Beads of perspiration ran down my face; my shirt •stuck to my back. Insects buzzed around my ears. That afternoon it seemed as though every living thing on the earth was seeking shelter in whatever shade it could find. The humidity, rising like steam from the ground, covered everything. My mind wandered vaguely from one subject to another.
That afternoon in early October I was at my village, Katongoa, about 15 kilometers from Sesheke Town in Zambia. The village is on the northern side of the Zambezi River not far from where David Livingstone first saw the Zambezi River in August 1851.
Tempted by the heat, my two friends and I decided to go for a swim in the Zambezi. Down the river from our village is an island called Crocodile Island. People from my village have been killed by crocodiles along the banks of the river. But when the Zambezi Valley becomes an oven, reason disappears, and no one could dissuade us from cooling off in the river.
To protect ourselves from crocodile attacks we often made hedges in the water using reeds or branches. This method worked most of the time. However, there have been instances when crocodiles attacked in spite of these enclosures. While people were busy swimming in the enclosure, crocodiles were known to crawl around the enclosure and surprise them from the riverbank.
That day we did not swim inside an enclosure. We weren't only going to cool ourselves, but to compete as well. I was considered one of the best swimmers in the village, and occasionally someone challenged me to a competition. One of my friends, Mubita, an average swimmer, challenged me that afternoon. I don't know why.
We rushed into the river like little children. Within a few minutes I had swum about 30 yards from the bank, far from my friends. Akatama shouted to me to swim closer to the bank. But I wanted to show Mubita that I could swim for a long time. So instead of going back, I decided to swim a bit upstream, then turn toward the bank. Then I would float back to where my friends were.
My thirst forgotten, I felt refreshed. I had floated about 20 yards when I felt a sharp pain in my chest. After that I lost feeling in my legs. Looking back over my shoulder I saw my leg in the mouth of a crocodile.
I screamed and tried to kick, but before I could close my mouth, I was pulled underwater. When I came to the surface I tried to shout. But if any sound came out of my mouth, I felt certain that no one heard it.
All I could do was pray. But should I pray for deliverance, or that the end would be as painless as possible?
I don't know how long it was before I saw Mubita swimming toward me. The crocodile was taking me down stream and my hope of survival dwindled. The pain and fear I felt were indescribable. But when I saw Mubita, my hope was rekindled. I tried to reach out to him, but he did not extend his hand in response. Instead, he shouted at me to continue kicking and swimming. I soon lost sight of him and despair overtook me. That's the last thing I remember.
After regaining consciousness, I learned what had happened. When they saw the crocodile attack, Katama and Mubita swam back to the riverbank. Mubita got there first. The two concluded that there was little hope of survival for me. However, Akatama ran to the village for help. Mubita remained behind, wondering what to do.
Mubita decided he couldn't let me go without a struggle."! dove into the river and began to swim," Mubita recalled. That's when I remembered seeing him swim toward me. "I avoided my friend, Sililo, and instructed him to continue struggling," he said.
Then Mubita explained how he swam around behind the crocodile and got on its back. The scales scratched his bare legs, but he felt nothing until the battle was over.
He demonstrated how he thrust his fingers into the crocodile's eyes. "The eyeballs were very strong," Mubita admitted. Nevertheless, he had determined to continue fighting until the crocodile gave up its prey or the fight.
Mubita feared me dead when he suddenly saw me stop struggling. Wondering what to do, he concluded that the crocodile should be killed, since he thought it had killed me. He pressed his fingers deeper into the animal's eye sockets.
Suddenly, the crocodile pushed its tail into the water and loosened its jaws. My leg fell out. "The water became red, "Mubita stated. He thought at that point that the crocodile was going to shake him off, so he wrapped his legs around the crocodile's body and pushed his fingers further into its eyes. Before he realized it, the crocodile started diving, and within a few moments, Mubita found himself underwater, still clinging to the creature's back.
Unable to continue fighting, Mubita let go and swam to the surface, only to find that I was not where he thought he had left me. He scanned the surface of the river and saw me floating downstream. Powered by adrenaline, he swam over and caught up with me. He then swam to the bank with me on his chest.
When Mubita dragged me to dry ground, Akatama was still gone. The flesh on my leg was hanging loosely. Mubita took his shirt and bandaged my wound to prevent further loss of blood. Then he proceeded to push water out of my stomach and gave me mouth-to mouth until I was able to breathe again. When people from the village arrived, I began to breathe on my own and they rushed me to the hospital.
What can I say about this experience? The crocodile was certain it was going to have me for lunch. Like any other animal of prey, crocodiles are vicious killers.
That's why I can hardly believe Mubita's bravery when he risked his life to save mine. I wonder if I could have done the same for him. The debt I owe can never be repaid; he gave me back my life.
Likewise, the debt I owe Christ for offering Himself as a sacrifice for my sins is beyond human understanding. He risked His life so I could escape the enemy’s clutches. When Satan tries to drag me down, Christ is the one I trust to lift me up.
Stephen Musonda was Secretary-Treasurer of the West Zambia Field when he wrote this story.
Adventist Review, February 12, 2009
That afternoon in early October I was at my village, Katongoa, about 15 kilometers from Sesheke Town in Zambia. The village is on the northern side of the Zambezi River not far from where David Livingstone first saw the Zambezi River in August 1851.
Tempted by the heat, my two friends and I decided to go for a swim in the Zambezi. Down the river from our village is an island called Crocodile Island. People from my village have been killed by crocodiles along the banks of the river. But when the Zambezi Valley becomes an oven, reason disappears, and no one could dissuade us from cooling off in the river.
To protect ourselves from crocodile attacks we often made hedges in the water using reeds or branches. This method worked most of the time. However, there have been instances when crocodiles attacked in spite of these enclosures. While people were busy swimming in the enclosure, crocodiles were known to crawl around the enclosure and surprise them from the riverbank.
That day we did not swim inside an enclosure. We weren't only going to cool ourselves, but to compete as well. I was considered one of the best swimmers in the village, and occasionally someone challenged me to a competition. One of my friends, Mubita, an average swimmer, challenged me that afternoon. I don't know why.
We rushed into the river like little children. Within a few minutes I had swum about 30 yards from the bank, far from my friends. Akatama shouted to me to swim closer to the bank. But I wanted to show Mubita that I could swim for a long time. So instead of going back, I decided to swim a bit upstream, then turn toward the bank. Then I would float back to where my friends were.
My thirst forgotten, I felt refreshed. I had floated about 20 yards when I felt a sharp pain in my chest. After that I lost feeling in my legs. Looking back over my shoulder I saw my leg in the mouth of a crocodile.
I screamed and tried to kick, but before I could close my mouth, I was pulled underwater. When I came to the surface I tried to shout. But if any sound came out of my mouth, I felt certain that no one heard it.
All I could do was pray. But should I pray for deliverance, or that the end would be as painless as possible?
I don't know how long it was before I saw Mubita swimming toward me. The crocodile was taking me down stream and my hope of survival dwindled. The pain and fear I felt were indescribable. But when I saw Mubita, my hope was rekindled. I tried to reach out to him, but he did not extend his hand in response. Instead, he shouted at me to continue kicking and swimming. I soon lost sight of him and despair overtook me. That's the last thing I remember.
After regaining consciousness, I learned what had happened. When they saw the crocodile attack, Katama and Mubita swam back to the riverbank. Mubita got there first. The two concluded that there was little hope of survival for me. However, Akatama ran to the village for help. Mubita remained behind, wondering what to do.
Mubita decided he couldn't let me go without a struggle."! dove into the river and began to swim," Mubita recalled. That's when I remembered seeing him swim toward me. "I avoided my friend, Sililo, and instructed him to continue struggling," he said.
Then Mubita explained how he swam around behind the crocodile and got on its back. The scales scratched his bare legs, but he felt nothing until the battle was over.
He demonstrated how he thrust his fingers into the crocodile's eyes. "The eyeballs were very strong," Mubita admitted. Nevertheless, he had determined to continue fighting until the crocodile gave up its prey or the fight.
Mubita feared me dead when he suddenly saw me stop struggling. Wondering what to do, he concluded that the crocodile should be killed, since he thought it had killed me. He pressed his fingers deeper into the animal's eye sockets.
Suddenly, the crocodile pushed its tail into the water and loosened its jaws. My leg fell out. "The water became red, "Mubita stated. He thought at that point that the crocodile was going to shake him off, so he wrapped his legs around the crocodile's body and pushed his fingers further into its eyes. Before he realized it, the crocodile started diving, and within a few moments, Mubita found himself underwater, still clinging to the creature's back.
Unable to continue fighting, Mubita let go and swam to the surface, only to find that I was not where he thought he had left me. He scanned the surface of the river and saw me floating downstream. Powered by adrenaline, he swam over and caught up with me. He then swam to the bank with me on his chest.
When Mubita dragged me to dry ground, Akatama was still gone. The flesh on my leg was hanging loosely. Mubita took his shirt and bandaged my wound to prevent further loss of blood. Then he proceeded to push water out of my stomach and gave me mouth-to mouth until I was able to breathe again. When people from the village arrived, I began to breathe on my own and they rushed me to the hospital.
What can I say about this experience? The crocodile was certain it was going to have me for lunch. Like any other animal of prey, crocodiles are vicious killers.
That's why I can hardly believe Mubita's bravery when he risked his life to save mine. I wonder if I could have done the same for him. The debt I owe can never be repaid; he gave me back my life.
Likewise, the debt I owe Christ for offering Himself as a sacrifice for my sins is beyond human understanding. He risked His life so I could escape the enemy’s clutches. When Satan tries to drag me down, Christ is the one I trust to lift me up.
Stephen Musonda was Secretary-Treasurer of the West Zambia Field when he wrote this story.
Adventist Review, February 12, 2009