A certain day in 2014, while I was serving the United Nations’ mission for Afghanistan (UNAMA), I had to fly from Kabul to Dubai with an Afghan Airliner. After an enormity of problem solving concerning the scheduling and purchasing of the ticket, the machine finally printed the ticket; I got a window seat, number 39A.
On the scheduled day, after having passed most of the afternoon waiting for the aircraft at the Kabul Airport departure lounge, we’ve learned that the aircraft was still in Dubai solving some details before departure to bring us back to the United Arab Emirates.
Depois de passar a tarde inteira no terminal de Cabul à espera de uma aeronave que, afinal, ainda nem sequer tinha descolado do Dubai para vos vir buscar, lá apareceu um Boeing 737 com o nome da companhia escrito na fuselagem.
When we finally boarded the Boeing 737 I started to look for seat number 39A; but I couldn´t find it. The seat numbering jumped from number 38 to number 40. I call the flight attendant and asked an explanation and a solution. The young Philippine lady immediately assigned me number 40 A and accommodated the passenger seated there in her own seat, saying she would seat in the cockpit. While she was solving the problem she explained that number 39 was a cursed number for the Afghans, but the ticket machines were international and hadn’t been programmed to jump from 38 to 40. In fact, I later noticed that number 39 was a “taboo” number all over Afghanistan. Allegedly it had something to do with ancient times organized crime, prostitution and all sort of despicable activities which used that number as a code. As time went by, that number raised from – “to be avoid” – into a superstitious – “taboo”. Even the numbering of Afghan political committees or the sequential numbering of the doors in Kabul streets, jumped from 38 to 40.
I accommodated my hand luggage on the overhead compartment and sat down at the window, on number 40 A. At that moment something very weird happened; the aircraft’s window frame fell into my lap. I was speechless and couldn’t believe what was going on. I called again the flight attendant, which looked overwhelmed with problem solving prior to departure, and shown her the window frame. She took it and, acting as if it was a routine, adjusted it to the aircraft window, punched it three times and hooked it back into its original place, saying:
– “Don´t worry, the real window is outside of the aircraft, that one is a mere decoration.” – And she went away to some else’s problem.
Of course I knew the real window – the one that prevents depressurization – was on the outsider, but that didn’t eased my concerns regarding the maintenance servicing of that aircraft … especially after having been issued seat number 39 on an Afghan B-737.
OPen samento 