The Day I Didn't Die (Part One)

I debated heavily over sharing this story because I don't want people (mom) to freak out... But not sharing it makes me feel disconnected from home and also, it has a happy ending!

It feels like I'm trying to recall a ridiculous dream. I'm struggling in the attempt to keep this from sounding melodramatic, while being true to myself and state of mind at the time. Don't think I can do both...

The bike-trip to my village from Kédougou is a bit over 40k, and has few spots that qualify as roads. While beautiful, the ride is tricky enough to prompt my mountain-man neighbor, Danial, to repeat, "We are so more hard-core than the navy!" It takes a couple of hours, at least 2 litres of water, and should not be attempted between the hot hours of 11-3.

Last week, I came up to Kédougou without Daniel to accompany my counter-part to various medical facilities in a (failed) attempt to do something about her breast cancer. I was set to bike back on the 28th.

The morning started off-kilter with some drama at the center through which I stayed and waited for someone to buy me a bean sandwich. Therefore, I left at 9 when I should have left at 6. Still, I wasn't too worried about cutting it close to the hot hours. The headwind was bad and slowed me down right away. I distinctively remember pedalling fiercely 5 minutes into the trip thinking, "Ugh, this trip already sucks!" Mmm-hmm.

I was slow-going, chatting to other travellers as the sun got hotter. By the time I'd made my first turn off the main road, I'd probably already drunk half my bottle of preemptively home-made ORS. (Good call there!)

From here, my memory starts to fuzz. I was distracted by wandering thoughts-- Mariama's cancer dilemna, a death in my village, learning that a well-respected senegalese colleage has said he doesn't like me... I took a wrong turn.

I knew as much later on, scanning for familiar terrain and road rivulets. But it all looks the same. What made me nervous were the unfamiliar mountain ranges in the distance. As noon approached, the sun seemed to sit smack on top of my head and I had no idea which way east and west were. I still didn't worry because I kept running into people-- a construction worker, a sheep herder, a nice older man who invited me to lunch (non-sketchily). I told them where I was going and they pointed the way and said it was far and the sun was hot.

Idon't know when my brakes stopped working. It's possible they hadn't the whole day and I didn't know because I just hadn't needed them. My front ones here off because they'd been sticking before, but when I put them back they still didn't work. I fiddled around with my super-tool and tightened things. No luck. I finished the ORS. It was so hot and I was already tired. I gave up on the brakes and resolved to talk it downhills and ride it slowly on uphills and level ground.

This worked splendidly enough for quite a ways. I kept getting off, expecting certain hills I remembered, only to find new ones instead. I pressed on because there are only so many places these roads could go. Surely they'd meet up with mine. Daniel's village-- Dinde Fello-- features a touristy waterfall which is even listed in the Lonely Planet guide. So all roads had to go where the tourists go, right?

Huffing and puffing up a tricky incline, steadying the bike over large loose stones... the downhill leaped out before I knew what was happening. I scanned the perilous eindy rocky slope I was headed down and knew it wasn't good. I stuck my feet down to stop the bike but the speed had already built up. If I kept going and tried to maneuver my racing broken death-trap I knew it would not end well. I was going to crash one way or another. This split-second reasoning pointed me into a tree.

Then I was on the ground and my bike and shoes were points of a star, almost comically far away. I patted my good old helmet that people make fun of me for wearing and didn't notice the blood until I'd limped to my first shoe. The poor flip-flop with its sad fading american flag and twin towers picture (this design is bafflingly all over the country and are said to be the best ones here) became a shiny red horror movie prop. I poured some nalgene water over the wound, saw a flap of skin, a flash of white, embedded gravel, and the blood that flowed across the towers and already red african earth. The tears came gratefully to answer the sting. It was only my second cry in country and long over-due from all the stressful times when I pushed them back saying NOT NOW NOT NOW, LATER. Later had arrived. I felt relief to let loose as I thought about people dying and starving and how hard my life was and how it still wasn't as hard as other peoples'.

I felt sorry for myself realizing I still had who-knew-how-long to go with a brakeless bike and a red-flowing foot. I texted Roxy and Daniel short semi-serious messages about life sucking. Daniel generously asked if I wanted him to come. I did, but wouldn't have asked him to even if I thought it was possible for him to find me. I mean, how far could I be?

Ha. So I limped and huffed and the hours came and went like indistinguishable termite mounds on the path. I lost the phone service and began to fiddle with apprehension. I was sure the mountains were wrong, but didn't want to go back the whole way I'd come. The sun stubbornly stuck in the center of the sky and I just hoped I was at least going south.

A glimmer ahead looked like a mirage. Oh beautiful cool full lake! And the thought that piggy-backed: this means i'm Definitely in the wrong place. A delirious laugh rang in my head singing, "Where there's a water, there's a loooong ******* way to Pellel!" Not definitively so, a meek little hope argued. Daniel's village has a water fall... I COULD be close! And anyway, it was still around noon which still gave me about 6 hours of daylight to stumble to my village. Really, the responsible thing to do would be to cool down the body temperature. (I was already too dehydrated to sweat and knew it had to be at least 130° F.) And with such a beautiful lake-- who knew-- maybe some rich toubab tourists would come with a jeep and rescue me with fellow toubab-alliance.

I steered off the footpath, towards the glimmer. Monkeys scattered away and I had to appreciate the beauty of the secluded shaded grove despite my fatigue. And thanks to the saud exhaustion, I lacked the energy to panic when some angry baboons hooted at me like gang members, flashing their teeth, pounding themselves and the ground. I just froze with my bike, unable to force myself to think. Maybe my worn-out face and bike are intimidating because the gang soon ran off and up trees. Dazedly, I continued, too tired even for retrospective concern. Cows and goats stared as I slowly stepped down the embankment and stared at the unreal mass of water. Too beautiful.

Truly. It really was too good to be true. I stood for a while, pondering this. Why were none of those animals drinking by the water's edge? Really, that was strange. What was wrong with it? I threw in some twigs. No acidic burning. No pirahna feeding frenzy. What else could I test? Obviously, I wouldn't drink the water. Just get wet enough to cool me down as I continued on.

Satisfied that I had adequately agonized over the possibilities, I took a step to the chocolate cake-like ground just before the water's edge. And the earth ate my leg. As it was more muddy in make-up, I guess it wasn't technically quick-sand (someone google this for me?) but same idea. I screamed as my leg was swallowed and flung myself back to the embankment. I recalled reading you have to swim to get out of quicksand, so I did, with all my strength. My twin-tower shoe didn't make it, but since it was for my injured right foot on which I still had to walk who-knew-how-far, I quickly grabbed a root from the bank to support myself as I shot my arm in the already closed-up space where my leg had been. This time it was harder to get out, but I held on to the root and screamed and cried and somehow fell back with a muddy broken shoe held by a muddy broken body.

I may have laughed, I know I cried. Whose life was this? REALLY? Let's pause to curse out loud and shake our heads. Also let me insert here that people may have started calling me INDIANA STONES and I may be okay with that.

OK, back to the quicksand/mud I'd just escaped (flame-throwing pymies to come). But seriously, I was truly panicking now. I don't even know how I stumbled up the bank, slippery with mud and blood and one shoe. I didn't have time to worry about the mud and whatever else was now inside my wound. And I didn't have the water to pour more than a little over it. I sucked in my breath as I used twigs and leaves to get out the big stuff and clean off the flip-flop so I could put it back together. Then back through the monkeys and out of the glimmery grove that really was too good to be true.

As I trudged weakly on, I forced myself not to think about home and friends, but couldn't help but think about death. I didn't even know what country I was in, how much longer I could go without passing out, if anyone would find me, if I could survive various frightening wildlife for a night in the bush...

TO BE CONTINUED NEXT TIME I HAVE COMPUTER ACCESS
SPOILER: I'M ALIVE AND WELL