|
||||||||
  |
||||||||
|
||||||||
|
||||||||
|
||||||||
|
||||||||
|
|
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
 'On a wing, a prayer and a box of cigars'
By Lagos Bureau Chief Jeff Koinange
Editor's note: In our Behind the Scenes series, CNN correspondents share their experiences in covering news around the world. YAMOUSSOUKRO, Ivory Coast (CNN) -- In this business, they say, you just don't know where you'll be on any given day. Last week, my colleagues and I got a first-hand lesson in how true that maxim can be. We were in the Nigerian capital, Abuja, when we got a call from CNN headquaters in Atlanta. "Get yourselves to Abidjan as soon as you can," said the voice on the other end. "The story's about to blow up!" A tall order indeed. You just don't get anywhere quickly in Africa. But off we went, stopping by our bureau in Lagos to pick up our gear, all 23 cases of it, complete with flak jackets, generator and every travelling correspondent's secret weapon: a box of cigars -- Fidel's finest. We checked in at the airport and headed to the lounge. The plane was late, so we caught two hours of sleep, waking in time to board. Next stop: Abidjan, in the Ivory Coast. Some 200 students and staff members -- including 101 Americans -- were trapped in the country amid a military rebellion in the West African nation. We landed two hours later, where we were told a curfew would take effect in an hour's time. We scrambled through the usual customs formalities and headed for the baggage carousel. A half-hour later our bags finally emerged. Why is it that the television equipment is always the last out? Porters in tow, we headed for the exit. As usual, our gear attracted the attention of a "hungry" customs agent, who demanded to know what was in our cases. "We're American journalists, CNN," I replied. The agent ignored me. "Open all of them," he ordered. Open them all? We were guaranteed an overnight stay in the airport -- trapped by the curfew -- if he went through all our luggage. With 25 minutes to curfew, I reached for the first bag -- the one with cigars. "Would you like one?" The officer smiled. "Ah, Cubano, n'est-ce-pas?" "Oui, bien sur," I answered, adding how pressed for time we were. He waved us on. We hurried to the hotel, aided by the fact that the city was a ghost town, a far cry from the hustle and bustle of the Abidjan I'd known in the past. We got there with two minutes to spare before the shoot-on-sight curfew went into effect. We quickly got rolling, choosing a sight right outside the hotel offering a view of deserted streets -- a perfect angle for a live shot, which went well. Then, disaster: Soldiers patrolling in a jeep came to a quick stop. Didn't we know about the curfew, they asked. We replied that, technically, we were not on the streets. Apparently insulted, the troops seized our gear and radioed their superiors for instructions. Time dragged. Meanwhile, CNN International wanted another live shot. "Houston," I said, borrowing a famous line, "we have a problem!" Two hours later, they released us -- I did not have to reach for my cigars -- with a stern warning: Do not venture out or else! We complied, setting up the videophone in the hotel lobby. In Abidjan, it was after midnight when we learned that "NewsNight with Aaron Brown" wanted us on in two hours. The show went well, and we were happy -- tired, too: We'd been up for 24 hours. Another call, the desk again. "Head to Yamoussoukro," said the voice from far away. American kids who were rescued by French forces from factional fighting were to be airlifted in the morning, we learned. The curfew ended at 6:30 a.m. It was 3 a.m. We slept for three hours. Then, at 6 a.m. were up again -- shower, coffee, croissant and then the open road. We did not pass a car for 250 miles. Hours later, we reached the outskirts of Yamoussoukro, the Ivory Coast's administrative capital, and came face-to-face with unsmiling soldiers holding AK-47s. "What do you want?" one asked. "We're here to cover the evacuation of American school children rescued last night." "What's in the cases?" "Camera equipment." "Open all of them now." I reached for my favourite bag. "Oo la la!" the soldier exclaimed. "Cigars. Donne-moi?" He took several and lit one immediately. "Can we go?" He waved us on. We came to another checkpoint a mile later, and again, we were approached by armed soldiers demanding that we stop immediately. Our driver didn't hear them. "Arret!" one yelled. He loosed a volley of shots just over our car for emphasis. It worked: The driver slammed the brakes and we spilled out, hands and passports in the air. "Presse Americaine!" I yelled. We explained our mission, and luckily, one of the soldiers had heard of CNN. The solider conferred with his colleagues, and finally, reluctantly, waved us on. We made it to the airport, where French red berets had mounted a checkpoint. Young soldiers, barely teenagers, I noted, but they were disciplined. They waved us past to the airport. On the far side of the facility were U.S. Special Forces troops resting easy in their Humvees. Two U.S. Air Force C-130 cargo planes sat on the runway. We got our videophone up and running. Ten minutes later, a convoy arrived -- the American school children under heavy military escort. We had a world exclusive. The school children boarded a C-130, whose engines rumbled into life just as anchor Paula Zahn told viewers about the children's daring rescue 24 hours earlier. The CNN crew there, she added, were the only news people at the site. My cameraman and I exchanged high-fives. The plane took off, and I began a series of Q&As with different CNN shows. Talk about timing! Thank God for those cigars.
|
|
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
