African Terror

  I don’t mind dying; I just don’t want to be there when it happens.

                                                                       Jimmy Buffet

The bloated African moon hung fat and low in the night sky when I jerked awake. Something was terribly wrong. I lay still, trying to collect my thoughts… trying to get my bearings.

 South Luangwa Park, Zambia came to mind. In our 3-month drive across Africa Smiling Mike and I had visited dozens of game parks but Luangwa was as far off the beaten track, into the heart of

Africa and as good as it gets. A hundred miles of dirt track just to get to the Parks gate. A hundred miles of corrugated hell that had shaken one door and the gas tank from the Isuzu’s rusty frame.

 The entrance to Luangwa Park proved as primitive as the drive in. A thatch guardhouse manned by a tattered carbine-wielding ranger, over looking the swollen Luangwa River. A rustic lodge constructed of thatch & sticks, three little pig’s style, clung tentatively to its banks.

We had arrived long after dark set up camp on the rivers edge and sought the lodge’s simple open-air bar. A young American, sat in quiet conversation with the black bartender. They were discussing the lion that had apparently smashed in the door to one of the lodge’s room’s two weeks earlier and drug a screaming tourist to her grisly death. The beast had enjoyed the easy meal for two days before a professional hunter had been called to dispatch him. It’s mate could be heard grunting & coughing still across the river as we settled in with a cold Tusker Beer.  The white fellow was doing his thesis on voodoo from U.C. Berkley. He had chosen Luangwa for it’s sheer remoteness. I couldn’t have agreed more staring out across the moonlit river, the grunts of hippos, and the insane laughter of hyenas filling the tiny bar. He informed us that the park was rarely visited due to the difficulty in getting there and the current political unrest in Zambia’s government. It was a magical evening, cold beer in hand, perched in the heart of darkness.

Returning to our camp that night however brought a cold slap of reality. An errant troop of baboons had ransacked our meager belongings, ripping the tents to make off with whatever could be carried. Our sleeping bags were found lumped in the bushes, three months of exposed film dangling from tree limbs, clothing scattered & defecated on. We gathered the mess, cursing the vile creatures & lamenting our losses, the worst being the torn tent. It is imperative in Africa’s game parks to have shelter once night falls. Even the thinnest of nylon tents will detour lions, hyenas, reptiles & insects.

To sleep in the open or in a ripped tent is to invite disaster, so prudently I spent an uncomfortable night in the troopers front seat rocked by the roars of the man-eater.

 The next few days found us deeper & deeper into the parks interior. We had repaired the lacerated tent as best we could, the baboons having made off with the sewing kit. Our days were spent chasing herds of zebra & elephants across dusty plains; our nights nervously perched about the roaring campfire, serenaded by the screams & cries of life and death in the African bush.

 This particular night’s camp overlooked the languid Luangwa river it’s steep muddy banks pockmarked with nests of swallows & Carmine Bee Eaters, it’s tepid waters swirling with giant crocodiles and grunting hippos. The setting sun, blood red from bush fires & dust clouds, turned the entire scene surreal as the prehistoric reptiles tore at the corpse of a bloated hippo below. The stench and sound of rotted flesh being ripped apart made this place a fascinating hell on earth. Fairly confident that the creatures below could not scale the eroded bank to our frail camp I squirmed into a filthy mummy bag, it’s zipper long jammed from 3 months in the African dirt.

 It was a fitful night constantly being jerked awake by some un-holy blood-curdling scream when finally I dozed, my nerves exhausted.

 But now something was terribly wrong, the smooth cold weight of a reptilian body lay across my naked thigh, curled between my legs, it lay still…waiting. My first reaction was panic, to rid myself of the bag & it’s loathsome occupant when suddenly a deeper fear seized me. It was a snake, a large one by the weight; it had gained entrance through the torn tent flap seeking the warmth of my sleeping body. With nearly 30 varieties of poisonous snakes in southern Africa chances were very good this was one of them. It would be impossible to extract myself from the jammed mummy bag without disrupting the creature’s slumber. The situation I’d awoken into was nearly un-thinkable in it’s sheer horror. I could not understand why my heart went on beating, my mind continued to race in panic, yet I could do nothing but lay without moving, awaiting my fate like a doomed prisoner, like a rat in a python’s cage…the terror was over-whelming.

“Mike!!” I whispered my dry voice cracked pitiful in the vast African night. It was useless. He was inside the Trooper, windows up, parked 30 feet away. I was alone and sick with fear.

With my one free arm I slowly, carefully groped about the tent, searching out the flashlight.

I cursed beneath my breath at the stupidity of the whole thing. Stupid to sleep in a ripped tent, stupid baboons to have run off with scissors, knives, or any tool to extract myself, stupid jammed zipper, stupid God-forsaken place this Africa…stupid me…sick…sick…

I found the light & ever so slowly positioned it to shine towards the loathsome weight in my crotch. With my left hand I so, so slowly lifted the bag from my naked body & peered in.

Horror of Horrors!! Meeting my eyes in a cold black reptilian stare, its unmistakable ugly, triangular head raised inches above my privates was a Puff Adder, one of Africa’s deadliest snakes.

My stomach wretched, sending a throat burning spume of vomit into my mouth: over cracked lips it slowly dribbled down the side of tear stained cheeks to coagulate in tangled hair.

I was a dead man.

 

To be continued:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                   African Terror: Part 2

Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It’s the transition that’s troublesome.                                      Isaac Asimov

 

For two long hours now I had laid perfectly still, the Puff Adder remained motionless curled in my crotch. For two long excruciating hours I had fully expected the loathsome beast to sink it’s fangs deep into my thigh…or worse. I knew a bit about the snake from Smilin Mike’s Snake Book. I knew the Puff Adder was the most widespread snake in Africa. I knew it was responsible for most of the snakebite’s on the continent. I also knew it to be the most dangerous of Adders, with a nasty temper, three inch fangs that sunk deep into it’s victim’s flesh delivering up to 350 mg’s of venom when it took only 100 mg to kill a human. Being bitten once would be enough but the thought of the creature sinking those fangs to the hilt then clinging & pumping venom while I struggled & fought to rid myself of the mummy bag which held us both captive was almost to much to ponder.

 I was sick with the stress, drowning in despair, and could not understand why my brain did not simply short out from the sheer horror of the situation. I knew very well that if the Adder struck, I would die. We had no anti-venom & were two days drive from Luangwa Parks gate & another two days to Lusaka, Zambia’s capitol.

 I didn’t want to die just right then…especially this way. A naked man is a vulnerable man, and a naked man with a huge poison ness snake between his legs is flat out violated. I wanted to cry like a baby. I wanted to wake up to this nightmare over…for the first time in 3 months of traveling across Africa I missed the cool, reptile free mountains of Crested Butte.

The eastern horizon was now glowing red. A couple of hornbills hopped about the camp, searching for scraps. It would be just a mater of time before Smilin’ Mike woke up. He’d know what to do. There was no one cooler under pressure than Mike. A skilled pilot I had once been with him when the plane we were flying caught fire…he was no more perturbed than if a bug had hit the windshield.

  Another hour passed, before I saw the Trooper vibrate with his movement. A flaming red African sun crawled above the horizon as the rear door of the Isuzu creaked open & out stumbled my disheveled traveling partner. He stepped to the fire-pit, squatted in the dust and began poking the coals.

“Mike!” I whispered.”

After three months together we no longer spoke in sentences to each other but rather communicated with a series of grunts.

“Unum.” He answered.

“Mike!” I again whispered.

He looked about the camp, eyes darting from side to side as if I was about to revile some great secret the hornbills shouldn’t be privy to.

“Huh?” he whispered back.

“There’s a snake between my legs.” My voice cracked.

His eyes grew wide, his jaw dropped as if some great dark mystery had just been exposed.

“Really Church?”…There’s a snake between my legs too!” he whispered. “A big one….wanna see him?”

I couldn’t answer…

Perhaps then Mike noticed my vomit caked hair, the tear streaked dusty cheeks, or the vacant dead man stare. He walked over & knelt outside the shredded tent.

“What?”

“There’s a big snake…I think a Puff Adder coiled in my crotch…must have got through this ripped tent…looking for warmth…” my voice again cracked.

Carefully Mike unzipped the shredded tent flap, perched on his knees by my head and leaned close, flashlight in hand.

“Let’s have a look.”

Again, ever so slowly I lifted my left hand raising the mummy bag inches above my stomach. Again the snake’s ugly head raised with the bag to stare back, its cold black eyes unblinking.

“Mother of God!” Mike whispered, recoiling from the sight.

I gently let the bag settle, when suddenly the reptile moved. It had been mostly coiled between my legs with perhaps the last two feet of it draped across my upper thigh. For three hours now the beast had not moved a muscle, so now to feel its smooth, dead weight sliding across my naked thigh was too much to bear.

“Holy Moley.” I groaned, knowing this was the end. Just seconds now the massive fangs would sink deep into my exposed belly… the snake stopped again…the strike didn’t come…instead of relief I felt anger…why didn’t the basturd just get it over with? I was nearing the end of my emotional rope; I would have welcomed death to this.

Mike leapt to his feet & sprinted to the Trooper. He returned with the ‘Snakes Of Africa’ book, squatted nearby & began to read:

“The Puff Adder is one of Africa’s most widespread & beautiful snakes. Its diet consists of birds, rodents & other reptiles. In East Africa specimens as large as 1.7 meters have been recorded. The head is large, flattened, triangular, in shape with large nostrils, & exceptionally long fangs (12 to 18 mm) that assure the venom is injected rather deeply. The venom is cytotoxic with strong haematoxic and some cardiotoxic effects and large volumes are produced. It causes severe pain, massive swelling, internal & external hemorrhages, as the blood thins, serious necrosis (rotting) of the surrounding tissue, nausea, kidney failure & death.

Prompt medical attention with anti-venom is a must….”

“Bummer.” Mike muttered under his breath and continued…

“Adders can have a violent temper & extreme caution should be used as a sudden jump can be employed to leap from a snake hook.

A basking spot of the mid nineties, and a cool end of around eighty serve these snakes well…”

Mike paused… “That’s it!” I read a story about this same thing…Jack London was it?  Hemmingway? They used the sun to get the sleeping bag so hot the snake eventually crawled out…

He immediately set to work carefully cutting away the shredded tent from around me till I lay in the filthy, jammed bag, exposed to the elements.

“Now we wait.”

Contrary to what people may believe, East Africa can be quite cool in the nights. It’s well into the late morning before the blazing sun begins to warm the chill from the earth. By 10:oo the bag and myself were beginning to heat up. Mosquitoes from the languid Luangwa River below us swarmed about my face biting at will, swelling my eyes nearly shut. Through cracked lips Mike continued to pour water, reassuring me quietly. He packed the car for a rapid dash to the parks gate should the snake strike. A fruitless effort we both knew.

 I prepared myself to die. I had no illusions about floating off on silver wings to strum harps & eat grapes. I knew death would simply be the end of life…a certain and total non-conscience blackness, forever. But just in case I was mistaken about death I began to pray in earnest. I found myself coming clean about a life, that when I looked back on it, seemed quite sordid. There was an amazing amount of groveling to do which occupied my mind for some time.

 At one point during the long morning I had to relive myself & prayed the release of urine on the snake wouldn’t aggravate it to strike. Just maybe there was a higher being with control of such things as the beast never moved.

 The heat was getting unbearable as we waited; the bag now soaked in sweat & urine. My legs had fallen asleep my back ached, muscles cramped & still I could not move.

 Finally well past noon the reptile began to stir. The feel of it’s un-worldly smooth motion against my bare skin made my want to wretch again but I knew to jerk would be to die. Again the vomit bubbled across a swollen tongue, down the side of my face.

 The snake was now alongside me, its ugly flat head emerged not inches from my own. I closed my eyes, my mind incapable of grasping the horror of the thing. It slowly slid its heavy body over my thigh, alongside my ribcage, over my right arm, until at long last it was free of the bag. The vile beast was 4 1/2 foot long and big around as a man’s arm. It slowly crawled across camp into the bush and was gone.

For a long time I lay there, staring at the sky. I couldn’t comprehend that the ordeal was over. I thanked God; now being a staunch believer. I felt a bit embarrassed about regurgitating my past misdemeanors so easily. Perhaps I should have waited till the Adder actually bit me….

Mike knelt beside me and placed his hand on my shoulder.

“You might want to think about dry cleaning that bag when we get back to town.” He said.

 

Five days later I came down with Malaria from Luangwa Park…but that’s another story.