In the bosom
of merciful fangs
It was a
sunny day spurring every soul into an unforgettable picnic. It came to me that
my fishing rod was under the bed, and then I hurried into the room to fetch it.
I started my car and bid farewell to my wife and my lovely girl, Sarah.
The region
had known a great deal of change, for there had been a fierce scramble
between some of the fast-growing economics over gaining a foothold in this open
market and the benefit of which had catalysed flashy infrastructure, which the
locals had been lauding for ages.
In a matter
of minutes I reached the “Temodo River”, in contrast with the preceding years when
it used to take me more than two hours. The river was teeming with colourful fishes
and beautified with a majestic view.
The canoe was
still at the same place and in the care of Mr. Adam, a short and plump man, and
an older-timer and friend of the family. Once I was on board, I started rowing
past three deserted jetties. After a while, I stopped to bait my hook and then cast
it into the water in a blink of an eye. Waiting for a chance to catch a fish, I
immersed myself in a deep sea of childhood memories of the place.
When I regained
my consciousness, I found myself lying on a bed and surrounded by bodies in
motion, most of whom wearing white garments. Two accustomed hands were patting
mine, in an attempt to soothe me and to show sympathy without knowing for which
reason. Her soft voice was telling me “Welcome back to the land of living,
Omar!”
All I could
recall was that my canoe had capsized, but the course
of the events was detailed by an eye witness, a local whose name I can’t
recall.
The man’s
account revealed that a hippo, a large creature, attacked my canoe viciously
ramming into it at full speed. As a result, the canoe capsized and my head hit
an edge of it.
What happened
next, according to the man’s version, was striking and breathtaking, and the first of its kind he
had ever witnessed.
A fight took
place involving two huge beasts, the hippo that had attacked me, and a
crocodile, in what might have seemed to any passer-by as a normal fight that occurs
frequently in the wild. The hippo lost the fight to his rival and left the scene.
The man told us that he had immediately started his tireless supplications
asking God to save my life, for there was not any possibility of rescuing me
from the hideous situation, nor was he able, at least, to catch the beast’s
attention and drive it away from me. It surprised him when the animal carried
me inside his terrifying mouth and dragged me ashore into a safe place. What’s
more, the creature let its gaze rest on me motionlessly till I was able to
move some parts of my body, and then went back to the water, maybe to celebrate
the crushing victory.
A familiar
voice came from a corner of the room telling us” It’s Kimmo who saved your
life. The crocodile you and your deceased grandpa saved when you were just five
years old.” It was my grandma’s voice.
Kimmo neither
forgot my face nor how I acted towards him, albeit the physiological transformation
it occurred to me; he still remembered me and my helping him. Words do fail me,
when an animal proves an unmatched gratefulness, in contrast with human being’s
stances sometimes adopted in similar situations, in a world where countless people
are becoming callous and morally corrupted.
Ismail KAMAL
