The plane flying to Zanzibar had a capacity for six passengers. I walked on the tarmac with the others taking the same flight.

No seats were assigned. Our tickets indicated only the date, time of departure, and the destination. In the customary first-come, first-served world I am famiiar with, I assumed, being at the front of the line assured me a first choice of seating. Not that it mattered too much, given the size of the plane, we all had the luxury of both a window and an aisle seat.

But then the pilot arrived, a large man with ample belly. Without much of an introduction he asked us each what we weighed. Surprised by the question I nonetheless dutifully answered, as did the other awaiting passengers. After hearing our responses he pointed and added, “You, there.” “You, here.” “You, back there.”  ” You, in the front.” until we were all seated. I was placed in the back row, not the seat I would have chosen, but my preference was clearly of little priority.

We were soon skimming over the Indian Ocean. Our altitude was never high. The flight was short, but memorable, amid the African sky.