In hindsight, it may not have been the smartest decision I’ve ever made…
(But it’s still up there for fun and hilarity.)
To say yes when Simon called asking if I wanted to go out on the houseboats to meet his clients for dinner and drinks, leaving at 5:00 as the sun was beginning to set, but I said sure anyways. He had been gone for a week, and I was getting hungry! Knowing that whatever Simon has in store is generally going to be an adventure of some sort, I thought, why not.
So I met him at the office of the houseboats, his first words to me being, “Didn’t you bring a jacket, silly girl?” The summer winds had recently picked up and I had left it at home when I nearly fainted from carrying it, my bag and two parcels from the post (thanks mom and Karly!!!) at lunchtime. “Well, looks like you’re going to suffer, but you’ll learn, won’t you?” he growled as he made his way down to the landing and the boat.
M, my new S. African mother saved the day by insisting that I couldn’t go without a jacket, and brought me one about 4 sizes too big (hey I didn’t care, beggars can’t be choosers.. ) and off we went.
My first inclination that this might not be the best of ideas came as Simon fired up the outboard motor on the boat… Using… a flathead screwdriver. Sparks and smoke poured out of the engine, but hey, I rationalized, if he’s been all the way up the delta in this boat and it’s still fine, what the hell. I climbed aboard.
We met up with the clients, who were lovely folks from S. Africa and Europe, and had a nice time watching the sunset, talking and taking pictures. Dusk came and we went to the actual houseboat, and this was my first time on one.
Quite a good dinner of butternut squash soup, real meat, salad and lovely conversation followed. I’ve found I’m more intrigued by conversations consisting of a variety of different accents and on this occasion I was pleasantly entertained by a plethora.
By the time all the clients had gone to bed, and it was only Krauser, Simon, Hugh the pilot and I, I pointed out that it might be time for all Cinderellas to head on home to bed, the small hope creeping into the back of my mind that Krauser might just tell us to stay on the boat that night, how after all, would we possibly get home on the boat, in the delta in the dark?
The motor on same boat that only hours earlier had to be started with a screwdriver, and had no lights, stickers, buoys, anything.
I would soon find out. We found our way on board by jumping from the houseboat across a few platforms and onto the small boat. There were workers lighting the way with small flashlights, and I hear Simon laughing a bit maniacally as he fires up the engine, again with the screwdriver. I briefly contemplate the physics of the electrical situation present and wonder what Simon’s chances of being electrocuted are, and also spend a moment or two trying to refresh my memory on that boat safety class we were required to take along with our driver’s permit test in the great state of MN. I was just beginning to grab a glimpse of a memory of the manual when I remembered that by that time the teacher I had had (who had been my mother’s driving instructor as well) was so close to retirement and his pension that I had been the one scoring the tests for the class, as one of the better (Dependable? Trustworthy?? What? Who? Me?) students (albeit in hindsight not necessarily one of the better drivers) I was given a great deal of responsibility. Being myself I can’t imagine I didn’t take full advantage of the situation by not bothering to study too terribly hard on the boating portion. Still, I think boats fall into that small category of machines with motors that I haven’t crashed at some point (a category that does not include cars, four wheelers and riding lawnmowers). I’m kind of certain I could drive one? But I digress.
Through the pitch black delta we sped, a moonless light with stars to pretend to light the way but no real lights but the ash from Simon’s cigarette. I’m relatively certain he was navigating by feel, and I swore I once overheard Simon muttering to himself about the boat finding it’s way home….I inquired about the possibility of turning on a light or torch of some sort, but Simon grunted that no, we couldn’t do that as it would surely upset the hippos. Great.
Along the narrow channels we went, weaving around the papyrus banks, the long reeds bending over to nearly smack me in the face as it’s not like I could see to avoid them. The motor was not sounding not the healthiest I’ve ever heard an outboard run. I had a few visions of Simon and I as pirates, and how cute I would look with a red bandana and my new black and white striped tank top my sister sent me for my birthday. My mind then began to distract itself by wondering if perhaps pirates were in this season, and if not they surely would be next season, in which case I would be a trendsetter. It was one of those situations in which all you can do is laugh, (as you’re likely all cried out for the week or perhaps month) text 50 of your closest friends and hope you live to blog the tale…
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