Mosi-oa-Tunya

I’ve never had a driving ambition to jump 111 meters off a bridge, especially one that majestically straddles the Batoka Gorge below Victoria Falls. Recently the opportunity presented itself on a trip to Zimbabwe and having been diagnosed with FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) disease I accepted the challenge.

There I found myself with a frayed rubber band attached to my ankles standing on a seemingly fragile metal platform. My toes curled around the bar beneath my feet, sweaty hands attempting to grip anything that looked sturdy. Don’t look down, don’t look down and then I disobeyed my instructions and let my eyes flicker below. WHY? What in the name of Allah had inspired me, challenged me and allowed me to enter my mind, body and soul into this state of sheer terror? A crewmember began peeling my fingers back from their place of safety; I shot him a stern look, a huge grin burst across his face,
“Time to bungee, shamwari!”

To get to this point: I had been weighed and instructed to sign a contract which in my mind stated, “it is by your own foolish will that you jump and if it results in death – so be it.” I had then become a part of the crowd on the bridge, encouraging others as they jumped off and offering solace to those who believed they didn’t have the courage. As the line crept towards the edge finally my name was called. I stooped beneath the gate entering my place of performance looking back at the crowd for reassurance before a hand attached itself to my harness and guided me to the edge. Remembering the instructions I had been given I looked up to the horizon, and waited for the count down. Shrubby kissed by the summer rain greeted my eyes, I inhaled the fresh African air that danced around me, a strange sense of peace overcame my mind and I thought ‘this is what life’s about’. Those moments of pure clarity before you’re launched into a state of frenzy.
“Five, Four, Three, Two… BUNGEE!”

For a millisecond I was airborne, superwoman threatening to fly but gravity gripped my body pulling me violently towards the Zambezi that surged beneath. I had no control of my limbs I felt them being tossed around like a rag doll. Fear rippled through my body, adrenaline pumping and yet I felt free. I demanded my eyes to stay open, a blur of green and blue rushed past me, the wind whistled in my ears and then a harsh tug allowed me to defy gravity once more sending me upward. I was now fully upright in the air, going for round two.

With Mosi-oa-Tunya- ‘The Smoke Which Thunders’- behind me, I hung insignificantly between Zambia and Zimbabwe thanking Africa for being so absurdly beautiful in its turmoil form.