How a Drenched Rat Came to Climb the Banks of the Nile
From my trip to Uganda in 2006
I am slowly finding my way up the red, muddy bank of the Nile, about twelve miles down river from the source as this giant river empties out of Lake Victoria. I am barefoot and my feet are tender as I step over rocks and pebbles. I especially do not enjoy the pebbles pushing into my soft feet.
It is raining, pouring down rain, and I think I am as wet as I can get. I do not know that in a few minutes it will pour so hard, the sound of the rain will compete with the crashing of the rapids of the river, as the visible world shrinks around me. A downpour on the Equator is really something.
I have just left the safe raft, the one with the gorgeous African man rowing, rowing with his gorgeous muscled arms. Sigh.
I’m holding the hand of a woman from Spain who does not speak much English. I could not understand the guide’s instructions and I could not see the path up the bank he was pointing to. I am trusting this woman, this woman’s hand to guide me. She doesn’t speak English and I am legally blind. We make a great pair.
The mud is red and feels comforting. I see cows around me and Marta, my new best friend, pulls me around a cow pattie. Something cakes to the bottom of my feet and I hope it is mud, not cow manure. Whatever it is, it will not be on my feet for long, so I choose to think that it is mud.
The river is wild here, too wild to go down safely. (I suppose “safe” is relative at this point, but a class six rapid, as this one is, will probably kill anyone who tries to run it.) I’m not sure where the other paddle raft has gone. My friend Caroline, a principal from the school I am working with, is in the paddle boat, the one that flipped three times. We are all making our way up the bank to the take out truck, and we hope shelter, from this pounding rain.
Marta leaves me as others join us and Mandwa, our guide, takes my hand to help me up the hill. I feel my hand in his and I’m filled with a joy and awe I cannot adequately describe. How did I get to be here, climbing up the bank of the Nile in Uganda, being drenched in the pouring rain, with red mud and manure caked to my feet? How is it that this man has rowed down the river through twelve class five rapids, and done it with such grace that we did not flip as the paddle boat did three times? Who is he that he comes to this place in time to put his hand in mine and guide me up the bank? What a delicious, magical moment this is.
We see more cows grazing on the bank, some of them wandering through the rocks and mud, weaving among the rafters as we climb up to the truck.
The Spanish woman and I arrive first and stand as if under a downspout. “Drenched rat” comes to mind and I think I have never understood the phrase as I do at this moment. We are waiting for the helpers to put a tarp over the truck so we can scramble in and get out of the worst of the rain. I smile, even as I shiver, for I know I will describe this moment to my friends and we will all laugh. I know that it is perfect in some way I can’t explain. Marta touches my goosebumps and giggles.
I climb into the truck, happier now that I am out of the rain, but still as wet as if I’d gone swimming in my clothes. Caroline, my principal friend, comes to fetch me from the truck because we have a jeep waiting to take us back to our car, a large SUV Caroline has bought to make it safer for her to muscle through the crazy traffic. “No one would take me seriously in a Honda Civic,” she tells me. We will be missing the barbeque the rest of the rafters will be enjoying as part of this excursion because we must get back to Kampala before dark. It is a difficult and dangerous thirty mile trip. Bandits are not uncommon.
The jeep is blissfully dry, I am very happy for a moment, and then I think, “The next thing that will make me happy is dry clothes. The next thing after that will be food in my stomach. The next thing after that will be a gin and tonic.” They make great G and T’s here, a residual benefit of British rule.
There is always a next thing, I think, the next thing we need to have to get closer to happiness. Learning to be happy in the moment we are in is The Secret, I think. Learning to enjoy being barefoot and blind, with my feet covered in red Nile mud and perhaps cow manure – this has got to be one of the habits of mind to actually live a happy life instead of chasing after one.
I can look forward to being dry, clean and fed, but if I do not know how to enjoy the drenched rat parts of my life, I will miss most of it.
I don’t want to miss anything.
Kick a fall leaf today,
Vicki