I Cross My Fingers

I was scared, and I admitted it. In response to my cousin Stephanie's question, it was Saturday night and we were trappped in a downpour in the middle of the Mara. The landrover, an exceptional machine, and our driver Wesley, who was both exceptional (and fearless) were struggling through the rutted paths and non-existent trails. We were going through water almost as high as our seats. I had these visions of the car stopping, our radio stalling (who relies on technology in the African bush?) and all of us getting eaten by lions. I was legitimately afraid of being eaten by a lion. What a way to go. I give full permission for at least a couple snickers at the prayer service if indeed I do someday succomb to the natural rhythms of the food chain.

"I'm scared." I admitted, and the couple I was traveling with, immediately started to crack jokes and assure me, we were going to be just fine. They're both doctors, working in a clinic in SW Kenya, providing medical services in one of the most underserved and poverty-stricken areas of the world (although truth be told, that title probably faces fierce competition from any number of severly poor places in Africa, the Pacific Islands, Papua New Guinea....) A rainstorm probably seemed less frigntening compared to what they saw sometimes along the shores of Lake Victoria. Besides, they joked, death by lion meant they might at least escape footing part of the bill of their children's private school college tuition.

We were fine. We arrived in time for the lodge dinner (another story, equally ridiculous). I was also petrified during the flight on my tiny propellor plane back from Mara to Nairobi, when the father of two young boys (so lucky to have been on safari!) casually let one of them ride in the co-pilot seat, where he shifted and moved the levers before (I hoped not during, but I couldn't watch) the flight. During the (probably very normal) flight turbulence, I was so terrified I almost made the overweight awkward sunburned gentleman next to me hold my hand. Instead, I always cross my fingers. It hasn't failed me yet.