Aid effort transforms quiet airport into very busy hub

Aid effort transforms quiet airport into very busy hub

Jim Gomez, Associated Press/Banda Aceh

From a sleepy airstrip with three scheduled flights a day, Banda
Aceh airport has been transformed into the hectic hub of one of
the world's biggest-ever aid operations, handling about 200
flights every 24 hours.

It's struggling to cope with the sudden transformation.

Air traffic controller Rohadi Sartono has witnessed the
dramatic change from his perch in a makeshift tower atop a
building that houses the airport's rest rooms.

"It has been very, very, very busy," Sartono said, adding that
he and other controllers have been skipping sleep to keep tabs on
the huge volume of flights.

The Aceh airport used to be open from sunrise to sunset, said
Novaro, vice president of a state company that runs the facility.
"Now, it's up from sunrise to sunrise."

It's so busy, he and his colleagues have barely had time to
mourn the 20 airport workers -- two thirds of its pre-disaster
staff -- who were washed away or lost family in the massive Dec.
26 earthquake and tsunami that devastated the region.

The catastrophe also damaged the airport's tower, said Novaro,
who like many Indonesians uses only one name.

As the local staff struggled to manage the astronomical surge
in flights and keep the skies above Aceh's shattered landscape
safe, Singapore's air force delivered a temporary tower with 11
military controllers to help out. That tower handles most
military flights, while Sartono's focuses on civilian planes.

Now, the airport has the feel of a crowded marketplace, as
commercial and military aircraft unload tons of supplies, huge
numbers of foreign volunteers and grieving relatives rescued from
the surrounding country.

Swarms of local men, watched over by police and soldiers,
jostle to offer arriving passengers a taxi or motorcycle ride.

Indonesian aviation officials replaced the airport employees
who didn't show up after the tsunami and added 60 additional
workers to help handle the huge number of flights.

Frightened of numerous aftershocks that followed the mammoth
magnitude-9 quake that spawned the killer waves, controllers
refused to work in the damaged tower, prompting authorities to
build a temporary wooden tower on top of a one-story building
housing the airport's rest rooms.

From there, staff have to juggle flights jostling for limited
space on the tarmac to deliver their precious cargoes of aid and
helpers.

The airport only has parking space for six aircraft at any
time so other planes are told to wait at an airport in Medan,
about a 40-minute flight away, or have to circle over Banda Aceh
until a parking slot opens up.

Some pilots have complained that they are being kept from
landing when they came to help, Sartono said.

Despite the steep increase in air traffic, authorities said
the airport remained safe and played down concerns that a rash of
mishaps was an indication that airport personnel couldn't safely
handle the huge volume of flights.

A cargo plane struck a herd of cattle that strayed onto the
airport's runway on Tuesday last week, causing no injuries but
halting flights -- the lifeline of support to the devastated
region -- for most of a day.

Last week, two helicopters on a relief mission nearly
collided, airport officials said without elaborating.

On Monday, a U.S. helicopter on an aid flight crashed in a
rice paddy outside the airport, injuring all 10 American Navy
personnel on board. An investigation was underway to determine
the cause of the Seahawk chopper's crash, officials said.

Amid the organized chaos are constant reminders of Aceh's
agony.

Two Muslim women arriving on Sunday were embraced by three
other women. They fell weeping into one another's arms as a male
relative motioned them into a corner and urged them to stop
crying in public.

Outside the airport, crowds mingle in front of a glass wall
plastered with fliers carrying pictures of people missing from
the tsunami onslaught.

At the departure area, survivors queue patiently, waiting for
flights to take them away from the devastation.

Nighsih Relawati was waiting for a plane with her three
children and mother. She was leaving behind her husband so he
could watch over their damaged home.

"We can't live there. There is no power, no water and we can
smell the assaulting stench of death," she said. "Besides, we're
the only ones living there, every one else has left our village."

GetAP 1.00 -- JAN 10, 2005 16:30:26