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It was one of those early flights. We left Kampala for Entebbe at 3:00am. My sister, who had accompanied me to the airport, bid me farewell as I travelled to Cologne, Germany for a three month vacation. I boarded Emirates airlines whose route took me through Kenya and Amsterdam before my final destination, Cologne. Though the flight from Entebbe to Jomo Kenyatta airport was a remarkable one, nothing could have prepared me for the tragedy that would soon happen. At the airport's transit lounge, we were joined by other passengers. On my extreme right sat a beautiful young white couple. They had a little baby boy of about one year running all over the place playing with whoever paid him attention. My eyes could not desist from staring at this amazingly happy couple. Curiously, I gazed at the boy’s father in search of a resemblance and to my utter shock, he looked rather ill with sunken and lifeless eyes. Hoping not to be caught red handed, I quickly looked away and focused on the boy and his antics instead. After waiting for just a little over an hour, it was finally time to board the flight to Amsterdam. “Tighten your seat belts,” a flight attendant commanded. I felt the excitement well up in me as I thought, "oh my, we are now moving". Settled calmly in my seat, strategically positioned to view almost all passengers, I felt a niggling feeling of unease. I was not calmly settled after all. It did not take long before my discomfort proved me right. As the plane got ready to take off, there was a loud bang as though something heavy had fallen down from a great height. In the midst of my panic, I heard a voice screaming urgently, “Is there a doctor on board? " A lady identified herself as one and rushed to the scene. In an attempt to see what was going on, I strained my head and eyes, but I was in for a rude awakening. It was the ill looking man, he had fallen face down on the floor. His baby was crying as his wife looked on helplessly. The plane did not take off. Through all the confusion, I heard another voice screaming for an oxygen tank. All we could hear were the ambulance sirens moving towards the plane. What had been a quiet plane became noisy as paramedics from Jomo Kenyatta airport came on board. The doctor and paramedics tried to resuscitate the man, but in vain. A few minutes later we saw his body being carried out of the plane through the emergency doors. My heart was throbbing, empty and sorry for the little boy and his mother, who then carried their luggage out. An hour later, we set off for Amsterdam. There was a sullen and ominous silence on the plane with everyone lost in interpretation of the tragedy that had just taken place. Sleep was far from me as the thoughts in my mind ensued. As soon as we landed, we checked into a hotel which treated us to a sumptuous four course dinner. Shortly after the dinner, I phoned Andrew Schutz, a tour guide, but all in vain. Since my trip was financed by Exodus travels limited, I instead tried to contact their head office in Germany, but their phones were off. Out of despair, I called my sister to help me out of this ordeal that I was going through. At last, I successfully managed to contact Schutz who advised me to wait for him at the airport in Cologne, where I arrived at 10:45am.