Airport security 1972

Late breaking news! On 24th May, 1972 a South African Airways Boeing 727 passenger airliner departed from Salisbury, Rhodesia (now Harare, Zimbabwe) en route to Johannesburg, South Africa. It was high jacked by two men who wanted the pilot to fly to an island in the Indian Ocean. The pilot persuaded the scoundrels that he did not have sufficient fuel and he would have to land at Chileka Airport in Blantyre, Malawi to take on more. 


I interrupt this gripping story to provide some background information for the handful of readers who may not have heard of Malawi or Blantyre or Chileka Airport. Malawi is one of the smallest of 53 countries of Africa. It is a beautiful, sub-tropical, impoverished, landlocked country generally considered to be in Central Africa. It is north of Mozambique, east of Zambia and south of Tanzania. The people, though poor, are friendly and hardworking and proud. It was text book 'third world' then as it is today. 


The runway at Blantyre's Chileka Airport, as I recall, was long, well constructed and capable of handling large aircraft. The airport building was a modified aircraft hangar. Planes would taxi to the vicinity of the hangar and a flimsy metal stair-on-wheels contraption would be pushed up to the front door. Passengers would step cautiously down the steps and walk about 50 yards across the hot concrete, or through the pouring rain, to a small door in the side of the building before standing in a single, long line, waiting to pass through immigration and customs. The terminal building (i.e. the old corrugated iron hangar) was not air conditioned, making it, in the hottest summer months, October through March, extremely hot. 


Why, you may ask, am I familiar with this story? At the time, I lived in Salisbury (now Harare) and was the sales manager for a significantly large - by African standards - packaging company. I was responsible for our customers in Malawi and about every 3 or 4 months I would fly to Blantyre on business, spending several days visiting customers, taking orders, and helping them with technical issues. Technical issues were important because many of our products were used for food or other (e.g. cosmetic) products that had specific shelf-life and quality standards depending on the integrity of our packaging. 


One important character in this unfolding 1972 drama was the personage of His Excellency, President for Life, Ngwazi Dr. H. Kamuzu Banda. His Excellency was a brilliant man, born in a remote village and educated in the US and in Britain. After an absence of 42 years, he had returned to Malawi in 1958 and led the ongoing political battle to gain independence from Britain, eventually becoming Prime Minister in 1963 and the first President of the one party Republic in 1966. He declared himself President for Life in 1971, one year before Malawi became the scene of this less than dramatic - by today's standards - aircraft event.
It should seem pretty obvious, given his personal history, that His Excellency, President for Life, Ngwazi Dr. H. Kamuzu Banda, was not a timid man. Fortunately for his fellow countrymen, he was a benevolent, pro-western, dictator who cared very much for his country, not to mention his own personal image and reputation. Who would have the nerve to high jack an airliner and land it in his country? 


Now back to the high jacking. The Boeing 727 landed at Chileka Airport. Within a short time, the airport was surrounded by a large contingent of the Malawi Army and Police Forces, under the personal direction of His Excellency, President for Life, Ngwazi Dr. H. Kamuzu Banda. It is possible that the bad guys on board were more concerned with the arrival of the Presidential motorcade than with the hundreds of heavily armed military men surrounding them. Negotiations began. 


Early the following morning, frustrated that demands of complete and unconditional surrender were not being met, a radio message was sent from His Excellency, President for Life, Ngwazi Dr. H. Kamuzu Banda via the control tower to the pilot of the 727, advising passengers and crew to lie down on the floor. Almost immediately the police and military forces opened fire and filled the plane with a few thousand bullet holes. The first lull in the firing resulted in the appearance of two very frightened highjackers at the door, hands raised in the air. No passengers or crew suffered more than superficial abrasions from flying glass and debris. His Excellency, President for Life, Ngwazi Dr. H. Kamuzu Banda was triumphant, reputation intact, and prestige soaring.  It was a classic "Go ahead, make my day" moment in Malawian history.


Fast forward two months. Along with a friend and associate, Grant Ballantyne, I flew to Blantyre for a regularly scheduled visit with customers. Grant was a technician specializing in servicing can seaming equipment and training customers in their use. A can "seamer" is a machine used for sealing the metal lid onto food cans. The body of a food can has a top flange. When the can is filled, with fruit, syrup, vegetables, soup etc., a lid is put onto the flange and a "seamer" is used to hermetically seal the product. Grant's other specialty was a very dry sense of humor, usually made more effective by his ability to keep a completely straight face while everyone else in the room roared with laughter at his deadpan remarks. 


When on business trips Grant Ballantyne always carried a special brief case. It was relatively heavy for its size and contained an inner foam lining, recessed to hold a number of highly specialized, precision measuring instruments and tools. Each of the polished and well cared for instruments has its own little recessed pocket in its own special place in Grant Ballantyne's special black leather brief case.


It should be noted that since the now famous military response to the high jacking event two months before, security had been tightened. A long, narrow, covered shelter had been constructed over the entry door to the hangar and extending, at 90 degrees, onto the runway. A long line of folding tables were set out under this shelter to receive arriving passengers. Behind the row of tables were some of the Malawi Police Forces'  most promising young officers, each in immaculately fitted and starched uniforms. This airport security business, not a normal police duty, was something they obviously took very seriously. 


Along with our fellow passengers, Grant and I descended the rickety metal stair. Baggage handlers were unloading our bags onto the concrete under the wing of the plane. This was a good idea, because it provided a little bit of shade. We managed to retrieve our luggage, without trampling anyone or being trampled, and walked to the security table under the new corrugated iron shelter. Grant was ahead of me as we approached a very young, bright eyed, smartly dressed Police Cadet. At least I have always assumed he was a cadet because he looked very young and inexperienced. He asked Grant to place his briefcase on the table and open it. Grant lifted the heavy case slowly and placed it gingerly on the table, unlatched the front and turned it toward the policeman. 


Upon raising the lid the young man's eyes opened wide in amazement at this array of precision, metallic, instruments. He had obviously never seen anything like this before. I watched his face as he very, very, carefully reached into the case and, with thumb and index finger of his right hand, removed a 4 inch long micrometer from its foam resting place. He raised it up, level with his eyes, and looked at it intently for a few moments, before saying to my friend, "Ah, what is this?”


In a most matter-of-fact tone of voice, without a moment of hesitation, Grant replied, "Oh, that's an Intercontinental Ballistic Missile."


Looking again at the shiny metal object, the policeman lowered it into its cavity in the black leather case, carefully closed the lid and said, "Ah, I see." Satisfied that there was no security risk, he waved my friend on. I managed to get through the strict security inspection without laughing out loud. Thirty eight years later I still laugh about it. 


Oh, for the good old days.