A traveller's tale

Many moons ago, there I was strolling through western Uganda (yes, strolling ... and hitching-hiking too) when I was struck down with cerebral malaria.  One minute I was going about my daily business of exploring Africa with my lovely sister and the next I found myself lying on a mattress, like a limp piece of lettuce (possibly a possessed limp piece of lettuce), on the floor of a remote country hospital.  My sister shared the full experience with me, though at the time we barely noticed each other's sad and lifeless bodies lying on the next mattress.

Time merged into nothingness.  I came to realize that after a period of feverish shaking, sweating, vivid dreams and drifting in and out of consciousness, I would snap back into the harsh reality of our situation.  F?#&!   No onsite doctors or medicine.  No running water.  No electricity.  No food.  It was the responsibility of a patient's family to supply them with daily food and water.  My sister and I were lucky.  A student nurse, Susan, took it upon herself to carry water and food for us from her home to the hospital each morning.   She lived 8km from the hospital and she walked to and from work.  She prodded us awake every few hours, asking us to look across at each other, asking us to decide if the other looked ‘present'.   I'll never forget the attention and kindness that this generous and thoughtful young woman showed us.  I feel like I owe her so much.

When the fever took hold, so did delirium, however, there were sporadic fleeting moments of clarity during which I pondered our fate.  I convinced myself of my impending death.  No one would find me.  No one would know what happened to my body.  Somebody's family would get to make use of my remaining $600. (Better be a nice family.)  My parents would wonder what became of me.  My friends would think I was having too much fun to bother contacting them.   I would never go home again.  I would never see the sea again.  My life would be another spec in the spectrum of life - gone forever.

Of course, here I am today (sister too) both ‘present' ... the drama's over baby!   But what stays with me is a brief near death experience that occurred one night in the hospital.  It wasn't a dream.  I wasn't hallucinating, though I suspect some people think I was.  That's OK (sceptics).

Everything went very black and it was very quiet.  I began to move, very quickly.  I was being pulled somewhere.  I realized I didn't have a physical form anymore.  Suddenly lights began to flash, some far away, some near, some bright, some not so bright.  I found myself standing at the side of a long, winding dirt road.  One light began to shine brighter than the rest and I just went to it.   There were no words spoken but we were communicating.  I just knew what the light was ‘saying' and the light knew what I was ‘saying'.

The light had a very playful and loving energy and I ‘knew' I was supposed to follow it to a bigger and even brighter light at the end of the long, winding track.  I also ‘knew' that if I followed the light, I would not be able to come back.  I remember enjoying the energy of that light.  I wanted to stay, I wanted to follow it to the brightest light, but I knew I couldn't do that yet.  So I ‘said' I couldn't come because I had things to do.  And the light very happily disappeared.  I then realized that I was back on the mattress in the hospital.  My sister was still lying next to me.  Alive but not yet ‘present'.

A few weeks after this experience, I wrote this poem and whenever I read it those amazing moments come flooding back to me.   As if it was just yesterday.  So now I'd like to share the poem with you ....

I'M NOT AFRAID

I'm not afraid

For I met death

On a lonely road

In the darkest void

AND DEATH WAS BEAUTIFUL

I'm not afraid

For I ran into Death

And stayed to play

And prayed to stay

AND DEATH WANTED ME

I'm not afraid

For Death drew me close

And made me warm

In my confusion

AND DEATH LOVED ME