w w w . h a y t h o r n t h w a i t e . n e t
Evacuation from Eritrea
by Tom Haythornthwaite
This piece was first published in @StatCan, the Statistics Canada newsletter, edited by Kay Ruffo.
[Photos are by me, except as credited.)
Rick Baxter and I were working in Eritrea when border friction with Ethiopia broke out in May, 1998. It soon became necessary for us, Rick's wife Jane, and hundreds of other ex-patriots to flee Eritrea, which is located in northeast Africa.
We were finally able to leave Eritrea's capital city of Asmara on June 6, following a couple weeks of escalating tension and uncertainty. The peak of the excitement was our midnight escape across the Red Sea in a crowded British transport plane.
We eventually made our way back to Ottawa, me returning to my work in the Geography Division of Statistics Canada and Rick spending most of his time at his cottage. At last we were granted permission to return, and on August 28 we flew back to our lives and work in Eritrea. This is my account of the evacuation.
We'd had no warning before the first border violence began in May. In fact, my first indication of trouble came when my visiting father discovered that his Ethiopian Airways return flight to London had been cancelled. It was only the next day that we learned that the cause had been fighting along the Ethiopian border.
Although there may have been a heightened display of nationalism on May 24, Eritrean Independence Day, Asmara seemed so peaceful that it was hard to believe there could really be war. So, while we understood the possibility of an eventual evacuation, we received very little news over the next couple weeks and we carried on working and living as normal.
John Henry of Geography Division was e-mailing us every day with Internet news reports, which were growing more serious by the beginning of June. Official travel advisories began to suggest that non-essential ex-patriots consider leaving Asmara, and many volunteer workers had been recalled to Asmara from villages throughout Eritrea.
Tuesday, June 2
We normally held a census planning meeting Tuesday afternoons, but Rick postponed it this day. Instead, we left work early to join Rick's wife at home and make calls to Ottawa and to Addis Ababa in Ethiopia.
Canada has no embassy in Eritrea, so in an ironic twist official consular responsibility rests with the Canadian embassy in the Ethiopian capital of Addis Ababa. This made things a bit awkward as tensions increased between the two countries.
Direct telephone calls to the Canadian embassy in Addis were impossible, so we would dial Statistics Canada in Ottawa, from where our calls were forwarded back across the Atlantic to Addis.
Thursday, June 4
Rick, Jane and I met that morning with the Honorary Canadian Consul in Eritrea, Mulugheta Ksumu. He explained that a US-sponsored charter flight was being arranged for the following day and that Canadians could register their interest in case of space aboard.
But we'd also heard that the Ethiopian government had approved a peace proposal, so we decided to pass on that flight. Rick and Jane were already planning a vacation in Canada later in the summer, and Jane decided to play it safe and advance her departure to the following Tuesday. They also decided it would be prudent to ship home some non-essential possessions on the coming Saturday.
These plans were soon to be altered. I was home for lunch when Rick phoned to report a dramatic change. An escalation in the war was suddenly feared, and there was even a suggestion that Asmara would be bombed. We had to immediately pack essentials and leave that night or the next day. Everyone assumed we could bring the normal amount of baggage, so suitcases and backpacks were filled to capacity. Later that afternoon we learned that the soonest we could expect an evacuation plane would be the next day. Meanwhile, the American charter left with many of the ex-patriots we'd come to know in Asmara.
Friday, June 5
I invited all my friends - teachers, journalists and volunteers from the US, Canada, Britain and Australia - over for a farewell lunch. Several brought along other friends, and I cooked a huge vat of pasta and tuna. A couple of people swore they wouldn't leave Asmara, and there was some heated discussion.
In the meantime, I used our project vehicle to drive a couple of friends to get their belongings. On the way, we saw a huge convoy of four-wheel-drive vehicles heading toward the airport. And in the front of one sat a very glum-looking American friend who hadn't shown up for lunch.
We did a quick U-turn and pulled alongside, gesticulating wildly, but weren't able to speak to him (until a week later when I called him in St. Louis!). We drove to his house and found that he'd obviously left in a great hurry, with many of his valued possessions left behind. We didn't know then how much we ourselves would eventually leave behind.
Knowing it would probably be my last chance for a long time, I went to the Statistical and Evaluation Office (SEO) building that afternoon to wrap up some things and to demonstrate a new system for supervisory area delineation.
One cartographic supervisor assured me that Asmara would never be in any danger. Although very respectful, she clearly thought we were leaving unnecessarily.
I said goodbye to a few more Eritrean colleagues as I stepped out of the cool, heavy building and into the bright sunshine. I noticed them peering up at the sky but didn't ask why and, as we said our farewells, they joked that I'd be back on Monday.
As I rode my bike home, people were honking their car horns, and there was lots of cheering and waving. As I speak only enough Tigrigna to buy beer, I couldn't tell what the celebration was for. But when I got home I found all the shutters down, and my friends tearfully told me there'd been two bombing raids while I was at the SEO. They'd seen the Ethiopian MiGs dive on the airport and then they'd heard explosions. The streets were now full of exultant Eritreans.
Soon after, Jane saw an Ethiopian pilot, his face covered in blood, who'd been shot down and was being brought to a local jail. We later learned that he'd also been captured during the 30-year war of Eritrean Independence.
Some Canadians went to the airport to try to get on the American plane, but only two were permitted aboard. We learned of this when another Canadian came back later: he'd had his foot on the steps up to the plane when he'd been told no one else could board. The plane had then left with some empty seats, apparently necessary because refuelling had been impossible.
The Honorary British Consul, Stephen Burges, worked for an engineering company in Asmara. Just a few weeks before the evacuation crisis began, he'd been offered the unpaid consular position. This was around the same time that he'd flown to England with his wife, Laura, for the birth of their son, Jacob.
Stephen had then returned to his job in Asmara and to what he'd been assured would be just 15 minutes a week of rubber-stamping consular documents, plus the perks of receptions and parties on the Asmara diplomatic circuit!
The US had been able to obtain Ethiopian assurance that its plane wouldn't be harmed on the ground or in the sky. Stephen was working furiously to engineer the same treatment for a British aircraft.
But Ethiopia wouldn't grant the same guarantee it had given the Americans. London's faxed request for landing was addressed to the 'Provisional Eritrean Government', an unforgivable diplomatic insult to the independent and sovereign state of Eritrea.
The Eritreans responded that the Boeing 737 to be chartered from Cairo wasn't licensed to operate in and out of Asmara airport. We wondered if this was Eritrea's reaction to the fax faux pas, but I later learned that the aviation authority was absolutely justified in refusing permission for that particular aircraft to land at Asmara's 2,400-metre altitude.
Meanwhile, the bombing earlier that day had increased the number of Commonwealth citizens converging on the British consulate. Our backpacks and baggage in hand, we too went there to await news of a chance to leave. Stephen and Rick would work tirelessly over the next 48 hours to ensure our safety.
Rick suggested that people divide themselves into groups and appoint team leaders to meet every 30 minutes for updates. Rick would discuss news with these leaders, but he also sometimes met with everyone, always speaking calmly and reassuringly.
Rick also used Statistics Canada resources to establish communications with Addis Ababa, Washington and London. It had long been impossible to call Addis from Asmara, so Rick's double-trans-Atlantic calls were made as required. By now working on very little sleep, Stephen was constantly on the phone brokering our evacuation and helping keep people both calm and informed.
Following Rick's example, I offered to help and began confirming that people on Stephen's lists were at the consulate. As Friday evening wore on, it became clear that no more planes would be allowed into Asmara that night, so we were advised to rest at home until 6:30 the next morning.
Rick, who seemed to never stop working on contingencies and planning phoned during the night to say there was a chance of evacuation on a UN-organized flight the next day. But by next morning it was clear there would be no room for us.
Friday, June 5
I was sent to the US embassy to liaise between Stephen and Rick and the Americans, who were working to evacuate more of their citizens.
I was welcomed into the most secure part of their compound and given refreshments and the most up-to-date information by their second-in-command (no American ambassador had been present in Eritrea for months). Although the embassy was operating on a skeleton staff, it was buzzing with communications and with talk of task forces, Marines, the Gulf fleet and secure lines.
I offered to help and was asked to phone information to a list of Americans in Eritrea. It felt very strange to announce myself as "Tom Haythornthwaite, working at the United States embassy" and to explain the situation as diplomatically as I could.
Later I found myself constructing a spreadsheet of the names of known US citizens in Asmara, along with their passport numbers and other vital information. I phoned Stephen every half-hour to exchange information about possible flights, cease-fires and evacuation plans, always remembering that I'd been told not to be too specific over the public phone lines.
Later in the morning, the US announced that a 13-hour cease-fire for that evening was almost agreed on. On this hope, a Royal Air Force Hercules C-130 transport had already left England for Asmara, I believe refuelling in Crete and Cairo.
While working on the spreadsheet, I heard a sound like thunder and ran outside with the others. I scrambled onto a wall and witnessed an act of war for the first time in my life. A grey Ethiopian MiG 23 streaked down from the sky in the direction of the airport. It dipped below the nearby roofline, then zoomed up again. There was the sound of a huge explosion, then a massive cloud of black smoke rose up.
I lost sight of the plane but heard about 20 seconds of loud anti-aircraft gunfire. Eritrean Americans at the Embassy were crying, and walkie-talkies were squawking questions and answers. I went back to my work, knowing very clearly now that the situation was real.
Early that afternoon, while I was photocopying the passports of the growing crowd of US citizens at the embassy gate, Stephen arrived. It was such a peculiar feeling to walk in past the guards and an American friend who, the day before, had said he wouldn't leave.
Inside, there seemed to be some confusion between London and Washington, and a surprising amount of the co-ordination was being left to Stephen. Communications were very difficult, and at one point we were alternating our calls between Washington and London, trying to confirm that the Royal Air Force would be able to land during the still-unconfirmed bombing halt.
When I got through to Washington, I nervously began to relay the message about the British C-130 and was very relieved when Stephen calmly took over. When the flight was tentatively arranged, we rushed back to the British consulate.
By now the compound was very crowded, and Rick suggested we move some of the people elsewhere. It was then announced that baggage must be limited to what could be carried on our laps because there would be more people than seats on the plane. This triggered a massive re-packing and abandonment of possessions in the British consulate.
Stephen continued the negotiations and prepared his own very formal request for landing rights, addressing it more diplomatically than the earlier request from London.
The Canadians and Australians re-grouped in a hotel, but several Eritrean-Canadians didn't answer our roll call. One who was there helped me try to phone them, but we contacted only a very few. Perhaps the others had chosen to stay in Asmara.
News of the airport bombing and of Eritrean attacks on an Ethiopian town flashed periodically on the lobby TV. The news reports looked like any one of the many such reports from around the world that we're all so sadly used to seeing. But these carried such special significance for us.
Late in the afternoon, Stephen called to say that the temporary cease-fire was almost certain and that the American plane might have extra places.
I gathered people together and suggested that families and those with health problems make the first trip to the airport. Everyone was anxious to leave, but no one could argue with this plan.
Taxis, friends and those hoping to leave later were called upon to transport us to the airport. Rick and a few others remained to organize those still waiting in the hotel lobby.
As we rode to the airport I saw a German Airbus and two American C-130s. I'd heard that the morning's bombing had hit the civilian airport buildings but could see no damage, and I believe all the targets were in fact in the military section. Our group of eight Australians and 24 Canadians set up to wait in our own corner of the airport entrance. It was eerie to think that we were sitting at an airport that had been bombed that morning and could be bombed again the next.
After about an hour, the American second-in-command told us there was room for eight people on one of the American C-130s. Everyone's eyes shone with hope, but they all remained calm. I would have to make the decision myself.
Our group ranged from an 80-year-old Australian to infant Eritrean-Canadians. I chose a young epileptic man, a family of three, and another family of four. The senior Australian seemed far too cheerful and supportive to need special treatment.
By the time I could phone Stephen to exchange our news, he'd learned that the Royal Air Force C-130 would arrive at 11 p.m. We discussed how many people hadn't left yet, and he concluded that the plane would have room for all the remaining Commonwealth citizen.
In the meantime, the German Airbus had left with UN staff and various European ex-patriots, who were able to bring a normal baggage allowance.
Soon, car after car arrived at the airport with the other evacuees, including Rick and Jane. Further roll calls were made, and eventually everyone was permitted to enter the airport building. Rick helped make a final passenger manifest for the Eritrean authorities, who dropped most of their considerable standard bureaucratic procedures but who still ensured that only foreign citizens left.
That process was slow for many Eritrean-Canadians or Eritrean-Britains in our group.
One Eritrean mother and infant had only landed-immigrant status from Canada. They were desperate to leave, but the authorities maintained that they weren't Canadian. Without really knowing the law; or perhaps knowing more than we admitted, several of us argued that landed-immigrant status was the same as citizenship. It finally worked, and the mother and child climbed the stairs to the departure lounge.
Another family consisted of an Eritrean mother, an Australian father, and their infant child. Because they could produce only a church marriage certificate and because the woman had fought in the previous war, the authorities were refusing her permission to leave.
Even as our evacuation plane arrived, the argument continued about church versus civil documents. We'd succeeded with the first case but had to reluctantly give up helping this second family when it became time to board the plane. Keys to a house in Asmara were given to the dejected family, and urgent goodbyes were made. But as we lined up to leave the departure lounge, shouts and applause rang out as the family came up the stairs! I still don't know how they finally persuaded the Eritreans, but it was a triumphant moment!
When I first saw the C-130, it was already on the ground, about 100 metres from the airport building. The British were clearly taking no chances: about a dozen Royal Marines surrounded the plane, whose engines remained running fast and loud, its whirling propellers feathered.
The Marines on the side of the plane closest to the terminal stood with their backs to the plane, their fingers at the ready on their machine gun triggers. Those positioned around the rest of the plane were flat on the ground, spread-eagled and with their guns on tripods. Two or three other stern-faced Marines were waving people toward the plane.
We ran across the area in front of the terminal, then up the plane's rear ramp into the hold. By the time the plane started to roll, 101 evacuees; followed by the Marines; had squeezed in.
The noise on the plane was deafening despite earplugs the Marines passed around. Camera flashes started to go off, but the Marines quickly forbade photographs. Stephen told us later that they wanted to protect their identity and forbade any publication of their images.
The Marines were in full battle dress, with large packs and very large guns. None cracked a smile until the plane was well airborne. But when their helmets eventually came off, they were revealed to be a group of good-natured and very young men. One started to read a novel, the leader chatted with Stephen (as well as possible with the roar of the engines), and most of the rest proceeded to flirt with some of the women on board.
There were enough webbed seats along the sides of the plane for about one-quarter of us. Most people sat on the floor or on their hand luggage. I'd brought only my camera bag, which I sat on while holding an infant most of the way across the Red Sea. Halfway through the journey, a bag of juice boxes was passed around.
Though no one could have been more relieved than Stephen, at last we all began to feel safe. We knew we were in a friendly plane and finally headed away from the bombing, but everything was still unreal. The plane was hot, noisy and cramped, and we'd only just learned our destination: Jeddah in Saudi Arabia. There were almost no windows, so our only indication of what the plane was doing was feel. We didn't know what to expect next, but our fear soon gave way to our exhaustion.
We arrived in Saudi Arabia 90 minutes after take-off and were given 48-hour emergency visas. There were more hassles to endure, but our problems now were of a vastly different type and urgency than those of the past few days: the cost of the hotel to which we were delivered at 6 a.m. was prohibitive for some of us; women couldn't leave the hotel without being completely covered; and there was a highly regrettable lack of beer. But the days of wondering and worrying about the evacuation were over. We were safely out of Eritrea. Finally, we could relax and begin to make arrangements to get the rest of the way home.
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