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Chicago Tribune
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When I joined a backpacking safari in Zimbabwe last October, I never expected the biggest adrenaline rush to come from the flight at the end of our safari. Our group of five had spent two weeks backpacking through nature reserves in the east of the country. After our adventures in Matusadona Park and Spurwing Lodge, we headed to Victoria Falls via Hwange Park. Hwange is a nature reserve in the west of Zimbabwe, bordering against Chobe Park in Botswana. We were looking forward to a relaxing day before starting our trekking again.

Early in the morning we left Spurwing and drove to Kariba airport. Our flight was delayed, so we settled down to wait. And wait. Three hours later, we were finally told the plane was ready to board.

Air Zimbabwe bought many of its planes second-hand from other airlines, and the one we got into was no exception. Dirty and ancient, the mid-size jetliner was clearly one that no one else had wanted.

Inside, we settled into the seats with 80 or 90 other passengers and waited. And waited some more. Finally, the pilot’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “We’re all ready to go ladies and gentlemen. However, we’ve been waiting for the copilot, and he still hasn’t arrived. Since we’ve already waited so long, we’re just going to be flying without a copilot today.”

There was a nervous buzz through the cabin.

He continued, “If any of you feel uncomfortable with this, feel free to disembark now and Air Zimbabwe will put you on the next available flight to Hwange.” Here he paused. “Unfortunately, we are not sure when that will be. But rest assured, I have flown this route hundreds of times, we have clear blue skies, and there are no foreseeable problems.”

Great. Our group looked at one another. We didn’t want to fly this way, but then, who knew when the next flight would be? And we had already lost nearly four hours in waiting. We decided to stay. No one got off the plane, and we took off a few minutes later for the one-hour flight.

Once we reached cruising altitude, the pilot made another announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am going to use the bathroom. I have put the plane on auto-pilot, and everything will be fine. I just don’t want you to worry.” That said, he came out of the cockpit and fastened the door open with a rubber band to a hook in the wall. Then he went into the bathroom.

I was sitting on the aisle and had a clear view of the sky through the open cockpit door. Sure enough, it was blue skies as far as you could see.

Suddenly, we hit a patch of turbulence. Nothing much, the cabin just shook a little for a moment. But the rubber band holding the cockpit door open snapped off with a loud “ping!” and went sailing down the aisle. The door promptly swung shut.

A moment later, the pilot came out of the bathroom. When he saw the closed door, he stopped cold. I watched him from the back and wondered what was wrong. The stewardess came running up, and together they both tried to open the door. But it wouldn’t budge.

It slowly dawned on me that our pilot was locked out of the cockpit. Cockpit doors lock automatically from the inside to prevent terrorists from entering. Without a copilot, there was no one to open the door from the inside. By now, the rest of the passengers had become aware of the problem, and we watched the pilot, horrified. What would he do?

After a moment of contemplation, the pilot hurried to the back of the plane. He returned holding a big ax. Without ceremony, he proceeded to chop down the cockpit door. We were rooted to our seats as we watched him.

Once he managed to chop a hole in the door, he reached inside, unlocked the door, and let himself back in. Then he came back on the loudspeaker, his voice a little shakier this time than before. “Ah, ladies and gentlemen, we just had a little problem there, but everything is fine now. We have plans to cover every eventuality, even pilots getting locked out of their cockpits. So relax and enjoy the rest of the flight. We should be landing in about 20 minutes.”

I watched the sky for the rest of the flight through the shreds of the cockpit door. You have never seen people so thankful to get off a plane as when we landed at Hwange airport.