Rafting the Nile
23rd September 2006
Having your face buried in a Frenchman's crotch
can be a good thing.
Like what happened to me, for example. The
Nile had flipped me out of the raft I was in for the umpteenth
time. "Take the hint", the river seemed to be
saying. "You shouldn't be here."
Jane, our guide for the day, was already atop of the overturned
raft. Jane was from South African and had the shoulders of a rugby
prop and the skin of a leathery rugby ball. She had been working
the rafting circuit for the last ten years or so.
Jane grabbed a rope, yelled "Duck!", and fell backwards
into the rapids. I was suppose to be hard up against the
side of the raft and I was suppose to quickly submerge
myself. I failed on both suppositions and the raft landed
right-way-up on my head. I did my egg-beater impression - adding
my own little bit of white water to the Nile - and the law of averages
saw me pop out from underneath the raft.
Jane and a couple of Frenchmen were already
back on the raft. Why is everyone so much quicker than me?
One of the Frenchmen grab the shoulders of my life jacket, said
"One, two three", and pulled. I launched into the raft
like a misguided salmon and found my head buried in the Frenchman's
crotch, thankful to be safe and breathing air again, albeit a little
musty.
Meeting up with Jim 
Despite the overall negative experience of Ghana, I did make a few
good friends.
Jim
Stokes is one such fellow. Jim spent two years with the Peace
Corp. on Madagascar and has a real practical lean to his
volunteerism. Anyone who doesn't mind admitting to shaving off his
beard because he had puke all the way through it has got to be good in
my book. He is working in Tanzania. trying to patch the holes in
the porous gun and small arms legislation. He is currently on a
brief holiday with his wife Kim. He invited me to join them for
some rafting on the Nile. I had been working pretty hard on www.grassrootsuganda.com
- the website I'm building for
impoverished African women - and needed a break, so I jumped at the opportunity.
I met up with Jim and
Kim at a backpackers in the town of
Jinja, which is about 60km away from where I live. We shot the
breeze and had a few drinks. After a refreshing sleep, we piled
into a truck and headed off to the Nile.
Rafting the Nile
Meran - a fellow volunteer - had
recently rafted the Nile. "Malcolm," she said to
me. "Malcolm," she said again for emphasis.
"Please be careful out there. I almost
drowned!"
She went on to explain her near-death
experience, which always makes for a good story. She too had found
herself flipped out of the raft. She tried to find the surface
three or so times but kept banging her head against other rafters or the
raft itself. She was under the water for about ten seconds.
It doesn't seem like much, but ten seconds is a long time to be
beneath turbulent water.
The section of the Nile we were going to raft
is rated a grade five - the highest grade. I fixed Meran in the
eye and promised her I would be careful. I was actually quite
looking forward to it. I had rafted some rivers in Aotearoa, but
nothing as extreme as this.
My adventurous spirit has come to the fore in
recent times. My self-preservation instinct has been sadly
lacking. Hunting rabid dogs
(without having my rabies shots), jumping
into pools of death and riding
stunt bikes are all good examples of this.
We were giving out safety instructions by a
couple of Ugandan lads. They were jovial fellas who took great
delight in having Mzungus on. "The way to tell if you
have a left or right handed paddle is to hold it up straight. If
it falls to to the left, it is left handed. And to the right means
right handed." One rather dull Mzungu
fell for it completely.
A couple of Frenchmen, a South African lad and
a Swiss girl had joined us for the rafting. We were set adrift,
bedecked in a rather fetching life vest and helmet.
Jane gave us further instructions on how to
drive the raft, "Left back, means right goes forward.
No. No. You got backwards when I saw right forward",
and some safety tips, "Curl up into a fetal position when you go
under. You'll bob to the surface that much quicker. And
don't panic whatever you do. Oh and if you find yourself being
pounded by wave after wave, be sure to take short sharp breaths between
each one."
I lodged a sunscreen soaked foot into the
raft's central support, planted my bum on the side, gritted my teeth and
tuned my ears into the white noise that was ominously
approaching.
Jane steered us into position, "Right
only... All forward... Stop... All forward..." and we slid down
into the rapids, the Nile spitting its displeasure and roaring its
disapproval. The mini-waterfall became a standing wave. Jane
screamed "All down! All down!" We slid into the
center of the raft and held on, oars and people clattering into each
other. The raft bounced over the wave and popped out the other
side. Jane congratulate us and we tapped our raised oars together
as a show of unity.
We did about eight grade 5
rapids in all. Our success rate was about 50%. The most
enjoyable one was called Pin Ball Alley, where you just hold on and are
bounced from rock to rock.
Not drowning
The least enjoyable one was also the last
one. It was not far from a place called the Dead Dutchman falls
where a foolhardily, inexperienced kayaker from Holland had perished a
number of years back. The start of the rapids we were to go down
was deemed too dangerous, so we got out and some porters carried our
raft around and placed it back mid-rapids. We were given the
option of not getting back in. Kim and the Swiss girl wisely
choose to sit this one out. The testosterone fueled boys were all
up for it.
"Okay boys", Jane began, "This
is what we need to do. We needed to hug this right hand
channel. When I saw 'All hard', I need you to really dig it
in. Listen closely to what I say and we should be okay. If
you find yourself in the water, remember to keep your knees up and head
to the right hand bank."
I nodded as if I knew what I was doing and we
climbed into the raft. Jane barked her orders, but it was of no
use. Within five seconds the raft had tipped over and we were all
in the water.
The Nile was getting her own back. Her
angry water sucked me down and she threw me around like a rag
doll. Words like "Up" and "Down" lost all
meaning. Something deep inside me was saying, "For fuck's
sake Malcolm, you're not suppose to be here! Get out! GET
OUT!" I thrashed around like a spoiled child - doing
everything that Jane hold told me not to do.
Time marched on and I had still not reached the
surface. The foam around me looked tempting. Surely some
air is better than no air... I was about to suck some down
when the Nile spat me out. Bad Hollywood movies dictate that I
should draw down a deep long breath at this point, but I wasn't
interested in clichés. I was interested in air. I
gulped down several short sharp breaths to feed my greedy lungs, just
before another wave crashed over me.
Once again I was disorientated and desperate
for air. Thankfully, the fury of the Nile was almost spent.
After a few seconds she popped me out and into the still pool at the
base of the rapids.
I had survived.
One of the safety kayakers told me to swim to
the bank, but I was spent. I floated in the now tranquil Nile and
enjoyed the fresh air.
The raft eventually made its way to me and I
got back to the bank.
Kewl.
The rafting company's truck took us back to
their base and put on a massive BBQ for us. I ate so much meat it
was ridiculous.
Gandhi
After a long sleep, Jim, Kim and I went to the source of Nile.
This is where Lake Victoria - the world's second biggest lakes - empties
out into the Nile - the world's second biggest river.
Some of Gandhi's ashes were thrown into the
source of the Nile. A monument to Gandhi
was erected near the spot to commemorate the man and the event.
I'm unsure why such a peaceful man would have
his ashes thrown into such a violent river...
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2005 and 2006 Malcolm Trevena.
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