The night the volcano asked us to wait — Marziah Zahar

On September 6, the departure board displayed "DELAYED," then "CANCELLED." As passengers slept on luggage and charged phones, an Indonesian volcano quietly altered countless travel plans. Tonight, if you find yourself waiting in an Indonesian airport, here is a tale to consider.

On June 24, 1982, British Airways Flight BA009 took off from Kuala Lumpur for Perth. The Boeing 747-200, named City of Edinburgh, soared at 37,000 feet over Indonesia when it encountered volcanic ash from Mount Galunggung in West Java. For Malaysian travelers tonight, this was not just an ordinary flight, but a night when nature demonstrated the importance of patience.

As the plane approached Indonesia, passengers noticed smoke inside the cabin and strange flashes outside the windows. The aircraft began to shake. One engine failed, followed by another, then another, until all four engines ceased functioning. This was no technical malfunction; a volcano had placed an invisible threat directly in their flight path.

The four powerful Rolls-Royce RB211 engines, designed to power a Jumbo jet across oceans, fell silent. The mighty aircraft transformed into a glider in the dark. The crew descended, passengers donned oxygen masks, and a hush fell over the cabin. Some prayed, others held hands, some prayed for loved ones, and many simply tried to remain calm.

Remarkably, there was no panic. Passengers aided one another, cabin crew reassured travelers, and children were looked after. The crew remained composed, and the aircraft eventually landed safely in Jakarta. All passengers survived.

Decades later, researchers interviewed survivors. They recounted the fear, but also remembered the kindness, the crew's responsible actions, and the human instinct to care for one another in uncertain times. This may be the most important lesson from BA009.

If you are in an Indonesian airport waiting for a cancelled flight, remember you are not failing to reach your destination. You are waiting for the right moment to return home. The difference lies in understanding that safety does not always equate to movement. Sometimes, safety means remaining exactly where you are.

If your family anxiously awaits your message, call them. Tell them you are safe and that the flight will wait. Tell them you will return when it is safe to do so. Listen to the volcano's message, not with words, but with ash, and let it remind you that nature does not adhere to our itineraries. Sometimes, the departure board must yield to a force more powerful than our schedules.

Tonight, perhaps, the mountain simply asks us to wait. Safety may not always appear as progress; it can sometimes mean staying put. Reach out to loved ones, reassure them you are fine, and share your charger with someone whose phone is running low. If you are alone, look around—you are surrounded by others who are waiting just like you.

Remember, a cancelled flight is an inconvenience, but a flight caught in a dangerous ash cloud can become a tragedy. The crew on the ground tonight is not delaying your journey; they are safeguarding it. Four decades ago, a Boeing 747 nearly succumbed to an Indonesian volcano. Tonight, we have the advantage of knowledge—we can see the ash, track the volcano, and close the runway if necessary.

Safety sometimes requires the courage to say: "Not tonight." So rest, traveler. Let the volcano speak, let the ash settle, and let the engines wait. Your destination will still be there tomorrow.