Sneha KC

The muggy New York heat left prints of sweat on my duffle bag. Reaching the terminal of the vast John F. Kennedy Airport was a melancholic sight- the usual crowd and hubbub of one of the busiest airports of America was absent. The whole place was virtually empty, desolate and ghost-like with only a few airline staff and support personnel managing a few flights that were operating. Outside on the tarmac, dozens of planes were lying idle- as if their wings were clipped off by the virus.
The only big crowd that morning of June 23 was of a couple of hundred Nepalese in hordes to the counter along with their families and friends seeing them off. A sigh of relief that, finally, they will be able to return to Nepal in this time of confusion and uncertainty and unspoken thank you to the Nepalese government for arranging this flight gleamed in their eyes behind the masks.

Charter Flight
When the Nepalese embassy in Washington, DC posted a notice on its website that a charter flight would be arranged from four different cities for Nepalese wishing to return to Nepal from America and some countries in Latin America there were a lot to do in one week, from booking tickets and testing for COVID-19.
Skepticism was there till the last moment, when the flight from Chicago was cancelled as there were not enough people to fill the plane.
After making all the arrangements, my mom and I were driven to New York from Boston in the wee hours to catch the morning Turkish Airline flight rather than risk any unwanted contact of traveling the previous day and staying in a hotel. The highway that used to be teeming with morning traffic was largely deserted barring some, mostly trucks and construction vehicles.
I, saying goodbye to my dad and brother, walked into the terminal, my mother in tow. A white-bearded man gave us a sour grin and pointed to a sign that read “BUSINESS CLASS FOR TURKISH AIRLINES.” The check-in process seemed routine—the monotone airport staff, mother’s pacing, my aching feet - except the young woman in front shielded herself with a glass barrier. I could hear the ruffling of latex gloves as my mother adjusted the suitcases on the silver trolley. 
As we approached the Turkish Airlines gate, we were subject to a sight that would be alarming a few months back. Dozens and dozens of people - all Nepalese - crammed together in fabric seats, a variety of masks covering their faces. There were Spiderman masks, white beaked masks, surgical scrub masks, cloth masks, plain colored masks, leopard print masks, and face shields made of plastic. Elderly folks were lined up in rows, a family member or airport staffer at the helm. 
There was a problem. Despite having paid for business class seats from New York to Kathmandu, our seats would change when we landed in Istanbul, our layover. My mother would still be in business class but I was relegated to economy. The young woman assured us that we could get the mishap fixed in Istanbul so we went about our way.
We landed in Istanbul after approximately ten hours of packaged food, airplane films, and flight attendants wearing full-body yellow protective gear. A new crew arrived, ready to take us to Kathmandu. They told the business class passengers (including us) in the first three rows to move to new seats in the economy section in order to make room for the airline crew.

Business to Economy Class
The business class passengers argued, citing health concerns due to the lack of sanitization, no seats being available to move to, and our payments specifically for each business class seat that was $1,000 more than economy class price. Ultimately, my mother and I managed to retain our seats after telling them that we want to sit together and no seats being available.
The other four passengers, however, were relegated to new seats. Bitter they looked, but the urgency to reach the safety of home was worth more than the comfort of the business class seats. The airplane took off and as I looked to my side, for the entirety of the trip, only two flight attendants sat in the empty seats despite there being four empty seats.
After our arrival at Tribhuvan International Airport in Kathmandu, we were informed that we had to move to a secondary location in order to be properly vetted. My mother and I got into a bus with about a dozen people. Suitcases and bags were crammed at the back and blocked the pathway inside the bus to the door. We sat there for about 2 hours - constantly asking the army personnel nearby about our departure, the lack of social distancing inside the bus, and the lack of a proper plan.
Eventually, some people got off and demanded that we be taken to the vetting site especially since one passenger had health problems unrelated to COVID-19. They relented and we departed, passing by multiple buses full of tightly packed people who had also been waiting. Despite waiting for several hours after a long and tiring flight, I could not but appreciate of groupings of the passengers according to the locations – quarantine sites, hotels or homes - they were going rather than letting everybody loose and on their own to theirs or others risks.

Emergency Flight
All Nepalese people should be thankful to the government for providing an emergency flight in these times of uncertainty. But gratitude does not equal complacency. Asking for more from a country does not mean we believe the state itself to be inadequate or unpleasant. The mere act of demanding improvement shows that we believe it to be capable of positive change.
The Nepalese government can and should do better on future rescue flights they have generously provided Nepalese people stranded abroad. I say this not to demean the government but to see it become a worthy hero in a fight against an invisible enemy that many countries abroad are losing every day.

(Sneha lives and studies in Boston, USA)