Leap of Faith – 9 July 2009

Kev in Africa #9 – Livingstone / Victoria Falls

Note: Up until this point, the following information has been kept secret from everybody back home. Mum and Dad, I am very sorry. But I’m still alive… that’s all that matters.

“Take a leap of faith; you know you can.
All it takes is a bunch of guts.
Sitting on the fence will leave you dead”
 – Voice of Apollo, before they sold out

If you asked me, three months ago, to make a list of the activities I hoped to never do in my lifetime, getting chased by a sheepdog would probably sit in first place. Down in probably third or fourth place, though, would have been the act of jumping from a 110m high bridge. Yet somehow, almost mysteriously, I found myself doing that exact thing.

That’s right, Mum; I bungee jumped. Once again, I apologise, as well as reiterating the fact that I’m still alive. In fact, more alive than ever before.

Making the fateful decision to bungee was an unusual progression. Before arriving in Africa bungee wasn’t even an option. To be perfectly honest I wouldn’t have considered it even if somebody paid me. The whole activity goes against the laws of sanity; you don’t jump off bridges. Period.

However when you spend your time twiddling your thumbs on long truck trips you can’t help but give the idea some thought. For weeks I’d been telling myself ‘No, I’m not going to do it’, until one day when I thought about it from an entirely new perspective. Bungee jumping was my greatest fear, right? Hence, if I did it then surely I’d be invincible? If I could do the impossible, surely nothing in life would ever faze me again. This decision had nothing to do with peer pressure or making myself appear cool in front of others. Rather, it was about proving myself wrong.

As the days got closer my nerves grew larger. Every moment of the day which I thought about it – which was most hours – my palms would sweat profusely. At night my dreams were all somehow related to leaping off a bridge; even before I had reached Victoria Falls, I had bungee jumped a hundred times inside my head. There was nothing I could do to relax. Not until I jumped.

The night before my leap of faith I unsurprisingly had trouble sleeping. Due to the freezing cold, I awoke around 5 and subsequently spent the next three hours having lucid dreams about the only thing on my mind. As soon as my alarm rang I left my tent I rushed straight to the toilet. I would make another four toilet stops before lunchtime.

Almost as if some higher power wanted to increase the suspense the three of us – Ollie, Jen and I – arrived at the Victoria Falls bridge (which connects Zambia to Zimbabwe) during the staff members’ lunch break. It wasn’t until two hours later that we were able to even sign up and place our names at the end of a lengthy waiting list.

Ever since making the decision to bungee I desperately wanted to find a way out. A perfect opportunity arose when the indemnity forms came my way; at the top of the paper was a question: ‘Are you over 18?’ Being two weeks shy of that age I had the ideal excuse to pull out. Nevertheless I wasn’t going to chicken out for a minor technicality. I illegally ticked the box and made my way towards the bridge.

What followed was possibly the worst preparation one could imagine for bungee jumping: watching others do it. Every time I tried telling myself that ‘It’s not that far’ or ‘It’s not that scary’ I heard screams from the platform. I couldn’t help but look down the edge and see these falling figures dive towards the Zambezi River and be pulled like a puppet by a solitary rubber rope.

In saying all this watching some people actually calmed my nerves. Noticing that normal, sane people were jumping and surviving not only reassured me that I would be safe, but also that I wasn’t the craziest person in the world for wanting to catapult off a bridge. It had even got to the point where I was eagerly looking forward to my jump; I was ready to get it over and done with. But all that changed in an instance, as I watched an Asian woman express more fear than I thought was imaginable.

Making noises probably more suited to an X-rated film than anything else this lady was not dealing with her stress in the best possible manner. Now I was afraid of two things: a) jumping; and b) being as scared as this lady. If her reaction didn’t unsettle me than that of another nervous jumper certainly did. An unnamed member of our tour group (Jen) showcased almost the same amount of fear – except without the disturbing grunting noises. Her frightened screams as she reluctantly fell towards the water seemed to last forever. If there was any time to be petrified, it was now. And that’s when they called out my name.

Initially I controlled myself very well. I sat still, avoided looking down and took in deep breaths. A cameraman interviewed me and tried to distract me, while the supervisor slowly went over the instructions. Whilst tying up Velcro straps to my ankles he explained exactly what I needed to do in order to be safe. At this point in time adrenaline was accelerating fast and little of what this man was telling me was being successfully encoded in my brain. I paused to say a prayer and hoped this wasn’t the last prayer of my life. But before I could say ‘Amen’ the man was asking me to stand at the platform, with my toes slightly over the edge. Any reservations I had about looking down were immediately dismissed; looking at my toes meant I had to survey what lied beneath me. That’s when he started to count.

“5, 4, 3…”

What? He’s counting already? I haven’t even seen him attach me to the rope. Am I attached? I must be attached? What if not attached? Oh my gosh, what am I going to do?

“…2, 1…”

This is it. Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh. Do I jump? Do I jump? Do I jump? If I don’t jump I’ll sound like the Asian lady. If I don’t jump it’ll only get scarier…

“BUNGEE!”

I jump. And it all happens so fast. With so little time to think I jump forwards rather than leaping out, leaving my body upright for the first 50 metres down. It’s like walking in midair, except I’m not walking forwards, I’m walking downwards. Everything is a complete blur and I close my eyes for a moment or two out of pure fear.

Before I know it I’m bouncing up. I look around and everything is upside down. It only just dawns on me that I’ve actually done it. I’ve conquered my greatest fear, but it isn’t over just yet.

With the bounce taking me almost the entire way up again I am virtually going for a second bungee. Except this time I’m upside down the whole way. There’s no time – or point – in closing my eyes. I’m falling head first towards the water and there’s nothing I can do about it.

“OH MY GOSH!!!!!!!!!” I scream. It’s weird; I don’t really ever say this phrase, but at this very point in time it’s the only thing I can release from my mouth. This experience is unbelievable yet so very, very real. Screaming seems to be the only option. Within seconds I have lost my voice.

With everything happening so fast I don’t have nearly enough time to get my bearings. I’m falling from the sky for the third time now and it’s not getting any easier. All sense of direction is lost but I realise that there is little point worrying about that; rather, it’s wiser to just take it all in and try to comprehend the significance of what I’m doing.

Within 30 seconds the whole ride is over. But I’m still far from comfort. Tied upside down and hanging from a bridge 100m above me I am left helpless, as I rest my head in the air – just metres above the Zambezi. Tilting my head upwards I notice an abseiller descending down towards me. He lifts me and brings me upright. But that doesn’t make things better. Because now I have the worst wedgie imaginable. Horse riding last week was bad enough, but this is nothing short of hell. It’s like there’s a funeral in my pants and everybodys invited. To my surprise the man hoisting me up has a lazy eye. I find this fact quite concerning considering that I am completely relying on him for my safety. However the dangerous part is over. It’s now time to return to the bridge and celebrate my victory.

On the way up I can’t help but smile. From ear to ear I am one very happy chap, and I have every reason to be as well. I did it! I actually did it! My greatest fear in life has been defeated. But I’m never doing that ever again…

…well at least that’s what I think. Within seconds of returning to the bridge I am putting on a new harness. The Gorge Swing is still to come.

Picture this situation: you are in hospital and the GP comes over with a massive needle. He forcefully sticks it into your arm, giving you the most painful injection of your life. Then, he takes the needle out and assesses the situation; “Oops, missed your vain. Better try again,” he says.

Upon watching Ollie do the gorge swing I was feeling that exact feeling of fear. I’d done giant swings before, so I naturally assumed that this one would be a pushover. Boy, was I wrong. This one looked worse than the bungee..

With my short lived celebrations out of the way I proceeded to the platform for the second time in five minutes. This time I could clearly see that I was attached to the rope, but at the same time I could feel the pull of the rope tugging me towards the edge. Once again I positioned my toes and panicked as the supervisor counted down.

“5, 4, 3, 2, 1… SWING!”

As scary as the first second was – the second where I had to step over the edge of the platform into nothing – the remainder of this ride was pure exhilaration. Freefalling 100m vertically could have potentially been the most frightening thing in my life, but on the contrary it felt like absolutely liberation.

“WOOHOO!” I screamed excitedly. I let go of the rope and relaxed, using this opportunity to take in the beautiful views and feel on top of the world. Ironically I was at the bottom of a gorge but nobody was here to correct me. I was in my own world and could not believe it.

Once I had been hoisted up to the top I enthusiastically made my way back into Zambia, where the last of our extreme ‘Big Air’ activities was taking place. Known as the gorge slide I was curious to know what awaited me. As it turned out gorge slide was merely a pseudonym for flying fox.

Normally flying foxes thrill me – especially ones which take place 120m above sea level. However, with the bungee and swing fresh in mind, the flying fox failed to excite me at all. It was cool, but I can’t say that I was impressed. And with that judgment I suddenly realised something pretty severe; my expectations had dramatically risen in the last half hour. Would I ever be impressed by anything ever again?

One thing I must admit was impressive about the slide was that it began in Zambia and finished across the other side in Zimbabwe. All day I had walking in and out of Zimbabwe – arguably the world’s most dangerous country – without a problem. It seemed like a pretty cool place… well, at least the 500m I saw of it was anyway.

An African extreme sports experience wouldn’t be complete without a token T.I.A. (This is Africa) moment. Thankfully our dodgy incident didn’t involve a broken rope or a loose harness, but a display of carelessness by the bungee video makers. When Ollie, Jen and I returned two days after our bungee – this time less scared of the bridge and the subsequent drop to the bottom – we were shocked to discover that our videos and photos had all been erased from the computer. Looking at it from a broader perspective such a disappointment probably didn’t matter too much; we had each completed the jump and nobody could take that away from us. Not even a frustratingly foolish Zambian staff member.

Besides, we got t-shirts to prove it anyway.