Why Are You Here?

That's what I found myself asking one of my passengers today.  My first flight today was 190 miles Northwest of Bunia, to a town called Niangara.  This was a charter flight, which means someone pays for the whole airplane to come and pick them up, not just for a seat like you usually pay on the airlines.  I've never been to Niangara before, so I'm kind of excited to see a new place.  The airstrip looks wonderful, but after I land, I have a small problem.  The passenger who chartered the flight is ready to go, but there is also an emergency evacuation of 2 people who want to go to Isiro.  So I ask the chartered passenger how many passengers he had and how much stuff.  He replied that it was just him and his 10 pound duffel bag.  So I said great, I can take everyone.  Except that he didn't want to hear anything of it.  He told me that it was his charter and he got to say who went and who didn't, since he was paying for the flight.  So I pulled him aside and tried the nice approach, explaining to him that there was ample room on MY airplane to help these people out.  He still didn't budge, so I talked with him for a little bit.  After 10 minutes, I finally changed over to the not so nice approach.  I told him again, firmer,  that it was MY airplane and I am the pilot, so I get to decide who goes, who stays, who pays, and how much they get to bring with them.  I AM NOT leaving these people here to die so you can have some extra leg room and a seat all to your duffel bag's self.  I was a little surprised by his attitude, since he's been working in Congo for years, supposedly helping people and working with a very reputable humanitarian organization.  So I finally asked him, why are you even here?  Aren't you here to help people?  Just because they're not on an operating table doesn't mean you can't help them out.  Seeing things from that perspective sobered him up a little bit and he changed his attitude.  It even reminded me how easy it is for me to lose perspective and forget why I'm here.  But I find that the Lord always has ways of reminding us why we're "here" and what we're supposed to do with the time given to us.

From the February Logbook

Well, yesterday was so much fun I just have to tell you about that before I tell you about today!  Yesterday was flying exclusively for MSF (Doctors Without Borders).  I always like flying for them because usually things are straightforward and I feel like I'm making a tangible difference in the unbelievable physical suffering that goes on here.  So I take off from Bunia and head for a town called Dungu...just me and some toilet paper for the folks in the bush (and a few other things).  No passengers means I don't have to be sensitive to their needs, and instead of climbing out at 500 feet per minute, I raise the nose and climb at more than 1,000 feet per minute, so I can take better advantage of the strong morning tailwinds.  I reach my cruising altitude and quickly accelerate to 145 knots, shaving 15 minutes off my normal time.  I also take the opportunity to do things I don't normally do when I have a plane full of passengers.  I pull out emergency checklists and run through many different scenarios from memory as if there was a real emergency...with hands flying everywhere, pushing buttons, touching knobs, running through mock communications.  I try not to do that sort of thing when other people are on board, because if the passengers start seeing the pilot's hands zooming around the cockpit with a sense of urgency, they tend to get a little worried.  I also take some time to update our airstrip directory and do some other paperwork along the way.  I land in Dungu and wouldn't you know it, the patient I brought out last week who was attacked by the LRA is standing there, waiting for a ride home.  I'm glad he's doing better, and I'm happy to bring him back to his family. 

In a way, I like flying to Nglima because it's a challenge, but on the other hand, I don't like flying to Nglima because it's a challenge.  Flying incorporates so many different variables that change all the time, so the same airstrip presents a new challenge every time you fly in or out.  This time, I elect to land over the tall trees at the end and come to a stop towards the town.  I have been flying a few hundred hours now, and I'm beginning to pick up where I left off; the flying is coming more naturally.  I instantly make corrections where needed without having to think about it or see it on the instruments.  I can feel the airplane being pushed from a tailwind on final approach.  I notice that right at the treeline, the wind changes directions, and I make a mental note of it.  So, in reality, I am landing into the wind until I descend below the trees, then it turns into a tailwind.  As we touch down, I raise the flaps and squeeze the brakes, and taxi to the end.  As I unload my passengers, I can tell the passengers I am picking up are a little confused about how things are going to work.  There are 8 people and 250 pounds of baggage that need to get back to Dungu about 10 minutes away, so I tell them I will make two trips.  I can only take 700 pounds each time, it doesn't matter to me who or what goes each time, as long as the loading is correct.  I also remind them (in no uncertain terms) to be exact on their weights; the trees at the end are very tall.  So I finish unloading and preparing the plane as they figure out a plan.  I end up taking four light passengers and 200 pounds of freight, and then remember what I had found out about the wind on landing.  Even though right now the wind favors taking off towards the trees, once I get to tree level, the wind will change and I will actually have a tailwind.  So I elect to taxi down to the end with the huge trees and take off towards the town.  This decision serves me well; as soon as I liftoff and begin my climbout, I can feel the wind shift with a few bumps and we abruptly stop climbing...I can't help but think that I would never have cleared those trees had I taken off the other direction.  After I drop off my passengers, I head back to Nglima for the other four passenger and 100 pounds of cargo.  Only this time, there's a problem.  As I circle overhead, I see 2 hummers and a huge UN helicopter parked right in the middle of the airstrip.  I call on the radio and ask how long they're going to be using up the whole runway, and they say for at least 1 hour.  So I quickly do a few calculations and kindly ask them to remove their hummers from the runway so I can land.  They sound a little hesitant, but I assure them that even though there's only 600 meters of usable runway, I can land and safely stop well before their helicopter.  As I touchdown and squeeze the brakes hard, I notice that 10 or 15 UN troops are standing 200 meters in front of their helicopter, cameras blazing, video cameras recording this exciting event.  As I get closer, the middle two guys bail, and the rest are having second thoughts as I am quickly approaching.  Then, everyone scatters, most running back up the runway towards they helicopter.  But, as I promised, I am stopped with a healthy margin of safety and shutdown.  I'm greeted with handshakes and broken English, as the entire UN regiment wants to shake the American's hand.  Pakistan, Bangladesh, Nepal, people from all over.  I find the helicopter pilots and ask them if it's possible to move the giant thing, so I can takeoff, but they shake their heads in disbelief and say it's not possible.  I assure them that it is, and tell them I don't want to spend the night here, so they call in help from the local population in what turns out to be a rather futile attempt at moving the second largest helicopter in the world.  After much more debating, I manage to get the helicopter moved so that I am only losing 100 meters.  I do more calculations, make some decisions, and round up the passengers.  Now comes the hard decision--I can either take all the passengers, some passengers and some stuff, or all the stuff.  I leave it up to my passengers, and they all agree they want out.  So we load up and I explain to my "co-pilot" not to touch anything...this takeoff is going to be close.  I hop in, start up and taxi as close as I can to the helicopter.  One last thumbs up for the passengers...they don't share my enthusiasm, or confidence, but this is what I trained for.  We takeoff and soon after, I give another thumbs up to the passengers, but no matter.  2 of them have their eyes covered, and the other 2 are praying for their lives.  I shake my head and smile.  Always an interesting day at the office.

Shopping...Bunia Style

Well, it's only Day 2 and I've already forgotten to take my daily photo...I'm not doing so hot, I know.  Instead I'll paint a picture for you with words.  Most of today was spent showing the new family around Bunia--where to buy different kinds of furniture, where the local Home Depot is, that sort of thing.  It really is amazing what you can find here in Bunia, tucked away in the corner stores, as long as you're willing to look for it (all day) and pay an outrageous price for it once you find what you're looking for.  It's like one big garage sale.  The rest of my day was spent fixing our electrical system...yes, again.  Well, at least I think I fixed it.  I don't smell anything, or see smoke anywhere.  Here in Africa, we wire our houses all on one phase of AC, instead of like the US, where your house would be split between all three phases.  The reason is because there's usually one phase that's practically useless, one more that's unreliable, and one that is decently strong (anywhere from 80 volts to 180 volts)...sometimes.  It's supposed to be 220 volts, but that's a different story.  So we pick the strongest phase and wire everything off that phase.  Our house is a little unique, in that, we have one phase that's stronger during the day, and one phase that's stronger during the night.  So we switch between the two every day, otherwise we wouldn't have enough electricity to run two light bulbs and a radio.  Anyway, we had installed a swtich to...well...switch between those two phases and it's now in switch heaven.  I went looking for a switch today around town, but had no luck, so I resorted to using two circuit breakers, one for each phase...just don't turn them both on at the same time!  So, my photo for today would be me cringing and ducking right before I turn the circuit breaker on for the first time after re-wiring it, crossing my finger and hoping I don't melt/electrocute/set on fire/or otherwise ruin perfectly good and expensive equipment.

On the upside, I didn't electrocute myself today.  I've learned to just go ahead and turn everything off whenever I'm working on the electricity :)  Tomorrow I'm off again to Kampala, Uganda, for maintenance on the 206.  I should be there only for 2 or 3 days, and on the way back I will be bringing the last 400 kilos (almost 900 pounds) of the new family's shipment to Bunia.  Pray that I can feel better, I have had a stomach bug now for a few weeks, and that's never fun.

Photos Anyone?

I was reading about a cool little idea for people who like photography that I'd like to try.  Every day for one year, take a photo that describes the day or highlights the day.  So, I'd like to give it a go, even though I know I'm going to miss many days because I am too busy, or it just slips my mind.  So now you should hopefully get a glimpse of every day life here...every day!  Here's my photo for today...that's right, these have been my best friends for today.  One of the less glamorous sides of living in a (let's use the politically correct term) "developing" country is picking up nasty little bugs like giardia.  Click on the link to learn more about it if you want; I don't have the heart to tell you about it myself. 

A Little of Everything

That's what today was like.  We've all been so busy here that last night, we realized there was a new family arriving from the States this afternoon, which meant we needed to re-wire their house, set up appliances, clean...the whole nine yards.  So the program manager and I went over this morning to try and tackle the electricity while others cleaned.  We were just getting into it after an hour when we got a call from MSF (Doctors Without Borders) for a medivac flight up North.  They needed a patient, nurse, and friend transported to their hospital base 25 miles South.  I think Ngilima is the only airstrip we fly to that is limited to the 206 (the small airplane), and even then we can't take a full load.  That meant it fell to me to do the flight (which I was more than happy to take).  Ngilima is 1 1/2 hours North of Bunia so I had a long time to think and wonder about what was waiting for me when I landed.  Was it some kind of accident?  A fight?  Did someone fall out of a tree?

Well, it was clear upon landing what had happened.  I was in high gear the whole time; Ngilima isn't a terribly technical airstrip, but there are very tall trees at the end, making for an approach that's not quite in line with the runway.  There also seems to be a lot of animals running around as well.  So I'm attentive and alert as I circle around for landing.  I come in from the right at an angle to dodge a REALLY big tree right on centerline, giving up several hundred meters of airstrip in the process.  But I land where I want to and squeeze the brakes as the airplane takes a beating from the hard, packed, and uneven dirt.  I taxi to the end, swing around and shut down.

As I hop out, I hear horrible screams of pain as folks from the village carry a man out to the plane on a stretcher.  I can't help but notice someone has forgotten about the IV bag, and it's just dragging on the ground behind the stretcher.  I run out to the road and quickly grab the bag, hold it up above the man, and walk the rest of the way to the airplane alongside the strecher.  We set him on the ground as I take some seats out to fit the man inside.  Now it seems the entire village is 2 inches from my airplane.  It's hard to do anything, but I keep working.  Once everything is set, I hop in from the pilot's side to receive the patient as they load him in.  I can hardly look.  He has deep deep lacerations to his head, shoulders, arms and legs.  Flesh is open and hanging.  They are somewhat bandaged, but it leaves nothing to the imagination.  There is also a deep gash from one side of his throat, to the other.  This must be from recent LRA attacks in the area.  Although he looks terrible, he seems to be doing better now that the IV bag is in the air.

Then he suddenly bursts out laughing and singing and waving his hands around.  It takes me a minute to figure out what's going on, but it dawns on me that they had cranked up the IV drip to it's maximum because they thought it wasn't working (as it was hanging on the ground).  But, when I hung it, he actually started to receive the medication...a lot of it.  So I quickly grab the line and turn it down to adjust the flow and strap the stretcher down with cargo ties.  I am also looking for something to hang the IV bag on, as it doesn't really work any other way.  I quickly grab a carrabiner from the back and think of the fish scale we use to weigh baggage.  I grab it, secure it to the ceiling and slip the IV bag over the hook...perfect!  I instruct the nurse to watch the patient carefully and hang on to the IV bag as the takeoff is usually very rough from here. 

Everything looks good so I hop in, start up, and go through the checks.  I apply full power, hold the brakes and check the engine instruments at a standstill, before we start rolling, so once we do I can divert my full attention to the task at hand.  Brakes are released and we are pushed back in the seats.  Speed check is good, acceleration is normal and we shoot by the takeoff abort point, but still not airborne.  I elect to continue the takeoff and soon after we are off.  Ngilima is always a tough airstrip meantally come takeoff time because of the colossal trees at the end.  Once the airplane is airborne, every fiber of your being screams at you to pull back on the stick immediately so you can clear the trees.  But that would be suicide.  I need to let the airplane accelerate, so I push the nose over for several seconds and wait for the proper speed.  Then, and only then, I pitch up and hold that speed, clearing the trees by 50 feet.

Once the takeoff is over and all the obstacles are cleared, I turn around and check on the patient...he seems content right where I left him.  The nurse on the other hand looks terrified.  I reassure him with a smile and a nod and yell to him that it will only be 10 minutes until we are on the ground again.  And before I know it, we are on the ground at the hospital station, unloading the patient...and two terrified individuals.  I say a quick prayer for him, bid the staff farewell and I'm off for home.  The flight back is empty as well, so I take this rare opportunity and climb up to 11,500 feet to get above all the smoke, haze, and bumpy air, and save a jerry can of gas.  It's calm, quiet, and cool up here; what a contrast to down there where it's hot and crazy.  I wonder what tomorrow will be like?

Deja Vu

They told us this would happen in orientation at MAF.  They said once we got to the field, I would be so excited to finally be living out my dream as a missionary pilot, while my wife would be at home pulling her hair out trying to figure out how to manage electricity from an inverter and water from a tank.  She would be learning how to cook and maintain a house all over again, while I was doing what I had trained for and dreamed of for the last 10 years of my life.  Then, after 6 months or so, we would flip-flop; Joy would be getting the hang of everything and start to feel more comfortable managing the house, while I would start to get frustrated with flying every day, dealing with people, loading and unloading the airplane all the time, etc.

Well, I think we're starting to arrive at that point.  Joy is beginning to feel comfortable with cooking completely from scratch, doing everything in a different way, while I am starting to have feelings like, "This isn't all it's cracked up to be," and, "Why did I even come here?"  "Why did I trade a 'normal' life for one like this?"  "What am I doing here?"  All the excitement and adventure of coming to Africa have worn off, and I find myself wanting.  All the anticipation and newness are now commonplace, even a little boring. 

Maybe I should back up a little, and explain how this progression of thought came about.  I was flying yesterday (on what was supposed to be a day off) to an airstrip about 30 minutes North of Bunia.  I was flying out to this airstrip in the afternoon to pick up the governor, so the flight out was empty.  It was hot, very bumpy, and uncomfortable.  But this time I started feeling a little nauseous...a feeling I've never felt before when flying.  So I opened the fresh air vents, tried to focus on things outside the airplane, talked to myself...all the things I normally tell my passengers during my preflight briefing.  But nothing seemed to be working, the feeling just got worse and worse, so I pulled out one of the little "blue bags," fully intending to fill it.  I managed to keep my lunch where it belonged until we got back to Bunia, but it got me thinking during my flight.  "Did I come all the way out here just to be the governor's personal chauffeur?"  "How is that spreading the Gospel?"  "This isn't at all what the pictures were like!"

Then I begin to build my case against God (as if I could ever win!).  "God, if I spend one more sleepless night hugging the toilet...if I get electrocuted one more time...do you know how hard I worked on the plumbing just so we could have water at this house?  And now everything leaks!  Is this some kind of cruel joke?!?  God, this guy shows up EVERY DAY at my gate asking for money, and EVERY DAY I argue with him and tell him to go away...If one more government official demands dishonest payment...If there's one more change in the schedule...Do you know how much I sacrificed to come here?! 

That one got my attention; I remember the other thing MAF told us in orientation...You can go overseas for any number of reasons, but if it's not for the people, you're not going to last.  If it's for flying airplanes, you can do that anywhere.  If it's for the adventure or the experience, that will soon wear off.  Sooner or later you will find yourself questioning why God "called" you here, but your answer better be for the people...learn to love the people.  Build relationships, have conversations, be involved in the community.  It's why you choose to daily put up with "missionary discomforts" like no electricity, leaky plumbing, corrupt officials, schedule changes.  For the chance, no, for the privilege of living a life for Christ and showing those around you what that looks like.  All the way home I contemplated the sacrifice of our Savior and how good I really do have it.

I am not here to "save" Congo, but if the Lord can work through me and every weakness I possess to show someone the way, then I will hug the toilet til the good Lord takes me home.  I realize some of these same thoughts and questions have already been mulled over in previous posts, but I need reminding often.  Some things are better learned over and over again.  And as one of my professors always used to say, "It's alright to be a dumb sheep when God is your Shepherd." 

From the December Logbook

First of all, I must apologize for the lack of posting for such a long time.  I do have a good excuse though!  For the last month or so, we have been slowly fixing up a house here for the next family to arrive mid-January.  There have been many things to fix up, including re-wiring the house, installing an inverter, stabilizer, and batteries (that weigh more than I do), as well as re-plumbing the entire water system, cleaning, and remodeling the kitchen.  We had started the process when we had a little extra time from the flight schedule, and continued to work on it little by little, until I found out that we needed to move...almost immediately.  Our landlord had decided to start construction on a second house inside our property, and that poses a huge security risk.  So, not wanting to wait until after Christmas, we decided to move right away.  And that meant a lot of work needed to be done in a week, not two months.  Needless to say, we have been very busy preparing for Christmas, packing and unpacking, wiring, plumbing, and cleaning, all while still flying.  I am now the only 206 pilot here as well, since the other pilot has gone back to the US for the birth of his first child.  Now on to the logbook....

I grab all the usual flight gear, but this time I make sure not to forget my overnight bag.  That's right, the flight schedule today takes me several hours to the South and West of Bunia, too far for me to make it home before sunset, so I'll be staying with some missionaries out in the jungle.  I get to the airport a little earlier than normal in hopes of getting a quick start.  But that's a rare thing here.  I do the normal routine of making sure both myself and the airplane are fit for flying, then I turn my attention to the loading of cargo and passengers.  Today is a little different too...because of the avgas situation I need to carry all my own fuel for the whole trip.  All four of the airplane's fuel tanks are full, plus I have 7 jerry cans of fuel to take along with me.  I have to remind the staff that fuel and passengers both can't go in the cabin at the same time, and I don't really think the passengers want to ride along in the cargo pod (no window seats down there). 

I'm taxiing for takeoff only 30 minutes later than I wanted to, not too bad, I still have an hour of flexibility in the schedule.  I takeoff for a city called Bukavu 250 miles to the South, along what has to be some of the most striking and beautiful terrain in all of Africa, with one passenger and almost 10 hours of fuel.  December brought the dry season here, and with that comes haze, smoke, and visibility that can be down to a mile or two.  We pilots trade dodging thunderstorms and unlimited visibility for smoky skies and stable weather.  Even though this leg will take almost two hours, there's no time for inattention.  With the low visibility it's very hard to see clouds, and there are many mountains and volcanoes along this route.  If I just carelessly fly along and follow the pink line on the GPS, I could fly up the wrong valley and find myself unable to outclimb rising terrain and unable to turn around as the mountains close in around me.  With that in mind, I pull the chart out and study my route carefully, making note of prominent landmarks and coordinates.  I also decide to make a plan B just in case plan A goes bad.  This trip also takes me over the Equator and into the Southern hemisphere, where believe it or not, it's the rainy season right now!  As I get closer and closer to my destination, the weather begins to deteriorate more and more, and I am forced lower and lower to the ground.  I snake my way through the valleys and around the volcanoes, peering into the haze for the landmarks I found on the chart.  I dare not make assumptions either.  One thing I learned in school was always to verify landmarks from the chart to the ground, not the ground to the chart.  Why?  Because everything on the chart will be on the ground, but not everything on the ground will be on the chart...just another opportunity for me to mistake my position and fly up already mentioned wrong valley.  The visibility is so low in places as I fly over Lake Kivu, that I check and verify my instruments often, as there is no horizon for me to do so outside.  I land in Bukavu right on time, making up 15 minutes because of a great tailwind.  I unload my passenger as well as most of the fuel I brought.  I leave just enough for 3 hours of flying time which will get me to my next destination and back with an hour and a half to spare.  All the paperwork and taxes are in order, so this portion goes quickly as I help load a 55 gallon drum of fuel and other cargo for my jungle destination of Kama.  Bukavu sits in a big bowl at almost 6,000 feet, and with a fully loaded non-turbocharged airplane and low visibility, I am very conservative on this takeoff.  I don't have far to climb though until I reach the bases of the clouds, heading West into the jungle.  The weather is not good...at all.  I am tense and alert, ready in a second to turn the airplane around if a mountain peeks through the haze.  I am crossing ridges at a few hundred feet, just like they taught us in training, only this time it's for real.  There are real clouds, real mountains, and real danger.  After 30 minutes of this, I'm starting to feel drained and tired, but the mountains are now dropping away and giving me a little breathing room as I reach the edge of the jungle.  I sit back for the first time since I took off, but now I have a new problem...there is a solid layer of clouds 200 feet above the jungle canopy for as far as I can see.  I decide early that if it doesn't look good in Kama and  I can't see the airstrip when I fly over, I will just have to fly back to Bukavu.  Better to save the stuff for delivery another day than never deliver it at all.  As I reach my destination, the clouds are no better, but I do spot the airstrip, and it looks wet.  I quickly give up on a normal approach and circle a few times as I gather together my plan.  I have been here before, and I notice that the airstrip lies just to the left of a river.  I also notice that there are several "holes" in the clouds along the river, both on the departure and approach ends.  The river is relatively straight until it reaches the airstrip where it bends sharply to the right, parallels the airstrip, and then continues on past the airstrip.  I decide that I can drop below the clouds and fly up the river safely, take a look at the airstrip and continue past the airstrip over the river and pop back up and over the clouds on the other side if things don't look good for landing.  I make a mental note that this landing needs to be spot on, and drop below the clouds, following the river as planned.  2 miles, 1 mile, 1/2 mile, finally I see the end of the airstrip and adjust the power so I can land where I want to.  55 knots, descending at 500 feet per minute, things look good and I continue.  Just before my touchdown point, I pull the power back, raise the nose and land almost exactly where I had planned.  Splash!!  Water goes everywhere.  I am slowing down in a hurry so I check the brakes very briefly to make sure they're working, and add a considerable amount of power to help me control the airplane until I get to taxiing speed.  People come walking out of the jungle as I approach the parking area and shutdown.  I get out and everyone wants to shake my hand and greet me.  My boots sink in an inch of mud, but the airplane, with its oversized tires holds its ground.  I unload the airplane with the entire village's help.  Many of the younger people come to me and say, "Goood Morning Captain," even though it's early afternoon...hey, it's the only English they know.  I greet them in Swahili and they smile.  Soon, the airplane is loaded again with cargo bound for Bukavu.  I am soaked and already dreading the return trip.  I takeoff the way I landed (the way I know is good), splashing huge amounts of water until I liftoff and head East.  The weather doesn't look any better, and before I know it, I'm back to crossing mountain ridges a few hundred feet above the trees.  I pass over small villages, with farmers outside tending to their crops.  One even has the audacity to pick up a stone and throw it at the airplane as I pass by.  No matter, I have other things to worry about right now.  I make my way back to Bukavu again to pick up two passengers, freight, and more fuel for another flight out into the jungle.  We load quickly as I have no time to spare...the sun doesn't wait for me like it did for Joshua over Gibeon.  My destination now is a village called Kipaka, about 100 miles past Kama.  Honestly, I don't have much hope for the flight, but as we takeoff, I notice that the weather had drastically improved in only 30 minutes; I am real happy about that.  So I settle in for the 1.5 hour flight and give my passenger a headset.  I am taking her "home" from the US where she goes to college.  At the last minute she got enough money for the trip home to Congo to be with her family for Christmas.  It's always nice to have someone who speaks English on a long flight over the jungle!  We talk almost the whole way, and even though the Lord wouldn't be holding the sun for me, he did make a nice big hole in the clouds right over our destination!  We circle overhead a few times as I study the airstrip.  I have never been here before, so I am a little more cautious than normal.  As I make my approach I notice the first 300 meters of the airstrip are unusable because the grass is taller than the airplane, so I adjust my touchdown point on final approach, and switch to a "short-field" landing technique.  I land firmly, put the flaps up, and squeeze the brakes hard.  Everyone leans forward in their seatbelts and I hear this old airplane creak, but it doesn't complain.  We stop a couple hundred meters from the end and taxi to the parking area.  I am glad this day is over!  Now on to the stack of paperwork and a good night's sleep!