In Amenas

 
In Amenas has been in the news this week as an Islamist group calling itself "the Battalion of Blood" took a number of people hostage.

I was reminded of simpler times; 30+ years ago, I was on an expedition to collect data on heat exchange in the Sahara. We'd been advised by the Royal Geographical Society, among others, to take kerosene stoves for cooking since that was the only suitable fuel you could get in Algeria.

Unfortunately, the advice was a few years out of date, and Algeria had since rolled out a fairly extensive bottled gas distribution system: and no one sold kerosene. So there we were with two pricey kerosene stoves and no fuel to run them.

In Amenas was the last town before the 1,000km stretch of completely uninhabited desert before Tamanrasset, a stage of our journey that would take four days. Every vehicle setting off on that leg had to register with the local police station so that they new how many bodies to look for when you didn't arrive in Tamanrasset.

Without fuel for the stoves we didn't think we should embark on a road that was about as deserted and remote as it gets.   


As we were debating what we should do, Andy pointed out that kerosene was what propeller driven aircraft used for fuel, and that there was an airport at In Amenas. We got into one of the Land-Rovers and drove out to the airport. It was a desolate place; no VIP lounge, no customs hall, no gates, just a porta-cabin with a couple of policemen, and another which was evidently the 'control tower' / radar / radio room. The police were polite and directed us to the control tower. The controller was polite too but wasn't able to help us (at that point we hadn't offered any inducements).

As we were talking a voice on the radio asked for clearance to land; it was distinctly British. That, we reasoned, was an opportunity. We left the control tower and waited for the plane to taxi to a stop. As the crew emerged we approached them; the pilot was French and not overly sympathetic to our predicament. But the co-pilot was indeed a Brit; "let's have a jerry can", he said.  He clambered up on to the undercarriage, reached into the wing, opened a fuel drain valve and proceeded to fill at least two 20 liter jerry cans with kerosene.

And that was all we needed to avoid having to turn round and go home. Whoever you are, Mr Co-pilot, thank you from seven grateful (ex-)students.

(It's a pity I don't have any photos of the event).