Epiphanies in the Long Grass

The Construction Missionary:
“I awoke early one morning to go hunting and grabbed a thermos of coffee that Edith had already set by the front door. I looked down into her beautiful hazel eyes and told her how much I truly loved her and kissed her on the way out the door.

I drove on dusty bush tracks to the base of Mt. Longonot, which rose out of the floor of the Great Rift Valley. The extinct volcano drew me in, and for some reason, I felt drawn to climb the winding, rough trail that led to the rim, towering far above. It was a long, hot climb, and upon reaching the top, I sat on a flat boulder and took a deep draft from the canteen. The Rift Valley lay far below and stretched as far as the eye could see, wild game dotted the plains in herds numbering in the millions with the wildebeest migration in progress. The view of the migration from the rim was impressive. Lake Naivasha could be seen a long way off. I felt the valley’s vastness. Dark grey cumulous clouds in the distance dumped rain in solid sheets of water, so thick that it was impossible to see through the storm.

When I listened, I could hear it, the faint echo of my fear, and I felt a gnawing in the pit of my stomach, a fear of the unknown, a fear of this deadly continent, and a fear of dying in the fangs of some carnivorous beast, or perhaps a spear, or panga – a long knife that all the natives carry.

The wind picked up, and I could hear the “Scree, scree,” of hawks cruising the thermals overhead. I walked to the edge of the inside rim and surveyed the dramatic view of the densely forested crater. The power of the extinct volcano soothed my rough nerves.”

The Long Shortcut:
“By the time I was beginning to think I might have made a mistake in choosing this route, I was committed. In addition to the mud holes and the constant twists and turns in the road, the jeep’s lack of power steering became an ensuing battle. I employed every tool the Willys had, using four-wheel drive and compound low gears to navigate heavy mud, and drove over or around every rock imaginable. Occasional sunlight filtered through the dense trees. I was hot, soaked to the skin, and covered in mud. The mosquitoes and stinging forest flies wore me down. For hours, I had used a panga, ax, crowbar, pick, shovel, cross-cut saw, and a chain to clear the fallen trees which had been pulled down by elephants as they dined on upper foliage.

A little further down the bush tracks, I rounded a blind curve heavily enshrouded in vines dangling from the thick tree canopy overhead and nearly ran into the rear end of a large male lion, barely fifteen feet away. I slammed on the brakes and almost hit him. The jeep slid sideways in the heavy mud as the wheels spun frantically, then whined to a stop.

The lion was startled and swiftly faced me. Drool dripped from the side of his mouth, disgustingly so, I mumbled, “Probably meant for me.”

We stared each other down for a full minute, during which time I could see his pupils reduce to black arrowheads, he turned and limped into the bush. I rolled down the window and heard the crack of branches diminish into the distance. My gut told me he hadn’t gone far, and I expected him back. Reluctantly, I remembered that lions have a speed that is greater than most animals when they charge in the first forty yards. It’s a speed that’s faster than thought and definitely faster than escape. They knock their prey down with the blunt force of four hundred pounds while digging in their claws, bite any part of the body they can sink their deadly four-inch fangs into, and often eat their prey alive. They like fresh meat. The best chance of a quick death is to bleed out and lose consciousness.

I shifted into gear, but the rear wheels spun helplessly amid the muddy bog. It was a dark and foreboding place. I couldn’t back up or go forward, and when rocking the jeep, the wheels dug in deeper. I scanned the undergrowth, listening, and sat for several minutes while trying to think of any possible way to maneuver out of this bad ground without getting out of the jeep. None came to mind. I had left my rifle at home.”

Abandoned:
“My attention had to be placed somewhere. If I didn’t consciously place it in a survival mode, then consequently, I would experience the reality of ‘being eaten up.’

I spent the day sorting and cleaning safari gear, re-packed tools and equipment for the return trip to Ongata and analyzed the whereabouts of Hank by running multiple scenarios through my head. I retired early and moved the cot to the middle of the tent and away from the back wall, as I didn’t want a repeat performance from the monkeys. I lay in the dark with jumbled thoughts and listened to the night bush sounds while watching the glow of the campfire flicker on the other side of the canvas, then slowly drifted off to sleep.

Day five, and the monkeys woke me again. I exited the tent and looked up. Those rascals sat on an overhead branch laughing at me. I think they woke me on purpose every morning just for their express entertainment. I laughed back at them and thrilled at their startled expressions. They sat in silence and warily watched me. Apparently, no human had laughed at them before. In surveying the watering hole, the lions still fed on the elephant, and a herd of twenty-two giraffe had arrived overnight along with a small herd of Cape buffalo. They drank their fill before letting the zebra and impala herds take a turn at the muddy water, instinctively they all knew the lions were full.

The epiphanies of yesterday led to destructive thoughts and feelings today, which persisted because I kept dwelling on them. I had no hope in this lower state. I yearned to hear the sound of Hank’s Land Rover, but all in vain. A major battle with my inner reality had taken form between despair and God.

“Why me?” I shouted, which startled a flock of sand grouse and the herds, they exploded in all directions, except for the lions.”

You Want Me as a Spy?
““You’re CIA?” I asked.

She ignored my question and continued, “East Africa is so vast that there is no way I can cover anything other than the mainstream centers. I need information from the ‘grassroots.’ You travel all over East Africa. You can pick up information as a construction missionary that I never could. I need both to make a composite picture. We’re not interested in overthrowing any African country nor interfering in African politics. We only want information that will help us understand what is actually going on.”

“Why me?”

“We looked at a number of people and chose you. No one will suspect you because of your excellent cover. I also like your deep American roots and military experience.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Contrive a trip up to South Sudan.”

“Really? If you don’t mind me asking why?”

“It’s been in a civil war since 1955. Stories are leaking out – it’s a bloody mess. We need verification of what’s happening, including foreign military influences, make of weapons, violence, and dead bodies. I know you were trained to identify German weapons during your WWII stint, so before you leave, please stop by the library in Nairobi and study up on Soviet military weapons. You’re a military guy, you’ll pick it up quick.”

I looked at her in disbelief. “You want me to go into a hot zone?”

“Yes, and take Hank, your missionary friend with you. He evacuated Juba earlier this year. I understand he left behind most of his personal possessions, which you can pick up. It’s a perfect cover.”

We received our Sudanese entry permit and reluctantly left the Victorian Nile and drove towards Nimule, the border crossing between Uganda and Sudan. We planned to arrive before sunset, however, failed to take into consideration what can happen in the African bush.

A few hours into Uganda, we crested one of many hills and immediately to our left, stood a huge bull elephant, his tusks were so long and heavy, he had to rest them on the ground every few steps. I had never seen a larger bull than this giant. His tusks were close to twelve feet long, with long graceful curves down and up and weighing nearly two hundred pounds apiece.

I hit the brakes hard and cut the engine. After studying the situation, I said, “That bull is too close to the road for us to pass. Let’s be safe, we’re going to have to wait until he moves on. The bush here is too thick for us to go around the old boy.”

Time had run out, and we must make a move. I started the jeep, only to hear Hank’s concerned voice raise in pitch, “What are you doing?”

“We are going to miss our deadline at Nimule if we don’t get moving. Here is my plan…”

Theory is one thing, but reality is quite another. As we slowly rolled forward, the wind changed, and the bull caught our scent, he spun around 360 degrees in a split second and charged. He screamed horribly with his ears extended straight out, his trunk tucked in tight and headed in our direction, all in less than thirty feet.

Hank was hysterical, “Go! Go! Go! He’s on us!”

I floored the jeep and felt it pause in its acceleration, the rear wheels whined in the air. The jeep jerked hard and was wrenched, then buffeted with a screech of tortured metal, almost turning it over. I glanced in the side mirror and saw huge tusks working the rear end, only a few feet away…”