I thought we would die.
It all happened so fast. A blinding light, a sharp swerve, the sound of smashed metal and flying glass shards later, I sat frozen in the passenger seat, with our car just escaping the edge of a towering cliff.
Pushed off the narrow, winding dirt road encircling the forbidding mountain by a heavyweight lorry, our car was forced dangerously close to the edge, as the lorry forged mercilessly towards us round a blind bend.
Had force, friction, velocity and verve played a different roulette, we would have been sent tumbling down sharply over the edge, like a tiny crumb flicked from a dinner table, into a bottomless valley below.
Surrounding us, were acres of thick rainforest, aptly named “Bwindi”, meaning “Impenetrable”, without a person in sight. There was no telephone reception for miles. Even if we had survived the crash, there would have been no way to call for help.
That, might have been the closest to death I have ever been.
With our car perched close to the edge of the cliff, my body froze like a popsicle, as I saw ourselves being pushed over, soaring over the thicket of trees before being crunched by gravity and metal.
It was the angry voice which snapped me out of my shocked stupor.
“BARNAGE (Damn)!” shouted the lorry driver in Luganda through the mist of the early morning darkness. I was relieved to hear his angry, burly voice, pummelled at us at full force, un-dimpled by any scratch, bruise or blood. “YOU SHOULD DRIVE ON LEFT!”
On serpentine, thread-thin dirt roads snaking round imposing cliffs, there was neither right nor left to be differentiated. Around eyeless, mirrorless bends in the wilderness, only caution and chance gave one escape. The lorry was going at a raging speed, reflecting its over-confident, routine every-day journey carrying cargo on the same predictable, sinewy paths.
WE were the anomalies, visiting the rainforest as accidental tourists, on our drive back from a ministry trip from Rwanda.
In a huff, the lorry driver hustled off.
“Isn’t it strange, he didn’t demand us for any money?”
Given the suddenness of the accident and magnitude of what-could-have-been, it was a miracle that no one was hurt. The lorry, slamming headfirst into the cliff, merely had one headlight and a side mirror crushed to pieces, sending glass flying into the air.
Four hours later, after a breathtaking experience of viewing Uganda’s impenetrable rainforests and wildlife, we were stopped at a gantry by a stubby-looking guard.
“You had accident with lorry just now?” He asked in an odd sing-song voice, almost comically. This was the same guard who had asked us for “beer money” on our way in, which we had smiled and refused politely.
“Yes, there was an incident,” Cliff replied, coolly.
“You know, that lorry driver has called ALL the traffic police and local authorities. This is VERY BAD situation. He is now in critical condition. VERY CRITICAL, now in hospital.”
“Critical condition?” I asked. There was no contact injury, much less a bruise on the lorry driver. But could I have missed something? Should I have checked him before he rushed off on his way? Could it have been an awful whiplash injury?
” You need to pay damages, 250’000 shillings. And if not, traffic police are coming to arrest you now. I can help you- you give me something like 150’000 shillings and I can pass to him, help him out. Help YOU out too.”
Smelling a fish, it was the husband who stood his ground, keeping his cool.
“Where is he hospitalized now? We’ll go and visit him,” Cliff said, with genuine concern.
Everything in my mind screamed a selfish, resounding no. It would totally ruin our driving schedule, spoil our trip and delay us further. We could even be taken for a ride. Yet, deep down, I knew Cliff was doing the right and wise thing.
If the lorry driver was really injured, visiting him at hospital would only be the right thing to do. Exchanging phone numbers out of convenience would only open doors for extortion, if his claims weren’t true.
“He is at Kabale Hospital. Just 85 kilometres from here. But you know, I can help you pass the money to him, then you can enjoy more of our rainforest, don’t worry.”
“Kabale Hospital. Okay, we’ll go visit him. Thank you very much, ssebo (sir).”
Seeing my husband’s authentic determination to visit a man in “critical condition”, the guard then changed his ground. “Oh, actually, the driver is not in Kabale Hospital. He was SO MUCH CRITICAL, that he was transferred to Mbarara Hospital, much much further away! Oh, it is too far over there! You better let me help you out now before the Police come to arrest you. “
Just as how God had previously saved us time and again from challenging situations, I said a prayer for this situation too. “God, help us.”
Visions of us behind bars after an 11-month term in this beautiful country flashed past me. What a way to end our mission term, I thought.
Thrown into completely new situations in a foreign country, only divine grace, mercy, wisdom and discretion would help us find our way out.
Just as how God had miraculously saved us from any injury, surely He would help us through this, too.
Just then, another guard came over. Tall and thin with a winsome smile, he asked what the matter was. With a Solomon-like air of wisdom, he walked over to our car, examined it closely and said to the other stubby guard, “Look how smart their small car is. No scratches, no nothing.”
Obviously, it didn’t tally with the lorry driver’s story of us crashing into his lorry, injuring him and ruining his vehicle.
“You see their car? Left side no problem. The lorry said his right side mirror, window, door, headlight all damaged. If these mzungus (foreigners) were at fault, their left side would be… aiyaya!”
The stubby guard, as if having a sudden epiphany, agreed profusely, now that his superior had arrived on scene.
Finally given the chance to share our side of the story, it was clear that the lorry driver’s speed had posed a grave danger to us, and other drivers too.
“You people go,” said the tall guard, with a smile.
“But what about the lorry driver in critical condition?” I asked. ” I find it so hard to imagine because I’m a medic, I have a first aid kit, I know CPR… I would have helped if he was badly injured…”
I kept replaying the scene over and over in my mind, wondering what injuries the lorry driver could have sustained.
“Madam, you don’t worry at all.” This time, it was the stubby guard who turned his stance round completely 180-degrees. “Ah that fellow is trying to get money from you. He is not in critical condition at all. In fact, he is going to drive back here very soon.”
“THAT fellow is trying to get money from us?” I echoed, almost laughing at the irony of the stubby guard’s statement, remembering how a minute ago, he had tried desperately to convince us to give him money to pay for the lorry driver’s hospital fees and damages, to prevent us from “getting arrested”.
“And what about the police?” I asked.
The tall guard stepped in, saying, “We will take care of it. We have seen your vehicle and his vehicle. We have heard your story and his story. We know which one is the truth.”
“Webale, ssebo (thank you, sir),” I said with relief. “What is your name?”
“Silver, my name is Silver. Thank you for enjoying our country. Thank you for volunteering here.”
He smiled before waving us off.
It reminded us, that no matter how dire, difficult or dangerous the situations we may be in, nothing is too hard for God.
Whether it be putting angels round our car to stop it from going over a ledge, saving us from a disastrous accident, or sending someone as a silver lining to take us out of an abyss reeking of corruption and deceit, God can and will provide a way.
In spite of the convoluted twists and turns we have had to journey through in the mission field at times, we have still enjoyed this beautiful country, filled with majestic rainforests, beautiful valleys and people who have never failed to lend us a hand, when we needed a silver lining the most.
“Siiba bulungi (Good day), Silver.”
Then the king said unto me, For what dost thou make request?
So I prayed to the God of heaven.
– Nehemiah 2:4