Annette Herfkens - Turbulence

 

 

November 14, 1992. We were on top of the world, my fiancé and I. Both investment bankers. We were going on a romantic getaway to the beaches of Nha Trang, Vietnam, South China Sea. We were 13 years together, Pasje and I, college sweethearts. We board a small plane with 31 passengers and 5 crew. Too small for me. I'm very claustrophobic. He had to convince me to get in. It's only 55 minutes, the only way to get there. 

 

I sit down, pounding hard, counting the minutes. And the 50th minute, the plane makes this giant drop. Now, Pasje looks at me, scared. “So, this, I don't like,” he said. I said, “Don't worry, it's just in their pocket.” But then, another drop. People are screaming. He reached for my hand. I reached for his. Everything goes black. 

 

I wake up to chaos and the eerie sounds of the jungle. One moment, roaring motors. Next, this jungle. I can see the [unintelligible 00:35:54] through the front of the fuselage. The cockpit has broken off. I'm stuck under a seat with a dead man in it as it turns out, when I push it off me. Left to me, I see Pasje still strapped in his seat. He has a sweet smile on his face, but he's dead. 

 

I must have gone into shock, because my next memory is a little bit down the mountain, out on the jungle floor on thousand little twigs. I check my legs. They seem broken, big gaping wounds. I see the bone of my shin, blue bone, and the flesh curling around like a biology book. And the insects are having a bowl. I didn't know it then, but I only knew my pain, but I had 16 broken bones. My jaw was loose and a collapsed lung.

 

And behind me was Pasje. Pasje, my rock, my love, my life. Pasje’s, don't think of Pasje. Don't look back. I look around. There are more people on the mountain slope scattered around. Some are gone, some are moaning. But the man next to me is speaking in English even. We have a few conversations about when the rescuers will come. But I see the light going out or the life going out of him, I beg him not to die, but he does. By the end of the day, he's gone. Everyone is gone. Everyone is dead. There's no more sound coming from the plane, no more sound on the mountain. And never have I been so entirely alone and thirsty. So thirsty. 

 

So, I begin to panic. But my collapsed lung forces me to breathe in, out, in, out. And it calms me down. People will be looking, my family, my boss, my colleagues. I just have to wait and trust, and don't look over my shoulder. Don't think of Pasje. That will make you cry, and crying will make you thirsty. You cannot afford to be more thirsty. You cannot afford to lose your wit. Look at what is. Look in front of you. Look at the jungle. Look at the beauty of the jungle. 

 

I'm a city girl. I like shopping, I don't like hiking. [audience laughter] The more I focus on the leaf, the vein of the leaf, the dew catch on top of the leaf and the light in that dew catching the light, it's beautiful. I marvel at my lack of fear. I just tell myself to go to sleep at night. I wake up in the morning, I focus on the beauty. I keep track of time by glancing at the watch now and then of the dead man next to me. But then, I glance and I see what's coming out of his eye, that's moving, it's a maggot. That smell, I just have to move. I have to move. 

 

So, I just move on my elbows and I drag along my broken bones. That's all I can do. I move past the dead man, past a few more dead people. I snatch a bag from a dead girl, and I settle in a more open area where I can see the sky and probably they could see me if they actually were looking. 

 

I opened the bag. I found a blue rain poncho, bright blue. I put it on. Keeps me warm. Why am I so cold? It's supposed to be hot here. I'm so, so cold and so thirsty. But hey, it starts raining. I can hold up the poncho and I can just catch the rain. I see it filling up with water, and I get to sip it up. And those sips of water is better than the best champagne. That's how I kept myself alive. And by focusing on the beauty and it became more radiant. 

 

By day six, I did not find the pain anymore. I was just one with this jungle, one with this process of rebirth and decay. I was like on some loving wavelength. I had love for the whole world, for everyone. I would not mind staying in forever. But then, I see a man. A man, he's dressed in orange. He's framed by the jungle growth. He looks at me, and he gets me out of my state of mind, right back to earth in my body, in the pain. I just think I have to make this decision. I have to get out of here.

 

My family, my family, they don't even know that I'm here. They will never know that I've been here. I start looking for my voice, “Hello, can you help me?” He just stands there and stares at me. I said, “Hello, can you help me? Would you please? [foreign language] Nothing. He doesn't lift a finger. He just stares at me. And now, I'm getting angry. This man is my ticket out of here. He has to get me out of here. [foreign language] [audience laughter] He leaves. Shoot, now, I insulted him. [audience laughter] But I don't mind. I just go back to my beautiful state of mind. I love it. I'm happy. I just stay there forever. 

 

But then, at the end of the eighth day, I see a group of living men approaching, coming up the mountain. They carry bags for the dead bodies and the passengers list. They approach me and they show it to me. I see I have to point out my name, Annette Harriet, which is not my name. Annette Harriet. That's me. They give me a sip of water out of a plastic bottle that will be forever etched on my cornea.

 

And next, they put me on a cloth, bind the ends together on a stick and they carry me between the shoulders, out way into down the mountains, away from the wreckage. But now, I truly panic. I said, “I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave my Pasje. I don't want to leave eternal love. I want to stay here.” I really, truly, completely panicked. But the men realized that, and they tread so lightly as not to hurt me. And then, I realized I better be grateful to them. I find my sense of humor, I said, “Well, whatever I thought to be carried like a piglet out of jungle door through jungle, up and down.” I was grateful, and I am grateful. That was the end of the ordeal that changed the narrative of my life. 

 

I mourned. I mourned. I mourned some more. I healed. I resumed my career. Got married. Got two beautiful children. When life got rough, as it did, I just went back to that beautiful place. The jungle kept on giving me strength. But there was this lingering mystery about the orange man. Did he exist? Was he a monk, or was he a ghost? A hallucination. 

 

So, in 2006. I decided to go back to Vietnam, back to the mountain, up the mountain, together with six of my original rescuers and two Vietnamese officials. Very, very steep climb up the mountain in the heat. There was this one man extending a helpful hand whenever I needed one, he just seemed to be there. And after six grueling hours, we just get to the top of that mountain or wherever the plane was. Way up high. It was not magical at all, of course. There was a lot of debris laying around, pieces of carpet, Vietnam Airline colors, a window, a plastic window, an exit sign.

 

So, I just think, okay, let me go to my spot. Maybe I get the feeling back. I sit down and say hi to the ants and the twigs. And then, look at the crew, they were preparing lunch. And then, I see it. There's something about the way he's standing, something about the angle, perhaps. But hey, that man is the orange man, the man who helped me turn out to be the orange man. I hurry to the group. I asked a translator, please, please help me. I said, “Hey, it was you. You were there. You found us. You didn't say anything, but you did help me, obviously.” 

 

The man very humbly giggled. He covered his mouth, he giggled, and he said, “Well, I'd never seen a white person before, and I've never seen blue eyes and I thought you were a ghost.” So, just picture this. This man comes to this site, he sees all these dead people, a wreckage, and then this little figure, white, blue eyes, pointy blue hat is the archetype of a ghost. So, can't blame him. Of course, I said, “And I thought you were a ghost.” [audience laughter] 

 

But then, he goes on to tell me, try to translated that he actually thought finally that he was going to try to shoot me away. He already had me in this loop. And then, I had taken my hood off, and then he realized I was somewhat human, and he ran off and got fetched his friends, the rescue team. So, “Hey, had I not taken my hood off, I would have actually died and become a ghost?” Right. But I did get to thank him, and be with him and thank the other rescuers.

 

I'm very, very grateful for my experience on the mountain and for the enrichment of going back. I got to connect, connect to my higher self to nature or to God, if you will. The second time, I got to connect to my saviors and different families of the co-passengers. And in 2014, I got to go back and bring my daughter, and meet the orange man with whom she would not have been here. So, as it always is, the beauty is in the connection right here, right now.