Last night I flew into Victory International Airport, so named for the 1981 revolution that freed the country’s citizens from decades of colonial rule. Now that melancholic name serves only to remind one how things have changed. This tiny African country is in the grip of a violent civil war that shows no signs of ending.

This was immediately apparent as our plane taxied toward the terminal. Hundreds of people, citizens, were crowding around several airplanes squeezing their way up the narrow steps to the entrance. We were locked inside our plane while the pilot waited for the crowds to disperse. He feared opening the doors could force a panicked crowd onto our already full plane.

After an hour, he tried another approach taxiing the plane to a different terminal to the South. But this angered the crowds and they followed us. From my window, I watched a swarm rush after us dragging their luggage behind them.

When we reached the South terminal, we were immediately surrounded. It was clear the plane would not be moving again. Now we were stuck. To add to this, the plane ran out of water. Waiting out the crowd was about to become much more difficult.

Our pilot, a Captain Levesque from South Africa, decided on a plea to the throng. From his pilot window, he spoke to them explaining that our plane was full and could not take anyone until the passengers inside were allowed safe passage off. Shockingly, the crowd didn’t believe him. They demanded proof. What more proof could we offer beyond the tired faces staring at them from the windows?

Just as things looked to settle into a permanent stand-off, the crowd suddenly turned and ran away from the plane. As quickly as they surrounded us, they melted away. We learned later that an empty plane had landed back at the main terminal ready to take on passengers. And just like that, we filed out of the plane and touched the ground of Port Selao, capital city to a dying country. Already I miss Mikela and Hope.