I ended last month's chapter by telling you that I did not become a professional soldier. Because of the army.
In 1963 when I did my basic training, a terrible earthquake destroyed Skopje, the capital city of Macedonia, then a republic of Yugoslavia. During summer 1964, I was serving my rank of quarter master. One day, in June or so, I read the biggest newspaper of Switzerland during the lunch break. On the last page was a full page ad. It was addressed to young people. "Would you like to go for 3 month to Israel to work in a kibbutz?". Or "Would you like to go for 3 month to Skopje to help rebuild the town?".
This sounded very exiting to me and I wanted to go away (before starting professional army training) anyway. So I filled in the registration form at the bottom of the page and sent it in. A few days or weeks later I received a letter from that organisation saying that the response to the add has been overwhelming and that, unfortunately, all the possibilities (volunteer of course) were filled. So, I did not leave Switzerland and stayed in the army.
Again a few weeks later, the sergeant major came to me with a piece of paper and told me to call the number written on it. Something like 031.311.11.11. This looked like an official number. And it scared me. Because my parents where at that time in Spain. Has something happened to them? I had to find out and called the number. A lady answered (and I remember her name still today): "Department of Foreign Affairs (aie, my parents), Toya Maissen speaking". I said hello and gave my name. She asked if I was Peter and calling from the army barracks. When I said yes, she asked: "Peter, would you like to go to Africa for us?". What!?!
The early sixties was the period where most of the African countries became independant. And Switzerland became more interested in countries of the world, not only Africa. They were called "Developing Countries" at that time. Toya explained that the Department of Foreign Affairs had created a new section. Which today is called SDC, Swiss Agency for Development and Cooperation. She explained that, besides experts, they are looking for volunteers who would go for two years to one of these countries. And she told me that my name was given to them by the organisation who had organised those 3 month summer sprees in Israel and Macedonia.
Getting away. For two years. That is what I wanted. And then coming back I would go to professional officers training. I checked this with my commanding officer and he said, no problem, that I had passed the examinations succesfully and that when I will come back I would be only around 23 years old. I told Toya that I was interested and the recruitment process was done, they checked me out with the army who said that I was ok and my training to prepare me for my mission started. It lasted three weeks and when we finished a bus took us to the Government building in Berne. The press was there, the TV was there and the Swiss President was there. He made a speech to us (we were 5 to go) and how proud he was of us, the first "Swiss Volunteers for Development". He shook hands with us and I thought at that time already that I should profit from this moment because probably never a Swiss President would shake hands with me again.
And then came the day. I was going to Rwanda. In Central Africa. My family took me to the airport in Zurich and the goodbye was tearful, in particular from my mother's side. Her beloved son who goes to the wilderness. Perhaps to be eaten by big snakes, crocodiles or even cannibals? (She is still worried about this today. Mamma: There are no cannibals in Africa and if there are, they haven't found me yet).
Our journey started on board of a

Convair Coronado 990, Swissair's flagship, an aircraft I liked very much and had the pleasure to use often, until the late seventies when it was withdrawn from service. Our journey took us first to Geneva for a short stop and then onwards over Italy and the Adriatic Sea down to Greece. I was looking out of the window with big eyes. I was discovering the world, I never had left Switzerland before. It was like drinking sweet milk.
After a few hours we landed in Athens. Our plane continued to the Far East and we had a stop over of 12 hours to take our connecting flight. We went to town, visited Athens

and the 5 of us climed up to the Acropolis. What a sight, what a different world. And I was tasting it. It reminded me of Peter Stuyvesant's cigarettes ad "The Taste of the Wide World". And that taste went up straight into my nostrils. I felt big, I felt without limits and free like a bird. I was impressed and full of emotion. I had left Switzerland only a few hours ago. But perhaps these first impressions went into my sub-conscious part of my brain and, many years later, perhaps contributed to my feeling that I was "lost" for Switzerland?
Before we continued our journey, we went to one of those dozen's of Greek restaurants and ate specialities like Tsalsiki and stuffed grape leave, sipping Greek coffee. We went back to the airport and took a SABENA flight to Entebbe, Uganda. It was a night flight and so we could not witness our "entry" into Africa. When we arrived (I think it was some 8 hours after our departure from Athens) we were told that our plane to take us onwards had not shown up yet. And were given the indication that it might show up or not. But if it shows up, it could be any time. So, we just had to sit around, doing nothing because there was nothing to do. The airport was small at that time. It lays on the shores of Lake Victoria and it would have been nice to walk down to the lake. But as the coming of the plane was uncertain, we did not dare leave the airport.
I don't remember how many hours we waited, but all of a sudden we did hear the noise of an aircraft. Today, Entebbe Airport is very busy with a lot of traffic. When we were there, perhaps two planes came per day. If they came. But now, one was approaching. An old DC 3.

From East African Airways. To be honest, the DC 3 was not that old. I mean this was in the sixties and they started to build this airplane in the thirties or fourties. Anyway, it turned out to be "our" connecting flight plane. And after two hours we took off for Bujumura in Burundi. I had lived my first hours far away from home. In Africa. Beeing limited of waiting hours at Entebbe Airport, not much of impressions. Except Peter Stuyvesant's taste of the wide world.
Late in the evening we reached Bujumbura. And where informed that the DC 3 will continue its journey the next morning as both Bujumbura airport and Kigali airport were not equipped for night flying. We could not go to town, because it was far from the airport and there were no taxis anyway. The airport was small but it had a snack bar. With nothing to eat. But drinks. Only Primus beer. We did buy a bottle or two and drank it. It did not taste bad at all, though it was warm. Primus beer would become important in my life. Not so much for drinking it, but I would become (in the very near future) a provider of this beer. But this story is for another day.
The next morning, very early, our journey continued. It was a two hours flight from Bujumbura to Kigali and for the first time I was able to discover Africa really. I looked out of the window and saw scenery like this:

Hills and ravines and rivers everywhere. No villages, but dwellings and hamlets all over. The loveliness of Rwanda, Central Africa. It was for the first time during our 3 day journey that I realised that I had "gone". Away from home, into this wide world. And at that time I did not know that I would be away for a very long time. We landed safely in Kigali, the capital city of Rwanda and were picked up by the experts of the project we were going to work with. Two years of exitement were laying ahead of me.
And at this time, you still don't know why I did not become a professional soldier. Because of the army.
(Memoirs will continue next month).