THERE WERE ELEVEN OF US. Marko, of course. Adi, of course. Two Mikes. Brent. Bidders. David. Jakie. Skippy. Viv. The whole gang. I met up with them in Maun. We loaded three silver flat-bottomed boats and set off. Days of
floating, drifting, fishing, dancing. In the evenings we got fairly loud and very naughty. In the mornings we cooked bacon and eggs over open fires, went for cold swims. I drank bush cocktails, and African beer, and ingested certain controlled substances.
When the weather got really hot, we decided to break out the Jet Ski. I had the presence of mind, beforehand, to remove my iPhone from my pocket and stow it in the Jet Ski console. I congratulated myself on being so prudent. Then Adi jumped on the back of the Jet Ski, followed by a very anarchic Jakie.
So much for prudent.
I told Jakie to get off. Three’s too many. He wouldn’t hear me. What could I do?
Away we went.
We were cruising around, laughing, trying to avoid the hippos. We roared past a sandbar on which a ten-foot crocodile was sleeping in the sun. Just as I curved the Jet Ski to the left I saw the croc open its eyes and slither into the water.
Moments later, Adi’s hat flew off.
Go back, go back, he said.
I did a U-turn, not easy with three onboard. I brought us alongside the hat, and Adi leaned over to snatch it. Then Jakie leaned over to help. We all fell into the river.
I felt my sunglasses slip from my face, saw them plunk into the water. I dived after them. The moment I came up, I remembered the croc.
I could see Adi and Jakie thinking the same thing. Then I looked at the Jet Ski. Floating on its side. Shit.
My iPhone!
With all my photos! And phone numbers! MEG!
The Jet Ski came to rest on the sandbar. We flipped it right and I grabbed my phone from the console. Soaked. Ruined. All the photos Meg and I had taken!
Plus all our texts!
I’d known this lads’ trip would be wild, so I’d sent some photos to Meg and other mates before leaving, as a precaution. Still, the rest were surely lost.
More, how was I going to be in touch with her?
Adi said not to worry, we’d put the phone in rice, a surefire way to dry it out.
Hours later, the moment we got back to camp, that was just what we did. We submerged the phone in a big bucket of uncooked white rice.
I looked down, highly dubious. How long will this take? Day or two.
No good. I need a solution now.
Mike and I worked out a plan. I could write a letter to Meg, which he’d take home with him to Maun. Teej could then photograph the letter and text it to Meg. (She had Meg’s number on her phone: I’d given it to her when she first went to collect Meg from the airport.)
Now I just had to write that letter.
The first challenge was finding a pen among that bunch of muppets.
Does anyone have a pen? A what?
A pen.
I’ve got an EpiPen!
No! A pen. A biro! My kingdom for a biro! Oh. A biro. Wow.
Somehow I found one. The next challenge was finding a place to compose. I went off under a tree.
I thought. I stared into space. I wrote:
Hey Beautiful. OK you got me—can’t stop thinking about you, missing you, LOTS. Phone went in river. Sad face…Apart from that, having an amazing time. Wish u were here.
Mike left, letter in hand.
Days later, wrapping up the boat part of the lads’ trip, we returned to Maun.
We met up with Teej, who immediately said: Relax, I’ve already had a reply.
So it hadn’t been a dream. Meg was real. All of it was real.
Among other things, Meg said in her reply that she was eager to speak to me. Jubilant, I went off on the second part of the lads’ trip, into the Moremi forest. This time I brought a sat phone. While everyone was finishing dinner I found a clearing and climbed the tallest tree, thinking the reception might be
better.
I dialed Meg. She answered.
Before I could speak she blurted: I shouldn’t say this but I miss you! I shouldn’t say this as well but I miss you too!
And then we just laughed and listened to each other breathe.
