March Madness

When I was six, I fell into a pond at my uncle’s house in Taiwan in an attempt to reach a ball. I still remember seeing fish swimming past and flailing about in the seconds before my brother grabbed me by the collar and… pulled me to a standing position. The water level was only slight above my knees.

In September 2005, I visited Mike L. and his family in the Democratic Republic of Congo. Last Sunday, Mike returned the favor. He was my first visitor in Kampala and the impetus for me to take on the city’s various forms of transport without the guidance or company of my co-workers. Mike was in Uganda to help set up solar panels and satellite internet for a local orphanage; Mike’s friend, a former jet pilot who now flies missionaries about central Africa, helped set up satellite internet for the orphanage.

I met Mike and his friends for lunch at the local mall. (Yes, a mall.) One thing led to another, I got permission to take a day off and made plans to go white-water rafting on the Nile. For those of you who know me to be a gimpy bad swimmer with virtually no upper body strength, you are right to be incredulous at this turn of events. You’re wise to question my sanity. For those of you clamoring for evidentiary proof, let me just say that I hardly believed this actually happened until I saw myself spitting up water on DVD.

There were some incredible and exhilarating moments – at one point, our raft went over a waterfall backwards. With a life-jacket securely strapped to my torso and a bevy of kayak rescuers nearby, I didn’t ever think that I would actually drown. But I did have this bad way of gasping for air and choking whenever I came up from underwater, and I had to squint really hard to make sure my contact lenses were still in place. I’m sure I looked and sounded like some injured, drowning farm animal whenever I was in the water. Mike, on the other hand, lives in a village next to the Kwamba River; he swims like a dolphin.

My day on the Nile was probably the longest stretch of time I’ve ever spent in continuous prayer. Even as I was having fun and taking in the beautiful scenery, part of me couldn’t help but anticipate the next big rapid. By the end of the day, our raft had capsized 3 times. Each time, as soon as my head resurfaced, Mike was there, making sure I was ok. I got carried away from the raft once; Mike followed me even after I got picked up by a kayak. I knew that God was with me, but it was really nice of God to be there with me through someone I can see.

After 8 hours of being tossed from the raft or anticipating being tossed from the raft, my nerves were completely shot. I’m glad I didn’t let fear keep me from this adventure; I’m proud that I did this and actually had fun. But it would probably take a loud voice from a burning bush to convince me to throw down another $100 to be scared witless on my day off.