Ask the pilot

Dangerous airlines, deadly airports, foggy landings and other hazards of flying: Sorting out facts from fancy.

By Patrick Smith

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Patrick Smith

May 2, 2008 | My comments last week on the recent crash in Congo elicited the following letter:

As an aviation professional in Africa, I am very familiar with the operations of Hewa Bora Airways, and have flown in and out of Goma airport, where the accident occurred, on several occasions.

Previously, the 8,000-foot runway in Goma was sufficiently long for most aircraft. But in 2002 a nearby volcano erupted, and lava flow cut the available distance to 5,000 feet. Back in colonial times, the area beyond the runway was fenced off, providing a clear way. When the volcano erupted, destroying homes and businesses near the airport, people relocated directly onto the airport itself, constructing houses, businesses, mosques and markets there. Today there are dwellings as close as a hundred feet from the runway.

On the day of the accident, the surface was wet and the crew took off in the direction of the lava flow. I suspect they blew a tire, and concern about immediate loss of control on the ground was their motivation for rejecting the takeoff. The aircraft hit the lava, skipped up into the air, then flopped into the open-air market adjacent to the airport. The crash and rescue service consisted of people throwing wash basins of water on the flaming fuselage, while others tried to force the main cabin door open using cement bricks.

Hewa Bora maintained its aircraft as well as it could. They had a good attitude toward maintenance and tried their best. To obtain the best aircraft possible with a very limited budget, the airline tried to buy its jets secondhand from the same U.S. carrier, assuring that the planes had been well maintained over their lives. The airline's crews were cautious and conscientious and had a good understanding of the aircraft and its systems.

However, any country in the middle of a civil war will suffer shortages of skilled staff, money and logistical support, making it impossible to maintain first-world standards. Either you do the best you can, or you don't fly at all, and the latter is not an acceptable option for many countries. It is unrealistic to expect developing countries in the midst of wars to be able to meet contemporary safety standards, even if, like Hewa Bora, they try their hardest. It's as unrealistic as asking people in a refugee camp to wash their hands with soap and water before every meal, and to be sure to rinse the dishes in hot water. Such standards are the norm in food service in North America, but out of the question in a war environment. Aviation standards are no different.

The letter writer, who asks to remain anonymous, makes an excellent point, and provides some compelling insights into the struggles and challenges faced by airlines in the developing world.

A week ago I discussed how all commercial flights are subject to regulatory guarantees pertaining to runway length. There must always be sufficient room to stop should the takeoff be aborted at any point up to so-called V-1, just below liftoff speed. Pilots call this "accelerate-stop distance." Well, maybe that's true in most places, but perhaps we're being naive to assume such securities exist in a troubled country like Congo. A DC-9 on a wet, 5,000-foot runway, 5,100 feet above sea level (higher elevations mean faster than normal takeoff speeds)? While I don't have the DC-9's performance charts in front of me, I suspect an accelerate-stop guarantee would be out of the question.

No, that doesn't make it dangerous to fly in Congo, but it does leave little room for error. Without the checks and balances commonly found elsewhere, minor mistakes or malfunctions can result in tragedy.

Granted, flying in Congo is not the same as flying into, say, Johannesburg, and Hewa Bora Airways, for all its good intentions, is not South African Airways. But my earlier contention, that the airlines of Africa are by and large safe, needs a few qualifiers. I dare say that in certain environments, safe enough is the best we can hope for.

When I flew Royal Air Maroc a few years back, there were carry-on bags all over the place, and the safety briefing included a warning from flight attendants that "sleeping on the floor would not be permitted." The collective groan from the cabin implied that sleeping on the floor normally is permitted. Is RAM as tight-shipped as Delta or Lufthansa, Emirates or Qantas? Presumably not, and we shouldn't expect it to be. But the airline transports close to 5 million people each year aboard its 40 or so aircraft, and according to Airsafe.com it has recorded only two fatal events, the last in 1994. I would call that acceptable, all things considered.

And surprising or not, some of the poorest places on earth are home to the proudest and most safety-conscious airlines. I couldn't have been more impressed riding in the jump seat of that ATR-42 from Kumasi to Accra, in Ghana. From what I observed, I might as well have been flying from Indianapolis to Chicago. Or consider Ethiopia. Many of us remember the videotaped crash of a hijacked Ethiopian Airlines 767 in 1996, but that carrier, now in its 64th year of operation, is statistically one of the continent's safest. When you consider Ethiopia's economic troubles, rugged terrain and the myriad challenges of African flying in general, EAL's record -- Airsafe shows two fatal events, including that hijacking -- is remarkable. (For good measure, its passenger service standards put those of most American airlines to shame.)

It's much the same with airports. It's not uncommon to find remote airports with long, well-appointed runways and outstanding services. Although passenger-handling facilities aren't always an indicator of more important things, one of the most impressive little airports I've ever seen is the one in Timbuktu, Mali. I expected nothing more than a thatch-covered shack -- maybe with a few of those ubiquitous Malian goats pulling a sand-encrusted luggage cart. I was startled to discover a handsome terminal, designed by the international firm of Dar Al-Handasah. It's a Sudanese-style building emulating the mud-built mosques found all over Mali. The interior, if a bit drab, is spacious and immaculate. Nearby is the "old" terminal -- a low, flat structure that isn't unlike many of the small terminals you'll find in the American Midwest. It would be the envy of many third-world airports, but in Timbuktu it's not even the nicest. Along the smoothly paved apron's north side is a 6,900-foot runway -- long enough for the occasional charter from Europe.

(What this says about the Malian government's priorities is debatable, but for better or worse you find these incongruous showcase airports in various corners of the globe. The oversize complex in Mandalay, Myanmar, is perhaps the most obscene example.)

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