Crocodile Fears

I was eighteen years old and I knew I was invulnerable. I'd spent a week travelling north through Ghana, lush forests giving way to arid scrub. I'd heard of a village on the border with Burkina Faso which was home to sacred crocodiles. I had already thoroughly enjoyed several run ins with the local fauna. After a moonlit walk to the top of a hill I had sat on a convenient rock to rest. It turned out not to be a rock, but was instead a rather angry and thoroughly inconvenient warthog who promptly chased me straight back down said hill. Later on I bumped into a herd of elephants at a watering hole. My guide displayed a charming lack of interest in health and safety and confirmed that I could touch an elephant if I wanted to. The elephants turned out to strongly disagree with the guide and I got a personal best in the 400 metre sprint getting away from the levelled tusks, giggling madly to myself as I ran because I was 18 and I knew I was invulnerable.
My journey continued in a succession of increasingly decrepit minibuses. These frequently broke down in the middle of nowhere and would not travel at night due to the high risk of highwaymen. I was enjoying myself immensely.
When I got to the sacred village I found a large and noisy crowd surrounding a small house by a lake. As I got closer I saw men carefully carry baby crocodiles from inside the house to the edge of the water. I was told that the mother had left her eggs there for safekeeping and that it was a great honour and responsibility. Later I saw the chief who claimed a special relationship between the villagers and the crocodiles they were somehow related to them. He gravely agreed to demonstrate. He took up a small chicken and led me to the waters edge, before raising both arms in a suitably dramatic fashion and calling out. Immediately three huge creatures emerged from the murk and lay down in front of us. I was encouraged to sit on the back of the largest. I could see no good reason why not. I sat with my hands on his muddy, scaly skin. I watched his breath rise and fall. He was massive and he was entirely alien. It was suggested I lift his tail up. I obliged and felt foolish. Then payment was rendered. The live chicken was thrown up underhand. I was only a foot away. The crocodile whipped around with shocking speed and his jaws snatched it out of the air. There was a crunch. Feathers flew. Blood spattered. I grew thoughtful. I was eighteen years old and I no longer felt quite so invulnerable.