The Australians were already 45 minutes late, but I had gotten accustomed to life according to “Uganda Time” so that really wasn’t too bad yet. It was still strange that I found myself sitting in a beat up tan jeep early one morning in Jinga, staring out the passenger-side window. As the Nile River raged by, I let out a deep sigh and played with my necklace; pushing the charm back and forth along the chain had become calming habit. It was a gift my new sister-in-law had given to me a few months earlier as a thank you for being in her wedding.
My pursuit of a Zoology degree had taken me halfway around the world and given me the opportunity to visit a land I had always been captivated by. This was one of only a handful of days during my internship that I had left open to play tourist. Most of my time was spent walking through the grasslands of Ziwa Rhino Sanctuary flanked by armed guards. The guns were there to protect the rhinos, I was there to study them. The mist was rising up from the water and began settling like a fog over the dusty ground. It was a pleasant cool feeling on my skin as I climbed out of the jeep. I knew it wouldn’t last long because the sun was getting higher and that meant heat was coming. The first few steps I took toward the edge of the ravine were confident and determined. The closer I got, the more I wondered if it was smart to look at my challenge head-on.
Standing in the shadow of a tall, wooden platform I began to watch men cut a path down the slope with their canoes. Their constant Swahili chatter filled the air as they put their vessels in the water. They paddled out to the mouth of the tiny inlet and tied up- also awaiting the arrivals of the Australians.
I saw the cloud of dust before I heard their truck rumble down the dirt road. Running back to the jeep for my wallet, I couldn’t help but get a little anxious that I was going to cross another item off my bucket list. Ropes and cords appeared and methodical workers moved slowly along them checking for any kind of defect. I hadn’t heard the man approaching from my left and was startled when he I asked if I was here to jump. My hands shook as I filled in the forms and waivers and my signature was nearly unreadable. Once I handed everything back and counted out the shillings I knew it was a done deal.
Following the man up the wooden later, I laughed thinking, if my mom could see me now. We walked across wooden planks worn down by the beating sun and countless others whose bare feet had traversed the same path. I could see the dirt below through the slats in the wood. I looked up to see the man looking back at me and gesturing to the plastic folding chair. I hadn’t heard his request that I take a seat to go over a few things. He introduced another Australian who was going to make sure everything was secured properly and then began giving me tips about the jump.
It was almost impossible to hear him over the roaring river; besides I wasn’t really listening to what he was saying. I was fascinated by the churning waters 144 feet below me and questioning how good of an idea this really was. My fourth knee surgery was less than 18 months behind me and this was definitely going to take its toll on my joints. It took less than 5 minutes for his partner to strap my feet and get everything secured to the cord.
I vividly remember his face as he pulled me up from the chair. His blond hair lightened and his fair skin darkened by years under the African sun. A week’s worth of beard growth surrounded his smile and he had a glint in his eye just daring me to do it. He helped me scoot to the edge of the 5x5 platform and put my hands on either side of fence.
When he slid the gate back he said, “I’m going to count to three and then you jump.” I looked up at him and he must have seen a shadow of doubt flash across my face.“It’s ok if you don’t go the first time. I’ll just count again. Ready?”
I fiddled with the charm of my necklace and I’m not sure he even saw he nod my head yes.
“One. Two..”
I didn’t hear three.
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