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Botswana and Namibia Near Tragedy

Lily Finch

    The Kazungula Bridge spans 423 ft and links the town of Kazungula in Zambia with Botswana. This thoroughfare also boasts a rail line and a walkway for pedestrians. I realized my plight to swim the river might be more complex since three countries converge around the same point.
    I was aware of the issues that I could run into, and I had to watch my back in all aspects of this trip since the southern African region is increasingly becoming vulnerable to threats of terrorism, illegal migration, human and drug trafficking and armed robberies. Nonetheless, I wanted to swim across the Zambezi River. I know I can do this swim in my sleep, but I wanted to ensure that the authorities and other people on my team understood my intent and that there was no chance of getting any wires crossed. If I played my cards right, I could enter three different countries. I just had to do my swimming adequately and appropriately.
    The Zambesi River is the fourth longest river in Africa. It’s the primary source of two hydroelectric power sources on the river. The border along the main channel of the Chobe River was disputed with Namibia: The point at which the borders of Botswana, Namibia, Zambia, and Zimbabwe meet in the middle of the river has never been determined.
    Only this swim would be more dangerous than any of my other swims by far because of the Nile crocodiles, Zambesi Sharks, and hippopotamuses. These big game animals scare me more than the others because the river is not wide, and I am all alone in the middle. That leaves me vulnerable, but I am sure that once I am out there, the thought of those predators being there will escape my mind enough to become fully engrossed in my swim.
    Jorgé was my spot man in the boat with a local, so that would be good for me. I know with both spotters, there would be less chance of anything happening to me. I felt more relaxed knowing that Jorgé was with me for the ride. As I prepared, we talked about what I would do if I caught by a crocodile so they could shoot without shooting me. Roll into a ball and let the crocodile think he has me. The plan was golden.
    We began our preparations now, as my swim would only be a matter of minutes. Nonetheless, we took all the necessary precautions.
    As I began my swim, the water was warm and felt great. I was supercharged for this swim. I knew it would only take minutes to complete, and I was geeked. Jorgé and the other boatman were on the boat and ahead of me by a tiny bit, their rifles at the ready. I swam two strokes. In an instant, I was gone. Holy Fuck! My brain kicked in. This can’t be happening to me. Roll with the Croc Jenny. Just roll with it in the same direction to avoid causing extensive damage. Hopefully, it’ll use up a lot of energy, so I remember thinking it would need to rest before trying again. Panic-stricken, I surfaced as soon as he let me go, and I saw a shot go past us in the murky water on account of us stirring up some dirt from the bottom of the River bed. The second shot landed, I thought, but I wasn’t sticking around to find out. I had a lot of blood coming from somewhere. I waived off the assistance and swam toward the other shore with a vengeance. I barely made it using a stroke similar to the backstroke and whip kick, as I had difficulties properly manipulating some of my limbs. After five minutes, I swam the 515 ft and surfaced on the shore of Zambia.
    Jorgé jumped out of the water to help me walk. The crocodile was not my friend. My leg looked like a chunk of hamburger, and parts were missing, but Jorgé said it wasn’t that bad. I had doubts since I couldn’t walk on it and my swimming was a joke. We got medical assistance and sent me back to the USA.
    Jorgé and my parents waited outside the surgery room while the doctors worked on me relentlessly, trying to connect my leg and make it look like one piece again. I had a ton of stitches, and I felt terrible. I was sure the drugs they had me on could stop an elephant. I remember them saying I would walk with a cane for a long while but would be fine after some time. Nine months later, the spotter told Jorgé that a parcel was coming and that Jorgé should pay the duty for it.
    We paid the duty, and the most beautiful crocodile-tanned skin came out of the package. The card read:
    Jenny and Jorgé, I hope this card finds you well. This elusive bastard was finally shot so that Jenny could have a piece of her predator for collecting her stuff at her granny’s grave. I have enclosed some crocodile teeth too. Enjoy and come back whenever you want. You always have a place here with us. Yours, Rowan.
    Jenny held up the skin and thought it looked much smaller now. She laughed and then thought this was interesting how she held the crocodile now in her environment, much like the crocodile held Jenny in its environment. The tables were reversed. Jenny put the skin on the wall and took a tooth or two to her granny’s grave. She would go on her own after Jorgé returned home.
    While she was convalescing, she would consider returning to the area to write her story about the trafficking, smuggling, and indecencies in Botswana and the Central African Republic. There were diamond and gold mines there, too, that were heavily exploited. The knowledge Jenny had about the issues was enough that the article could write itself.
    Jorgé left on a Tuesday morning; she was at her granny’s gravesite that afternoon. She left the crocodile teeth next to the shark teeth, sand, shell and stone. She thought the next time, she might look for a sand dollar, perhaps. She would consider returning to that area of the world to write a top-notch story about the swindling of the natural resources of the two countries.

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