Once everything you neglected to hold dear is taken away from you, one rarely makes that mistake twice.
41 Days! That’s how long it took for all communication in the country to expire. It was the last day I was acutely aware of my family's safety.
I was in the country of Chernarus, visiting families I knew from my proselytizing days as a Missionary. They were families that I grew close to in my early adult life, spending much time in their home teaching them of Faith and Christianity. I grew fond of the people and the culture. I spent two years of my young life in what I would call the bliss of Chernarus days. But that was 30 years ago.
The years that I was away, the country had torn itself apart. It started by gaining independence from Russian rule, a great day in its history, but it was not a day without backlash. Nearly ten years ago a radical group of Soviet sympathizers had forged a campaign to bring Chernarus back to the ideologies that it had fought so hard to be rid of. The country broke into civil war. The great country and people were buckling to the forces them.
The war ended. The sympathizers were swept off, and the Country was rebuilding. That is where I found myself. I had traveled from the United States to help with a humanitarian group to help the families get by with the harsh winters. With years of war bounding the crops and harvest to nothingness, the poor people of where in crisis. Especially the State of South Zagora, which stood upon the core of the battle zones. It was a blessing to reunite with these strong families, old friends. I kept in touch with most of them for the past 35 years, but to see them, the children, the grandchildren, still strong. I was so happy to see their bright spirts beaming in the midst of the shortcomings. I made many trips to Chernarus after that.
Last year one of the children that I taught many years ago was getting married. They begged me to be there. So, I made a trip to see them. The cost of travel was especially steep that time of year. There were no holidays nearing, but things two tend to get like this during the sick seasons. All through my connected flights, more and more people wore masks over their mouth and nose. I played no mind to it. Fear of germs is a very common thing in these parts of the world. I landed in Novigrad, but we were not let off the plain immediately.
We sat there not almost twenty minutes before the door to the plane opened, and in walked two Military Policemen followed by a few territory officers. We were unshed off the plain very slowly, being inspected by each uniformed man and woman. By the time it was my turn one looked about my face and hands while another checked my passport and boarding pass. In quick, and without a word, they nodded to each other and me they had others lead me off. By my understanding, no one was taken into custody. Perhaps they had a terrorist scare. I continued to the terminal which led to a large room that scoped the run and taxiways. I discredited my experience when I noticed they not just our plain was being screened. Every single plane that landed was met with a team of Police Officers. I watched for what seemed like an hour. They were all welcomed the way we had just been. This fact alone should have concerned me if it was not for the other fact that scared me. Not one plane was taking off. At the end of the day, over 60 large passenger planes were crammed onto the Novigrad International Airport.