The turbine in front of me spins unbelievably fast, even at idle; it gulps in fuel while emitting a steady whine. Three long black propeller blades cut arcs through the still air, churning it up, and blowing it back. But we stay still.
With the parking brake pulled on, the airplane sits with pent up energy, pawing the ground at the runways end. A runway that’s an island in this swampy land, surrounded on both sides by huts and trees. The village of Nyal lays on top of the sole piece of high ground with over 50 miles of swampy grass around on all sides, and this airstrip runs through the middle of it.

During dry season, we would use the other airstrip, the grass one with fewer obstacles around it. We overflew it on the way in, though. It appeared to be more water than grass.
In fact, water seemed to be everywhere.

Except for airstrip number two, this sliver of ground, amazingly is almost bone dry.
Five bible students sit behind me, contentedly waiting. They boarded back at a handful of other airstrips earlier in on our route today, a string of villages from north to south, west of the Nile.

Outside the airplane, the other pilot, Jim, runs around looking for the Nyal students we’re picking up. He finds three, including one from Ganyel, our next stop. He runs up to the edge of my peripheral vision, holds his hand up, and swivels it, a signal to feather the propeller. I move a blue lever, and the prop blades twist, now with their flat sides beating the air. This pushes very little air back, and allows the students to board the airplane without the battering from a strong propwash. We can’t leave the propeller feathered too long in these conditions. Without the breeze from the prop blowing the exhaust away, parts of the airplane become really hot.

I turn my head as our new passengers slowly pull themselves forward to their seats. The other passengers have also turned, and after a brief moment for mental searching, recognition sparks a smile on their faces, followed by high fives all around. I can’t help it, I’m smiling too.

Soon, Jim jumps inside, and shuts the door behind him, and explains to the new passengers how the seatbelts work. I move that same blue lever forward all the way.
While the propellor slowly twists back to its low pitch setting, I move my finger down the checklist as Jim slides into the seat next to me. While he clicks his seatbelt together, I brief him on the takeoff, including where we need to hit our abort speed, then check the time. 5 minutes on the ground. I slowly push the power lever forward and huts blur by us as the far trees come closer and closer, then fall away as we take to the sky.

I think of the wide eyed men behind my seat as they take a ride on this school bus, perhaps the first time inside a vehicle, much less an airplane.

We bank right into a turn, with the nose pointed above the top of a bank of clouds, and leave the rains and soaked ground behind us. I let out a deep breath, and realize I’m getting comfortable in this aircraft.

Starting, stopping, then starting up again…

Late last year I began AIM AIR’s upgrade process to start flying the Caravan. It started in Nairobi. I got my Kenya type rating to fly the magnificent bird, and went through initial training with AIM AIR. Then it all coasted to a slow stop.

Novemer, December and January kept me hopping with Cessna 206 flights. And things fell through the cracks here in Loki. Things I wanted to fix.

I jumped on a flight with one of the Caravan training captains passing through Loki from Nairobi.

“When was the last time you flew the Caravan?” he asked.

“A month ago, with you!” I said, sheepishly.

“A month? That’s no way to learn an airplane!”

He was right. My thoughts were on correcting issues in Loki. A missionary had paid for a large box of fresh food. It went all the way up to a refugee camp near the northern border and back again by mistake. The food came back rotten, a waste of money and weight.

Other times the wrong things were loaded off the truck and onto the plane. Our logistics had slid down into a chaotic pit, and wasn’t working. I needed to figure out a way to keep it running, even when I was busy elsewhere.

While I flew with the training captain, I struggled to keep my focus on the plane, but my stomach revolted, and my emotions threatened to betray me.

And then I realized I couldn’t do it all. We were supposed to do two rotations on the second day. I said I could manage one, but I needed to figure out solutions on the ground. I helped him load, and watched as he took off by himself on the second run.

A few days later I sent an e-mail asking to stop my Caravan transition. We worked out a deal with Mission Aviation Fellowship to share their employee, someone who could help keep things moving all the time, whether I was out flying or not.

And then the 206 flying started to slow down, and my focus on the Caravan returned. AIM AIR began clearing room in all flights through Loki for me to be able to go along, and the transition picked up and went smoothly.

I saw it all. Bad weather departures out of Nairobi, heavy rain in Sudan and the muddy runways that come after that run. One day had nine stops (full of loading and unloading drums, setting up seats, then stowing them) with over nine hours of flying, and still making it home with margin before sunset. Loading awkward loads, moving fuel drums, and picking up Bible students.

Hopefully, in the near future, AIM AIR will have a third caravan, thanks to a partnership with SIM, a sister mission organization.

That probably means a Caravan to use out of Loki and serve organizations throughout South Sudan, especially along the eastern side.

After over a hundred hours of flying under the watchful eye of more seasoned pilots, I have to admit, this machine isn’t just a school van, or a truck, or a jumbo size ambulance. It’s a versatile combination of all three and a complete joy to fly. But even greater yet -to the students behind me- it provides an opportunity, like a step, that boosts them up as they scale a challenging future. After a combined period of 40 years in war, their country needs pastors.

Most of them missed out on a chance for a normal school life. As they dream ahead, envisioning the many scattered churches they will one day care for, I look forward to using this machine the next time to pick them up from their village surrounded by the swamp and brought safely back for school.

Back in Loki after two days of flying the bible students to their school.