns returning home after doing God’s work in heathen Asia. They wore their black habits and hoods. Today, nuns wear skirts (at least they are knee- length) while those dressed in dark robes and have their hair covered would be wives of Middle Eastern sheiks or Arab-wannabe Malay women. 

            I wondered how on earth this monster aluminum tube with wings would ever get off the ground, but it did, and very smoothly too with a pair of huge engines dangling on each wing. I saw the southern shoreline of China; it was so peaceful with no hint of the man-made hell raging below at the time. 

            My growling stomach reminded me that I had skipped lunch. So when the stewardess came out with the menu, I was more than ready. Unlike the earlier flight, there were no familiar items. Everything was in fancy French, and again I was confronted with the halal issue. So I opted for Shrimp Louie salad. It was a humongous serving. The surprise did not end there. It was cold; to me cold food equaled leftovers. The biggest surprise was that there was no rice, and I never had meals without it before. I was sure that I would not be satiated. 

            I nibbled the shrimp first as that was the familiar item. It took me a while to get used to the taste of what I thought was raw shrimp. As I was chewing, it dawned on me that I had never tasted shrimp before. Instead what I had was either the salt (as with dried shrimp) or the overpowering spices. Now I was savoring the taste of real shrimp unhampered by excessive condiments. Without rice however, I did not feel that I had a “real” meal, yet I did not feel hungry for the rest of the flight to Tokyo’s Haneda airport.

 

            When we landed, it was still early evening. No one disembarked and we took in more passengers. Soon we were airborne again. Below was Tokyo Bay, the lights on the coastline and the ships clearly visible. That was the first time I saw any city from above at night. Then we were through clouds traversing the vast, cold northern Pacific in the dark of night. Dinner was again served and later, the cabin lights were dimmed. The monotonous but reassuring hum of the engines lulled me to sleep. 

            Then deep in the night I was awakened by a series of violent shaking, tossing me side to side and pushing me hard against my seat. At one moment I felt I was lifted out of my seat, with the pit of my stomach thrown against my diaphragm, a sensation I felt earlier in the hotel’s elevator. Then loud screams after yet a sudden gut-wrenching thump, followed by prolonged vigorous shaking. The overhead bins burst open, raining their contents onto the passengers. I held on hard onto the armrests and the lady beside me gripped my wrist so tight that it was painful. I remained stoic. Then I saw those nuns earnestly praying; that was it. I too prayed to Almighty Allah that He would guide the pilot safely through the night storm. 

            This rough patch continued on forever, with the plane yawing and bumping up and down, vibrating hard. The dim cabin light only heightened the tension and my fear. At long last, relief! The flight became smooth and calm descended in the cabin. When the lights came on I saw the mess. The stewardesses began pacing the aisle picking up the debris and reassuring everyone. 

            Soon the pilot came on the intercom; his voice calm and dry. He apologized for the bumpy ride and admitted that although rough patches were common in the northern Pacific at that time of the year, the storm we had been through was the worst he had experienced in his over thirty years of flying. He assured us that the plane was built and designed to meet such conditions. Then, again to bolster our spirit, he said that the safest place to be in such a storm was way up in the sky. 

            He was correct in the technical sense, so long as we remained up in the sky. 

            The storm blew us off course and we would be delayed getting into Vancouver by about thirty minutes, the pilot apologized. I was not concerned; I just wanted to arrive safely, never mind how late. 

            It amused me that the pilot would apologize for a thirty-minute delay after we had been on an overnight journey of thousands of miles. The bus drivers in my old village would never even think of apologizing for hours of delay for what at most would only be a thirty-minute trip. 

            I was not fully reassured of a continued smooth flight until the stewardesses brought out the breakfast trays. At daybreak I saw the beautiful Pacific coast of Canada, and soon the city of Vancouver. In that soft early morning sunshine the city looked tranquil and spectacular, with the majestic snow-capped mountains in the background. With the flight now smooth, and after a hearty breakfast, the harrowing half-hour terror we experienced deep in the middle of the night receded in my memory, to be replaced by the joy of anticipation arriving in a new city and country, and an entirely novel set of exciting experiences. 

Next:  Excerpt # 111:  Welcome To Canada!