LINDSAY DENTLINGER: Waiting in Warsaw

“I feel like you’ve been on an episode of Manifest”, my sister texted me on Sunday morning, as I returned to the aircraft I had spent almost 40 hours on, never to have reached the destination I was headed to.

“Mixed with an episode of Big Brother,” I replied, as Polish media stood on ladders along the fence of the Warsaw Chopin Airport with their telephoto lenses, once again snapping pictures of the international spectacle the SAA Airbus A350-300 and its passengers had become, since it parked on the tarmac in the cargo section last Thursday, shortly after 1pm local time.

It’s not every month, not even every year, that a South African journalist gets an opportunity to go on an international assignment - least of all with the president, seldom to a war-torn country, or another that has become a pariah of the global community.

Maybe we were all a little naïve to think that such an assignment would be glitch-free. And that geo-politics was only a buzzword we often wrote about but had yet to experience first-hand.

Some media colleagues, past and present, criticised me for being so willing to travel to Russia to cover the African peace mission President Cyril Ramaphosa and six other nations were on in efforts to broker a truce between Russia and Ukraine.

Our travel path was determined by the SAPS, and we were often reminded by the presidency before we had even left South Africa. And when our departure date and time kept changing, that we were “hitching a ride” with around a hundred elite, tactical and special task force members, and so we had to go along with their plan – or with hindsight, maybe the lack thereof.

Whether journalists should accept such an invitation will always be debatable. This was no ordinary assignment. It’s certainly not unusual for heads of state around the world to travel with a press corps.

Does it make journalists more biased towards the president? Again, debatable.

But I would argue, not in this instance. While we never got near the assignment we were invited to cover, there certainly was no cover-up of the bureaucratic blunders of the SAPS and the presidency which led to us being couped up and detained in a stationary aircraft for 26 hours.

However, it should be clear from the onset that while the ride may have been “free”, seven media houses were each footing the bill for all other costs involved - including visas, PCR tests, ground travel, accommodation, and meals for their reporters and camera operators.

Initially invited to travel both to Ukraine and Russia, we were later told that logistics made it impossible for the 11-member media contingent to travel to both countries. It was a tough choice. But also a no-brainer.

The eyes of the world are on the South Africa government and its uncomfortably cosy relationship with Russian president Vladimir Putin. Only one media house in the group had chosen the Ukraine leg, and the rest of us were somewhat jealous, but also excited that there would be at least one envoy to report back on what would unfold there.

Little did we know that none of us would be going anywhere. In fact, we would become the story that would nearly overshadow this peace mission.

Looking back, there were a plethora of signs that we would be thrown off course, even before take-off. Dashing around Pretoria on a Friday morning with all the speed bumps and U-turns of a real-life episode of the Amazing Race, trying to get our foot in the door of at least two - and some, three embassies - for visas, before lunch time, any traveller will tell you is a mission impossible, even with a presidential invitation.

Only hours before we would return to Waterkloof Airbase last Wednesday for the fourth time in two days were we sent off for COVID-19 PCR tests – one of three we would have to take if we hoped to set our foot in the Konstantinovsky Palace in St Petersburg.

By now, our nerves were frayed as four of us dashed into a lab in Sandton, begging for a test result in less than 24 hours. I had left Cape Town almost a week earlier, and by now was quite ready to return to the corridors of Parliament instead.

As we stood in a hangar watching soldiers load our luggage, boxes of food, and other equipment onto trucks with military precision, we finally began to feel that the holding pattern of the past three days had finally been worth it.

Last to board the plane under strict instruction not to talk to or try to photograph the presidential protection unit, we were assigned to a spacious section in the rear of the aircraft. After a fuel pitstop at OR Tambo International Airport, it was finally wheels up at 1:30 am on Thursday.

The eleven-hour SAA chartered flight experienced its first set back mid-morning as we found ourselves circling over the Mediterranean Sea for almost an hour. We later learnt it was because of a lack of flight clearance to cross Italy.

Geo-politics at play? Or a planning slip-up? We were assured all flight clearances had been obtained before taking off from Waterkloof.

We eventually landed at Warsaw Chopin Airport at 13:12pm, with a very long taxi to the furthest reaches of the airport – all the way in the cargo section. Another possible sign that we were viewed as problematic even before touchdown.

As we got out of our seats and reached for our luggage, there were no signs we would not be disembarking this plane for another 26 hours. From the window, I saw two busses pulling up, and the stairs rolled up to the front door. But after a little while, the busses drove off, and in its place, an airport police vehicle was parked. The two guards didn’t leave for many hours, until a change of shift.

Confusion reigned for much of that day. The plans kept changing. The number of questions grew, and the answers were few. Ramaphosa’s presidential jet had touched down shortly after us, and he was headed to meet Polish president Andrjzei Duda. Meanwhile, we were trapped inside an aircraft, baking in the sun of a Polish summer. Journalists’ agitation started to show. The story we had come to cover had begun, and we were not covering it.

A chartered flight that was supposed to pick us up in Warsaw and fly us on to St Petersburg never arrived. Who was coming to fetch us? We do not know. Their failure to pitch was never explained. But again, unsurprising.

This mission was beset with chartered companies dropping out at the last minute over aircraft insurance, and air access issues to reach Russia. But the clock was ticking down on this SAA plane taking off again for the 40-minute flight to the southern Polish city of Rzeszow, where the contingent going to Ukraine had to disembark to catch the overnight train to Kyiv. The four pilots on board were reaching their maximum number of flying hours if we didn’t leave soon.

As that window closed, the aircraft doors were opened and we took turns to get fresh air and watch the late-evening sunset from the galley, without a cocktail in hand. (This flight had no alcohol on board).

Frustrations were mounting, and explanations were few. As the presidential jet took off from Warsaw, leaving us stranded on the tarmac, it was now evident that none of us would be going to Ukraine. Many of us had no cell phone reception, expecting to activate our e-SIMs when we landed in Russia.

We were not expecting to spend more than transit time in Poland. As the sun was setting on day one of our assignment, we now began to sense that we were becoming the story, as Polish photographers clamoured along the perimeter fence to snap pictures of the aeroplane, and if they were lucky, a few of us hovering around the opened doors.

The captain of the aircraft, Mpho Mamashela, had a meeting with his crew. They were welcome to leave the plane and get their rest. But some of them had to stay, given there were 120 passengers on board. None of them left. Neither did Mamashela.

“My job is to deliver you to where you are going. The mission is not yet over,” he told journalists. We may have received a frosty welcome from Polish authorities on the ground, but inside this plane, South African hospitality was at its warmest.

So warm in fact, that the generous crew had already given us most of snacks on board earlier in the day, for our onward journey to Russia.

“Put it in your bag for later. You never know when you might need it,” said one. There was to be no supper that night. Containers of cargo, however, were being removed from the aircraft. But weren’t being taken any further. More confusion.

A female presidential protection officer who was part of the advance team sent to prepare Ramaphosa’s passage was strip searched before she was allowed to board the aircraft and negotiate for the release of the journalists – the four women, first. But her attempts proved futile. We were collateral damage.

As night fell, we were pretty much resigned to the fact that we would be sleeping onboard for another night - disappointed and disheartened, some a little angry. Journalists at home were now covering the story we had been sent to report on.

Shortly before midnight, an air steward roused me from my sleep. “Go to the front of the plane. You are being called.” Now, what was going on? The head of the presidential protection unit Major General Wally Rhoode was breaking his silence. We were getting our first story.

Twelve cargo containers were on trolleys on the tarmac before us. Rhoode informed us that Polish authorities wanted to confiscate the weapons. He accused them of racism, sabotaging the mission, and putting the president’s safety in jeopardy.

Rhoode insisted the paperwork was in order to bring the guns into the country – again, we weren’t presented with proof of that, as he waved copies of documents at us. As this impromptu press conference drew to a close at midnight, a delivery of Burger King arrived for ravenous passengers – courtesy of the South African High Commission.

Only the next day did Polish authorities issue a statement saying they had met with South African foreign affairs three times to discuss preparations for this transit. They questioned the weapons permits and some of the people on board.

As Friday dawned on an aircraft all out of food, and with very little liquid on board, we kept our weary eyes glued to the tarmac, waiting for three of the pilots to return to the aircraft and to fly us to any destination they could take us to.

By 11am, clearance had been obtained to fly us to Rzeszow. A charter flight would take us from there to St Petersburg. Or so we were led to believe. We were buckled up and ready for take-off, as reports came through of air raids in Kyiv. Again, none of us were there to witness what would later become another international headline – the presidency spokesperson Vincent Magwenya disputing the severity of these strikes.

By 1pm – 24 hours since we had landed in Poland, and some 38 hours since we first boarded this aircraft – the stand-off ended. Sort of. We would be disembarking in Warsaw. But, without our luggage in the hold. This included broadcast equipment. Again, journalists were being caught up in the trade-offs made in the midst of diplomatic storm. But it was a small price to pay for our freedom – and for media freedom.

How would we get to Russia? It was still a work in progress, said the presidency. It would be another two hours before busses finally arrived to take us to the airport terminal to pass through border control.

By the time we reached the breakfast table at our Warsaw hotel on Saturday morning, in our new attire from a nearby mall, it was official. We were not going to Russia. Hungary, although south of Poland, and not in the direct flight path to St Petersburg, had apparently denied us air clearance. This one continues to be baffling. Again, still unexplained, and unverified. And so it was that we had spent two days on a plane to nowhere. Mission, unaccomplished.

As the containers of disputed items were offloaded at Waterkloof Airforce Base on Sunday night, it was apparent we had been doomed from the start. The world’s commentators had now all weighed in on the diplomatic impasse in Warsaw.

Did Poland have an axe to grind with South Africa? Was this their show of support for Ukraine, their dislike of South African’s non-aligned stance, or just them following the laws of their land to the letter?

Had our government ignored instructions, underestimated the rules, and been too casual about what is required for such a mission? Are the SAPS generally just inept and poor planners?

Granted, this was no ordinary mission to arrange. But as protection officers told me, this was not the first time they had been delayed over weapons permits – even in African states.

Moreover, was the size of this protection unit, and their accompanying weaponry, really necessary and justifiable? Ramaphosa had after all travelled to, and emerged safe from a war zone, with an undisclosed number of advanced security detail – but certainly much smaller in number than the sizeable contingent who were on board our ill-fated flight to nowhere.

We had just witnessed, and been a part of, an enormous waste of taxpayers’ money. An African peace mission, without an African journalist present to witness and report the African perspective.