Flights of Faith

That day, we had just taken off from Freetown en route to Accra through Abidjan and were about 500 feet above the ground when we saw a flight of hawks. My co-pilot and I casually joked about them when they flew across our aircraft and laughed at the contrast they provided to our man-made attempt to fly across the sky. In our thought, if man has been able to replicate the flying ability of birds, something God planted in them, what would happen if man himself could fly like a bird? Of course, then we would not have had to train in any school to fly, spend our hard earned money on air tickets and at best there would be no need for entry visas into any country. That really would have been interesting. While we were musing about these imaginary situations, little did we know that we were about to be given a rude awakening. Suddenly there was a thud. Apparently, one of the hawks we had seen earlier had entered the left engine. And then there was smoke and the smell of burnt feathers in the cabin but the engine operated normally. Now I recount the story with relish but it was not quite the same when it happened. In those few minutes, different images flushed my mind and a cold sweat coursed its way easily down my face. I struggled to hold my thoughts together and muster some peace in my soul. My thoughts swayed from what to do if this smoke became bad, to prayer lines I could offer to God. What was the best decision to make? Should we land immediately or brave it till the smoke smoothened out? I kept asking myself. Within that short hiatus of time, my personality shuffled incessantly between the confidence of an experienced pilot and the anxiety of a mere human being. Whiles all these thoughts were plying my mind, I was also conferring with my co-pilot as to what to do. Finally, we decided to switch down that engine because of the smoke in the cabin and to return to Freetown and because if the compressor blades broke, it would cause further breakage in the engine and it would catch fire. To the glory of God, we landed safely. It was like waking up from a nightmare. When the flight engineer, Mr. Wiafe, run a quick diagnosis on the engine, he reported the discovery of the charred remains of a hawk with the feathers on the stator blade. On our arrival in Accra, my first impulse was to kneel and thank the Lord that I had returned to my country not in an urn but in person, alive and well. My colleagues who affectionately called me ‘Ataa’ (which means father in my dialect) could not help but express their appreciation to God for bringing us safely home. In my quiet moments that evening, I realised how God had once again saved us from an untimely death and my heart could not help but to sing praises to Him. My family was struck with consternation when I narrated my story to them but none was able to gather the courage to tell husband, Daddy or brother to stop flying because deep in their hearts, they were also proud that their relative was a pilot and one of the privileged few Ghanaians to be in that profession at that time.