Rafting on the Zambezi

Our rafting group - I'm in the pink shorts, obvs.

I had always wanted to go white water rafting.  Not that I had ever sat and really thought about what that would entail… it just seemed like a badass thing to do.  Being a particularly non-badass kind of person, at times bordering on “scaredy cat” or “stick in the mud,” I figured rafting could help in social situations.  You know, “Oh, well, when I went white water rafting…” (while pretentiously holding an obscure craft beer, probably an IPA).

So, the obvious choice for my first rafting experience was to be on the Zambezi River, one of the top 5 rivers to raft on in the entire world.

Sign number one that this was maybe a little too intense for a first-timer.

The bridge over the Zambezi, connecting Zambia and Zimbabwe.
People can also bungee jump off this bridge.

 For over a month I anticipated the rafting trip, trying to lull myself into a sense of false security with the fact that two of my guy friends were going too and they would never let anything bad happen to me.

A fellow volunteer (and avid rafter herself) told me about her one friend that went rafting, fell out of the raft, and got stuck underneath a rapid.  Even though everyone could see her, she was stuck a few inches under the water and no one could get her out.  Her life jacket eventually did its job and she was fine… but still.

Sign number two.

Then, in talking to one of my best friends from home, I mentioned that some of the rapids were class 5 – the most difficult rapids that non-professionals are allowed to go on.  His response?  “And it’ll be your first time?  Oh Tess … (silence) … please be careful.”

Sign number three.

I went through with the plans anyway, and early that morning found myself sitting through a nauseating safety session.  Of course it was information I wanted to know, and the six emergency rescue kayakers that would be with us comforted me, but hearing all of the things that could go wrong did nothing to calm my nerves.  After strapping up in life jackets and helmets and being equipped with oars, we began the 100 meter descent down a rocky staircase into the gorge of Victoria Falls.

My legs were trembling so much I thought I might trip and fall down the stairs.  I didn’t work out yesterday, so why are my legs so tired? I thought.  Is it some weird hangover side effect?  I feel fine otherwise…

That’s when I realized that I didn’t feel fine otherwise.  I was terrified out of my mind.  As the others in my group boarded the raft I stood quivering, looking out over the river.  The first rapid was directly in front of us: the “Boiling Pot.”  A grade 4 (out of 5) rapid, it was angry and hungry and I was a pig-in-a-blanket.

“Look at all these older people,” one of my friends said.  “If they can do it, so can you.”  I didn’t quite believe him.  I mean, I’m 22 years old and I still need a princess band-aid for my boo-boos.

I was glad to get situated in the raft before my legs gave out.  We pushed off into the water.  Our guide, Tembo, had us practice paddling together a few times and then we were off.  He was screaming at us to paddle and, dear Lord, I was trying, but we were swept up in the ire of the Boiling Pot and it carried our raft mercilessly toward a rock wall.  Our raft tilted until it was on one side, and I held onto the side rope with both hands, praying we wouldn’t flip.  Somehow we made it through, but my friend had fallen out of the raft.  Luckily we quickly got him back in (I am not involved in that “we”).  My contacts had been pushed back into my eye sockets somewhere, leaving me extremely disoriented.

I'm the one in the top middle, holding on with both hands
while fellow crew members are cast into the river.

Everyone was smiling and laughing, exhilarated – even my friend who had fallen in.  One of the women said to me, “We all look happy… but you still look scared.”

I couldn’t respond.  I was about to cry.  This was not fun.  This was scary.  This could possibly kill, or at least seriously maim me.  My friends kept looking at me, asking if I was alright.  I nodded, but in my head I was wondering how soon one of those kayakers could just paddle me to safety.  I picked out a few big rocks that I thought I could hide behind unnoticed to lick my wounds while the others finished.

The next two rapids were a class 3 and 4 respectively, and we went smoothly over them.  After successfully making it through those two, I realized my chest kind of hurt – I hadn’t been breathing.  A few deep breaths calmed my nerves and I acknowledged that not every rapid wanted to chew me up, steal my contacts, and spit me back out, half the woman I was before – despite their, ahem, comforting names such as “Gnashing Jaws of Death,” “Oblivion,” and “The Terminator.”

It was amazing being on the Zambezi.  100 meters of sheer rock rose up on either side, contrasting sharply with the clear, azure blue sky.  It was truly awe-inspiring, breathtaking, natural beauty.

Eventually we came to rapid 8, dubbed the “Midnight Diner.”  There was an option to go on the easy route, class 3, or the difficult route, class 5.  Everyone started to get really excited, and then someone looked at me and asked, “Well, it’s up to you – which do you want to do?”

The boys’ faces in the raft were like puppy dogs staring at a ball, breathlessly waiting to see which way you’ll throw it.

“I’m in,” I said.  “Let’s go big.” 

That’s when our guide started telling us what to do when we flip.  Someone asked, “When we flip, not if we flip?!” 

No time to debate – we were headed into the rapid.  We paddled our little hearts out, but hit a wall of water and the nose of our raft flipped up and over.  

I was, again, holding onto the rope on the side of the raft for dear life (literally) and had a mini-panic attack as I rose to the water (death by asphyxiation is one of my greatest fears).  My arms were all twisted with another woman’s, but I was too scared to let go of the rope until we were in calmer water.  People from all sides were yelling directions at me, and Tembo was on top of the upside-down raft yelling, “What are you doing?! You didn’t pay attention at the safety session!”

Thank you, Tembo, for the positive reinforcement when I’m freaking the fuck out and have no clue what’s going on.  Also, my shorts are falling off and the last thing I need is to bare my pale ass to a bunch of strangers.

Anyway.  The raft was righted and we were all trying to help one another climb back in.  “Hurry, hurry!  Faster!” Tembo screamed.  “Rapid 9 is coming up, hurry!”

The ninth rapid is a class 6, and therefore too dangerous for any company to guide people through.  We had to get out of the raft and walk around.  Hearing Tembo mention rapid nine kicked my butt into gear and I hustled to get back on the raft.

The guides, who are professional rafters, took the rafts over rapid nine.  It was insane.  No normal human being should ever want to put themselves in that kind of danger.  I could barely walk over the rocks on the side without falling over.  (I wish I was joking.)

Surprisingly, thankfully, the rest of the day was extremely pleasant.  We took a break and had sandwiches for lunch, then headed back out.  The sky quickly grew dark and a thunderstorm broke out.  Being so small in the water on a tiny raft, surrounded by enormous cliffs and a dark ominous sky, and being pelted with cold rain made me feel like I was in an adventure movie.  Maybe Lord of the Rings.  Well, in my case, more like The Hobbit.

Lightning struck all around us and the thunder reverberated throughout the gorge.  It was the loudest, longest thunder I have ever heard in my life.  It was so cool.  (In the Book of Tess: Drowning?  No good.  Getting struck by lightning?  Cool!)

The rest of the rapids were easy to handle and good, old-fashioned, wholesome fun.  I was very thankful to be able to relax for the second half of the day and enjoy my surroundings, even daring to climb out of the raft and swim for awhile.

I can’t say enough positive things about the rafting guides.  Until I looked at the pictures, I didn’t realize how much they do, but they honestly work their behinds off to keep us safe and on the right track.  Tembo did a fantastic job, and kept us all laughing (I joined in once I was sure I wasn’t going to cry).

Not counting our guide, I'm second from the left.

Now that I survived rafting on the Zambezi, I’m ready for anything.  Apparently there’s great rafting at the Grand Canyon – who’s in?

You can read a description of the rapids here.