White Water Rafting on the Nile

This past weekend was the best weekend of my entire life. And no, I’m not just being melodramatic- IT REALLY WAS. I went white water rafting down the Nile River with the most amazing group of people I have ever met in my entire life. Then we danced the night away to African drums by fireside of the River. It was spectacular. It was incredibly surreal. It was magical.

The morning started with me waking up before dark, before the roosters even. Slipping on my ever faithful, ever rib crushingly tight Speedo swimsuit, I headed out the dirt road into the misty dawn kissed town of Iganga. The town was conspicuously absent of chugging boda bodas, absent of the greasy smell of fresh chapattis. Last nights’ garbage was swept into the street and it smoldered from the Ugandan form of garbage disposal. The street smelled of rot. But it was quiet.

I caught a half full matatu- a miracle!- and within an hour arrived in Jinja. The town was just waking up, the sun rising above the green rolling hills. Across the landscape smoke waved hello as breakfast was cooked. Catching a boda, I weaved back towards the hills to where I would begin my journey: the mouth of the Nile. The Backpackers Inn was scrambling: white people ate and looked lazily on as Ugandans pumped huge red rafts, cooks running in a tizzy at preparing so many chapattis. Shuttles kept dumping more and more travelers off with every minute. I hadn’t seen this many white people in weeks! It felt like every mzungu in all of Uganda had shown up for the day’s adventure.

We were supposed to leave at nine, but since we’re in Africa, the shuttles weren’t loaded with suited up mzungus until ten. Dutifully we had all been given a beaten up helmet (why is there so many dings in it?!) and a battered lifejacket that looked as if they’d been set aflame.

I really needed much more time to mentally prepare myself for this experience, but unfortunately the shuttle ride took less than five minutes; another five to divide us up into rafting groups, assign us a guide, hand us a paddle, and push us off into the river. Suddenly I found myself sitting on the side of an airpumped raft with 6 strangers and one very built looking Ugandan, who wore a solemn expression as he asked us if any of us wanted to die. The mzungus got even whiter. No one replied.

If not, the guide said, we were to listen to every word he said. No questions. No hesitation. Rafting is dangerous if you are stupid. I think he was just trying to psyche us out, but he did a decent job!

Without any further warning he grabbed the back of a girl’s lifejacket and chucked her into the river, commanding her to get back in on her own. Man, this guy is intense! Everyone was quiet, perhaps contemplating whether or not they wanted to continue their ride with this madman, watching the girl struggle to lift herself over the boisterous raft. When she couldn’t get in, the guide yanked her up by the straps of her jacket with such force that the poor girl landed in the middle of the raft, at our feet, flopping like a fish. That was what we needed to do for each other he said, especially when we got into crocodile waters. Don’t leave anyone in the water for longer than necessary.

After a few more exercises, which included paddling left, right, forward and the like, as well as flipping the raft over and climbing on top, he declared we were ready for our first rapid. I did NOT feel ready. I couldn’t remember whether or not to paddle forward or backward when he said left. Or right. Wait, what do I do if I drop my paddle? Wait, what was it that he would shout if we needed to bail out? Ehhhh….

Lucky for us the first rapid was “small” meaning you couldn’t see the bottom of the first quell as the water disappeared into white foam. “Small” meaning the paddle just about ripped out of my hands as our raft tumbled over, vaulting over waves, spraying so much water I couldn’t see anything but white. Yeah, some small rapid! It was a grade 2. Alex, our guide, said we’d get up to a grade 6 possibly what with the rainy season in full swing and all.

As I looked at his stony face, without a hint of humor in his black eyes, I seriously reconsidered how smart of an idea this whole rafting thing was. Maybe I could just…hop off.

“Silverback” rapid was next on the death-wish itinerary; this rapid during rainy season turns into more of a water fall; even from 100 meters away the air was thick with mist and thundering waves. Water sloshed up over the raft as Alex started to scream at us to paddle hard. The waves ahead towered over us, an impenetrable wall of white that somehow our suddenly small raft deemed to mount. “DOWN!” Alex screamed, as we all hunkered down, clutched our paddles; the thunder grew monstrous, the air turned white. The raft lifted up, trying to overcome the battle with the rapid, trying to stay atop the foamy waves.

In the ensuing clash raft vs. rapid, the little raft lost. I found myself pelted through the air. My helmet clanked on something as the current pulled me under, dragging me downward into the white hell. My limbs pulled every direction, my lungs burning for air.

I popped up seconds later, bumping into my raft mates as we all panted, still twisting in the water. A paddle smacked me in the face as the current tumbled us down like leaves.

The red raft streamed past, overturned and clearly empty. Alex stood on top, like a warrior on a horse, paddle in hand, soaking wet, laughter playing on his lips as he looked at his frightened students bobbing in the waves. He grabbed the side of the raft, leaned, and disappeared over the edge as the raft spun right side up. Effortlessly, he jumped in and started hauling us into raft, flopping and coughing up spats of Nile.

Whoa.

Tumulus rapids and long stretches of stagnant Nile interchanged themselves though the day, giving us just enough reprieve to have a lunch of machete cut pineapple and biscuits.

I don’t know how to explain it, but sitting there on that raft, staring at the rolling African-green hills, reflected in the gray of the Nile, I’ve never felt more alive. I’ve never been more aware of every breath I’ve taken, more aware of every color, every bird chirp. I didn’t even care about the pineapple juice running down my face; I relished it. Everything, in that moment, was beautiful.

That night we gorged ourselves on a mixture of good Ugandan food, and bad American food. We danced until four in the morning under the grassy roof of the yellow-lighted bar. Below, the Nile river roared.

I met so many amazing friends that day- Jon, Nick, Caroline, Vik, Sam, aka Jeasus….Thanks for making my day amazing. I’ll never forget you and our adventure.