Island

Despite the fact that sea legs didn’t exactly come second nature to him, he was usually okay on a boat.

But crossing Lake Victoria a day after the scariest whitewater rafting he had ever done?  Not his finest hour. The wump of the waves bounced the boat, though relatively weak, shook him again and again. Holding on for dear life, even though the motorboat seemed perfectly fine–that was how his second day in Uganda would start.

The Island that lay ahead was gorgeous.  Bathed in the morning sun, the trees and high-rise tents were silhouette-like.  You could see the chimpanzees darting around the boundaries of the refuge.  He wondered how large their free range area was, how secure it was, and if they really threw their own poo.

wump.

wump. wump. wump.

They couldn’t be more than a mile away, but it felt like fifty.  He gripped a little tighter.

 

Notes from my own life that I’m leaning heavily on for a story in the future.  In 2004, I spent a week in Uganda with my friend Otis, where we camped on an Island with chimps, rafted the Nile, and witnessed a pretty terrible tragedy.  Trying to fictionalize those things is a bit daunting on a Sunday evening, but I wanted to get these paragraphs down before I forgot them.

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