Surinam Airways
December -1988, 10:20 PM. Suriname Airways Flt 3021, Seat 1A. Sitting in my seat, staring out the window of the Boeing 737, while it taxied towards the runway at Queen Beatrix International Airport, Oranjestad, Aruba. Only five days earlier, I found out I was being transferred to another tropical locale, the Republic of Suriname. I played back the series of events that brought me to this point. It was a normal Monday. My assistant, Ms. De Kelek was preparing her daily ritual of locking the branch's doors, when to my surprise, My boss, Mr. D had appeared, unannounced. That night, Mr. D took me to dinner, where he ordered a lovely bottle of rum, and proposed a toast to me. It was at that moment, I was informed of my promotion. The bank's branch had just scored very high on our annual compliance check, and now was time for me to help turn around another branch, in Suriname's mysterious capital of Paramarimbo. Other than being a former Dutch colony, I knew very little about this mysterious nation. Situated on the northeastern atlantic coast of South America, Surinname sits between French Guiana to the east and Guyana to the west, just north of Brazil. Its the smallest country in South America. While I was sad to leave Aruba, I was excited about the possibiites that lay ahead. As the plane was about to make its turn onto the runway, an attractive flight attendant, early to mid thirties quickly sat down in the seat opposite facing me, and buckled her saftey belt for takeoff. I smiled at her. She looked up and responded with, what can only be described as, a magificent smile that showed off her beautiful bronze cheek bones. "Are you from Suriname?" I inquired. She smiled again, and nodded her head. The engines of the plane were now roaring to life. Searching for something to say, I leaned forward, "Any advice for a first timer?" She stared back, studied my face, and paused for moment. Pursing her lips, she leaned forward. Outside, the airplane was gaining speed, hurling down the runway. She glanced to both sides before looking me right in the eyes, "In Suriname, we have an expression, "if a person shaves you with a razor, do not shave him with broken glass". She paused again and looked out the window, "follow this and you will be fine. The aircraft made a steep ascent into the night sky, turning southward. A chime from the overhead speaker broke my concentration. Then, with a twist of her hand, she quickly unbuckled herself, stood back up, straightened her skirt out and moved towards the galley. Pondering her words, I turned my head, looked out the window, and quietly mouthed the word aloud, "Suriname. . . Yes indeed, Suriname".
A.M. Arnhold
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