Be careful how you look : Ken Gibbs

GAUNT BEAST

The time - 1986/87, and a trip on home leave from Quetta.The background: The first break I had had from clearing the mess that was the Quetta I had inherited. My wife, Mary, had returned to the UK to be on hand for when the children broke up from school, so I was travelling alone. The selected route was from Karachi to Geneva, Brussels, Copenhagen and then London, selected to allow me to check in with one of our major funders, and to discuss some supply issues with UNIPAC before heading for London and home.

Footnote: I was much looking forward to this break, it being the first time since arriving in Quetta that I was able down tools and take a deep breath. Between arrival in Quetta and the start of this break, I had managed to shed 12 staff from a contingent of 30; we had received Wang computers which I had had to teach myself to operate; downloaded a World bank suite of programmes to allow us to compute all necessary data for our gravity water supply systems; had written (in draft) a 133 page design manual for use with the computer design; had started work on an ORT system suited to the area; and much, much more.
*****
I got on to the plane in Karachi and was asleep before take-off and, from memory, I only woke for a meal before arrival in Geneva where I managed a cup of coffee and to find where to board my flight to Brussels. As usual, everything worked like clockwork and we took off on time; arrived on time and went straight through immigration and to customs.

Here, I was met by a douanier who looked like he’d had a bad night, and as I was carrying only a small, light, knap-sack, he asked , “C’est tout ?”

Ah, so I needed to adjust to my schoolboy French and answered, “Oui monsieur, juste ça – rien d’autre” receiving a long, appraising look as if he didn’t believe a word of it. He indicated that I hand over the bag and he rummaged through the contents which were simply – my dirty washing. I could see that he was processing things which, somehow, didn’t match the little blue passport I had presented. He, obviously, hadn’t found anything incriminating, so I was dismissed with a sultry wave of the hand as if to say, “The United Nations isn’t what it used to be. . . .”

I did my business in Brussels very quickly and was back at the airport for the next leg of my journey before midday. On checking in, I was handed a rather scruffy brown bag which, on inspection, appeared to be my in-flight meal. I never had realised that a small ‘Big Mac’ was considered as in-flight haute cuisine. Well, it hadn’t curled at the edges, so I ate. We arrived in Copenhagen on time and I was asked if the bag I was carrying was all my luggage ? It was. Odd, this, as I didn’t realise that within Europe one had what amounted to as another customs inspection. My bag was taken from me and the contents inspected. If only I had mixed soap powder with my dirty washing, I would have had half the job done by the time I got home, and the bag was returned to me.

My time in UNIPAC was short and sweet. I met whom I should, and got the answers I sought. I indicated that UNICEF Quetta would not be ordering any more drill rigs for the foreseeable future, and that orders to be processed through Copenhagen would be very much more modest than hitherto. They seemed to be relieved. I asked if they still played cricket after Stan Hall had worked there ? They did not. Sad, because cricket is good for the soul.

The final flight to London Heathrow was unremarkable until I arrived at Customs, to be met with a “Is that all of your luggage, Sir ?”

“Indeed” said I, and the bag was upended and spread out so that everyone could see that every item was dirty. Again I received a look that indicated disbelief that my little blue Laisser-Passer belonged to me. By this time I was less than impressed with everybody indicating that I might be what I wasn’t. I bottled it and was released to take the train back to Cornwall.
*****
On arrival home, I felt that I had to unburden myself to Mary about the way that I had been treated by the various Customs staff. She nodded and then suggested that I come and stand beside a full-length mirror and she asked, “What do you see there ?”

Confusion on my part as I looked at myself at least once every day as I shaved, and there was a ‘shaven me’ looking back at me.

Mary’s only remark was that she should start feeding me properly again as I looked like a skeleton or somebody on drugs. Luckily, no photo of the skeleton is available so you will have to make do with the bare bones of this account.

*****