The day I fell into the Zambezi

Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe

We had agreed to choose an activity each. My friend chose hiking Table Mountain in Cape Town. I chose white-water rafting down the Zambezi.

This seemed like a perfectly reasonable arrangement until I found myself in the Zambezi.

Oh and did I mention I can’t swim and have a fear of open water?

The day before, we’d met a group of Australians while wondering around Victoria Falls. They’d spotted us, loved my hijab and started chatting to us. When we mentioned we were going white-water rafting the next day, they looked slightly surprised.

Apparently, we’d inspired them. “We thought, if you little girls can do it, then so can we!’

So the next morning, there they were. On our pick up.

We hiked down the gorge to the riverbed and I lost my footing, tumbling down the rocky slope.

Knee split, ego bruised and mood ruined, ‘I am not doing this anymore!’ I proclaimed. ‘`Okay’ the guide shrugged, he pointed back to the top ‘you just need to hike back up the gorge..’

I looked at the climb. I looked at the Zambezi.

Apparently, I was going rafting.

The irony was that this had been my idea. My friend was loving it!

We climbed into the raft, listened carefully to the safety briefing, especially the part about where we had to climb out of the boat to avoid the catastrophic whirlpools that would spin you around and spit you out like laundry in a washing machine and just like that we pushed off into the Zambezi.

And for a little while, after a few twists and turns, i thought i’ve got this. Maybe this wasn’t such a terrible idea after all.

And then there was an almighty wave and I fell out.

For one surreal moment, I was actually in the Zambezi. The river I had spent all morning being terrified of. The river with crocodiles. And, just to recap. I couldn’t swim..

My friend knowing my panic, tried to jump in and get me. She was immediately told, ‘No- leave her!’

Meanwhile, I was being swept further away from the raft, while the guides in the kayaks came after me.

Eventually, they reached me and hauled me to safety.

I had survived my unexpected swim in the Zambezi with no crocodile bites to report.

We reached a calmer stretch between the furious rapids, everyone jumped in. Not me. I spent the rest of the raft trip holding on for dear life.

Eventually, we made it to the end – battered, exhausted and, in my case, very happy to be back on dry land.

There was a barbecue waiting for us, which already felt like a reward for surviving the Zambezi.

But the Australians apparently decided my traumatic performance deserved something better.

That evening, they invited us to join them for a rather boujie buffet at one of the hotels near Victoria Falls.

This was excellent news, because we absolutely could not afford it. I’d been practically surviving on Brunch bars for the past week.

So the day that began with me falling down a gorge, refusing to go rafting and then falling into the Zambezi ended with us sitting in a beautiful hotel eating a grand buffet we hadn’t expected.

Sometimes, going beyond your boundaries comes with a buffet.