The Day I Didn't Die (Part 2)

(Sorry it took so long haha, didn't mean to make you worry!)
continued:

...But what else to do but press on? I'd been telling myself it was inevitable, but when I at last saw an elderly man in swiss cheese holely clothes, tears flowed with relief. In a shaking, broken voice, I tried to sound normal in reciting the greetings. He answered with a face so impossibly kind that I thought about guardian angels. Shock of shocks, he said I was going the wrong way. He didn't even recognize the name of my village but knew of Ségou which is next to Daniel's village. "Very, very, very far!" he repeated. Then he scanned my mud-caked body and spotted the pooling crimson where a foot should be. "You're hurt!" The genuine worry in his voice made me cry, nod, and, I think, laugh. This set the precedent for the next leg of my journey in which he was unfathomably kind and I was unable to produce words or sounds without welling up.


For a large chunk of time- an hour? two? more?- he walked my broken bike ahead on tiny nondescript bush paths. I trudged behind, focused only on keeping up and staying conscious. Our labored steps were interjected only with him saying, "Really, it's very far," and me trying to thank him and then breaking off into sniffles. How many complete strangers would walk HOURS out of their way in the blistering heat to help and ask for nothing in return? I wanted to give him something without cheapening his kindness. I had no money. A pen? Floss? I had nothing, but as he seemed to be saving my LIFE, nothing would be enough anyway.

When we parted, he told me the road to Ségou connected to the path straight ahead. Now he had to go the other way. He spoke carefully, embarrassed by my tearful gratitude and watched me start off, like a nervous father. I wish I could meet him again.


Unfortunately, it couldn't be that easy. Five-ten minutes later, the path split into a fork of four, none of which seemed "straight." I stared at the emptiness around me and wanted to just lay down and sleep right there forever.


I took a middle path even thought it was small. An hour later I was over 90% certain I would die. My body hurt everywhere. The last drops from my nalgene literally burnt my tongue. I had to support my stooped body on my bike and kept tripping over rocks as I was losing my peripheral vision. Once the chills started making waves over my body and raising goosebumps even under the scorching sun, I knew it was dire. I took another rest in semi-shade (I'd been taking many, but kept worrying about darkness coming and forced myself back up).


Another blessing came in the form of three bars of réseau (cell service). I called Daniel with a shaking hand. I tried to sound as normal as I could, suddenly thinking I MUST be right next to Ségou and was probably psyching myself out into feeling weaker than I was, and what could he even do anyway? "Give me a pep-talk," I answered. And he did, but I could still barely move. In an attempt to keep it light, I wailed, "I just want a starbucks frappucino!" It doesn't sound so light when you start sobbing after saying this... Then I found out I didn't even have enough water to produce tears. Ouch.


Nicholas called back on the emergency line. OOPS, I thought at the same time as YES THANK YOU SAVE ME. Guilt and sillines and immense relief. I wanted to be sure of life again. I wanted water more than I've ever wanted anything. I can't recall or really imagine what I sounded like to him.

In the end, I made it to Ségou, hunched over the bike, staggering, clutching the phone. "I see a bigger path... I see a fence..." More tearless crying.

"Good, good, keep going. Where there's a fence, there will be people and water."


"A... motercycle." My voice cracked. I tried to straighten up and dropped the bike.

The two riders stopped with alarmed expressions (I can only imagine how horror-movie-victim I must have looked.) As I myself could barely speak english, I handed the phone to the driver and let myself crumple on the ground, shaking. After talking to Nicholas, they went to get water and returned with at least 10 children and a couple of teens I thought were school-teachers at the time.

The water was beautiful. Unfiltered, unbleached, debris-filled elixer of life. I threw it in my mouth and choked, already better for a dry voice in my head to comment that I would die on the water that's saving my life.

Tears came back with a vengence and all I could say to the wide-eyed crowd was, "Thank you" (also means"hello") and "Sorry" and laugh nervously.

They brought me to a compound, gave me lots of water, let me sleep, fed me fruit, washed most of the mud away, and even found alcohol to sting my wound. Even though I'd been having hours of dark thoughts about leaving Africa if I made it, but being sure I'd die, at the end of it all, I loved it even more here. Clearly not for the heat, lack of roads, bounty of struggles, and the suspicion that any form of comfort with elude me for two years. But knowing the people here are truly special. The whole deserted stretch between Tepéré Jam Tun (the town beyond the lake where I saw the old man literally translates to "Foot Peace Only." Ha.) and Ségou, I knew that I had opnly to find any village or Senegalese person to survive. They'd help me, feed me, let me stay even without money. Not because I'm a toubab celebrity, but because I'm a fellow human who needed help. How amazing is that? Imagine that happening in Fairfield County (especially with the colors reversed)?

I was constantly touched as the people of Ségou fussed over me and I couldn't stop the tears that answered every kindness. The old woman washing my disgusting feet with her bare hands, moving stick beds into shade, offering to fix my bike... I still cannot express how I love these people and how they saved me in every way.

Meanwhile, the "Gou Crew" hired a car, filled everybody's own waterbottles, and came to rescue me. They didn't make me feel at all ridiculous and showed only respect instead. I was overwelmed with all the kindness the world suddenly had for me-- and still am. I ended the night laughing and squeezing hands under cool clear stars as 3 guys, a med kit, a bucket of water, a roll of duct tape, a leatherman, and a bottle of whiskey cleansed and wrapped my wound. (OK, the whiskey was for the pain... it was basically identical to that scene in Braveheart.)

Starting in Ségou, whenever someone asked me how I was, I answered, "Mi mayataa!" ("I'm not dead!") At first with disbelief, then with a smile getter wider as time went on. Even as flame-sterilized metal objects entered my foot ("Dude, is that a rock or like a blood vessel clump?"), I could only feel it because of one wonderful not-so-guarenteed reason. Mi mayataa. That's all I need to know. (And that I owe this place, these people my life...)