I first stayed there in 2009 when I was flying General Burns to survey the surface radar sites donated by the Americans for the anti-piracy watch on the Sabahan east coast.
This time around, and as an employee, the resident pilot at the Sandakan branch of the company had some personal admin to take care of and I was sent to the branch to take over his assigned tasks.
I had 4 VIP ministerial flights, one forestry department aerial survey and one return to base ferry flight for the aircraft.
My previous record of stay at the Swiss Inn was still retrievable, making my arrangements much easier. There was food everywhere along the waterfront up to the naval station at KD Sri Sandakan. But I chose to stick to the kitchen ware, as it looked cleaner than the streetside vendors' churnings as they worked at shaving a living off tourists from the adjacent B & B spots.
It was also the BERSIH week.
Which made the ministerial flights awkward. And difficult to be witness to.
I would hear how the populace of our intended village stopover were all staunch supporters of the party. I would be used in their speeches as a punchline on how they were telling "their pilot" of the villagers' unwavering votes in their favour. I could hardly feign applause. So I would use my gloves as hands, slapping them against my knee. I could do no more even though they placed me at the VIP circle of benches. I smiled less from concurrence than in amusement, hoping it wouldn't betray my "bah!!humbug!!" thoughts. It is awkward to fly them back when they occupy the front seat and I can't muster a slap on the back remark. These are the most ravaged people in the country, and the development programmes in their wetlands will pollute the rivers, water ways and coastlines from whence they scrape a survival rather than a livelihood. The best I could do was the hold a straight face and spew generic remarks about the en route weather and turbulence at our cruise height.
I liked the MP whom I was flying around in his constituency. He kept me as a guest in his circle of aides and always checked how I felt after each meal. Which was just as well since I was looking at stuff I had never seen before. River prawns stewed in tapioca, fern shoots in mango, various types of hermit crab, horseshoe crab and lots more whose names I remember not. He was the first MP I have flown who always referred to me on the expected duration of the weather. But seeing how he had to execute damage control for the very chap who screwed this region, I knew I didn't want his job.
I flew the aircraft back to KK on Friday morning, pushing off early before the strength of the sun could raise the carpet clouds above the mountain peaks. As the Bell is not an instrumented aircaft, I dove under the covers at Klagan Sandakan and flew at treetop till the weather became definitely better approaching Sungai Sungai. Climbing to clear the terrain, I was on the NorthEastern side of Mount Kinabalu, and I sighed as I looked at her distinctive silhouette against a hazed background sky.
I would not ordinarily fly the dead man's curve unless it was to save someone's life, as I did with the then Major Fajim Juffa when he ejected and went missing in November 2004. But here I was, doing this because I am being paid by a client to do what runs against my aviator's better sense. I slept restlessly that night.
I woke up with a lump in my throat and stared at my cellphone. I spoke to a few friends, and soon I was feeling much better. I lazed my weekend away, just bent on unwinding from weeks of a creeping, unsettled feeling of disquiet over the way I made a living.
I am in transition again. This time the vibes I get are much better than those I had when I was edging out of the air force. Yes, I get to meet up with an old archenemy in my new workplace, but that old sod has been described by my future workmates as of insignificant stature now.
Come October, a new life commences. Okay, Capt Jeffrey. Shed those ranks. You're going to be a copilot soon.