I can think of almost no instances where I have watched a movie or a show in which a person has jumped off a waterfall and thought to myself that I would not want to do that. “That looks like so much fun,” I’d always say to whoever was with me, or if I was by myself I would think it. And after 23 years of talk I finally had the occasion to act on doing something I was so sure I would enjoy.
I am going to be honest with myself. I am a stable person. I am cautious, not to a fault of course. I go out of my way to secure my safety. In the states I carry keys between my knuckles at night and always call a friend as I walked to my car—my logic no one will attack someone on a phone. In Benin I rarely am caught out at night, and if I am I always have a male volunteer make sure I get home safely. In general I understand the risks of certain behaviors, and avoid them. This makes me sound like a square, which is misleading, but so is what I did a week ago.
After leaving Safari, we asked our guide to stop at the waterfalls. We had heard a lot about the waterfalls, including that you could swim and jump off them. I was so excited about the prospects of finally proofing all my talk all these years, wasn’t just that, talk.
I really can’t say what was more dangerous; the climb up to the top of the waterfall or the jump itself.
After expressing interest in jumping the falls, our waterfall guide, went and searched for a guide to climb to the top with us. Perhaps, he thought after explaining we had to swim across the water, and climb up rocks, we might reconsider. Nope.
So when the guide arrived, Jonny, Clay, and I entered the water, which is when I began to realize I had not thought this through really. I am not a strong swimmer, I mean don’t get me wrong I can swim, but dreading water and floating have never been strong points. About three-fourths across the water, which I imagine was maybe about a lap in a swimming pool, I was worried I couldn’t make it. I am half-ashamed and not to admit I did resort to the doggy paddle a few times.
Once across we mounted onto a small ledge, by grabbing a nearby tree that sacrificed living in rocks for what I imagine to be a constant abundance of water. I was last to climb up, and as we made it to the first jumping point, Clay decided he would jump from there. He hesitated and finally went only after our guide jumped in the water to show him it was safe.
Then there were two.
Jonny and I continued the climb, following the steps of our guide, who had returned after a quick dip for Clay’s sake. I am short and so the whole time climbing the rocks I worried about coming to an instance where my limbs just would not allow me to stretch and reach. Furthermore we were climbing up barefooted obviously on slippery rocks. I was more scared then I realized I know, because I had to stay focus on making it up without slipping. I did not even complete the images of falling onto rocks, even though the thoughts kept trying to cross my mind. Once at the top, I told Jonny I wanted to go last.
We watched as our guide jumped fearlessly the 48 feet down to the water. Standing behind Jonny I could see his leg shaking. I did not say anything. I don’t think either of us really wanted to admit that we were nervous, especially after gaffing a little at Clay jumping early. Before jumping Jonny turned and made sure I did not want to go first. I told him I was fine, and then he made the leap. I don’t remember the jump, but more or less watching to make sure he came back to the surface safe. He did, but he exhaled a little, and in his face I could see pain.
Alone looking out at the water and the trees surrounding me, I returned to myself. Calculating what I must do on my jump and worrying about what might happen to me if something did not go right. I needed to land like a pencil, and then I worried about not holding my breath right as I entered the water and then how could I swim all the way back. I am not sure how long I stood up there, probably a few months. I even crossed myself. A couple times I told myself, OK on the count of three. 1,2,3. Nothing. OK, on the count of five, 1,2,3,4,5. Nothing. Finally the guide motioned something that looked like he wanted me to climb back down. There was no way I was climbing back down the way I came, no fu***** way, I thought. I jumped. I don’t think I could mimic how horrified I looked, and I was so scared. I don’t think I have ever felt that scared.
The jump felt like forever. At first I was scared. Then I enjoyed the weightlessness and registered I had in fact did it. Then the insecurity returned as I had not hit the water yet. I did not even think of all the things that had worried me before jumping. I just wanted to land. And land I did, and not like a pencil. Like my face, I could not mimic that landing twice, but needless to say immediately after emerging from the water the whole side of my left thigh was red and bruising—and I don’t bruise easily.
Walking back to the car, I felt regret immediately for my body. Jonny asked, “Was that your first time jumping something that high?”
“That was my first time jumping anything like that.”
“Seriously,” Jonny said laughing slightly. “That’s intense.”
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