Howdy,
Koumakoi just cannot get on the horse. When it was Sarah and me, it was easy. I put my foot in the stirrup and swung up easily. Then, I put my weight on the opposite stirrup and she swung up behind me. Koumakoi can't seem to understand that. He comes straight at it, puts the foot in the stirrup and than grabs for me, almost pulling me off the horse. People run up to the fence from the TB ward offering all kinds of advice in Nangjere. Being an exceptional athlete, Koumakoi finally somehow manages to get up behind me without ripping me from the saddle...and we're off.
It's Saturday after church. The local churches have organized a yearly get together called L'Assemblée Regionale. Everyone has walked off to the river for a baptism but Koumakoi wants to talk to me about something pressing.
We start in a walk. I relish the distraction of Koumakoi's story as this is my first major solo horse ride and I'd rather not think about it so the horse won't sense my fear. Soon, the hospital fades into the background of the Tchadian bush as we take a small sandy path in the midst of the freshly plowed rice fields and the thin covering of green weeds. Huge, billowy cumulous clouds break up the monotony of the deep blue African sky. It is a pleasant 80 or 90 degrees and a cool breeze whips my hair back as I bounce up and down in a steady trot.
Koumakoi is relating the sad story of his best friend who promised not to get involved with his sister but just got her pregnant. He says he's already forgiven him but doesn't know what to do because now he can't trust him and doesn't know what is best for his sister as his friend wants to marry her but both parents are against it. I just let him talk as I try to concentrate on balancing on the horse and not getting bounced around too much.
All the paths look the same, but Koumakoi knows this bush like the back of his hand and continually tells me to turn here or cut across this field or go around that bush or whatever.
The smoke of fires announce the presence of the village of Kasserei, close to the river where we often swim and where today's baptisms will be held.
Soon, the crevasses and small mounds of hardened clay with the tops of a tree line just visible above broadcasts our arrival at the river. Koumakoi bounces off and I continue down the steep bank feeling like all I need is a Stetson and six-shooters to be right in a John Wayne movie or at least one of my childhood dreams. I tie the horse to a bush around a patch of grass, strip off my pants (revealing swimming trunks underneath) and join Pastor Job and Pastor Atchouma in the water.
I baptize five young Nangere Tchadians but feel uncomfortable with the
pressure being put on some on the bank who remain un-baptized, using mass appeal. Last year we did the same thing and already 5 of the young people have been sleeping around with each other and getting themselves pregnant and almost none of them come to church at all.
After everyone leaves I take a short relaxing swim, pull my pants on and quickly mount the horse and ride him up the bank to the waiting Koumakoi. I was kind of hoping Koumakoi would return with the rest so I could have a few moments to myself for a leisurely ride back on the horse. But since he's still hanging around I let him try to get up...and that's where the trouble starts.
Using the same technique as before but with better success this time, he
manages to pull me straight off sideways to the ground. I whip my foot out of the stirrup and manage to keep from hurting myself but the saddle is now underneath the horse. I heave and tug until it is back right side up and then remount telling Koumakoi he better just walk.
After about 15 minutes I start to feel bad so I dismount and let Koumakoi ride. As the cell phone tower of Béré comes into view I want to ride again...second mistake.
I easily mount the horse and am maybe feeling a little too overconfident. I have the single rein in my right hand and the rest of the "rein" (a mere rope) in my left. As Sarah taught me, I make a puckering "pop" with my mouth and at the same time dig my sandaled heels into the horse's flank. On the way out, that was sufficient to start a trot. Now, just as in the movie "A Christmas Story" where the normally obligatory "I triple dare you" is unceremoniously skipped, the horse jumps straight into a full gallop.
Now, for those of you accustomed to horses, that would be no problem. For me, however, I couldn't get into the rhythm. No matter how I tried I was opposite of the horse, meaning my butt was getting pounded with each bounce and I was hanging on for dear life. Amazingly, I still hadn't lost my confidence and was actually rather enjoying the speed of racing across the African plain with the wind in my face and the mud huts of Béré rapidly approaching. In fact, I was cocky enough to think that I'd just slow the horse down and restart the gallop, hopefully this time in sync.
As I'm bouncing along, I start to lean back and pull back on the
single rope tied around the horse's muzzle. At the same time, still at full gallop, the horse moves up to go over a small earthen dike in the local rice field. These two movements combined with my lack of experience leads quickly to a sudden sinking realization that I am totally out of control and off balance. I feel myself rapidly falling backwards and to the right as I let go of the rope.
Then things move to slow motion: The horse is moving his front legs up and over, followed by a lifting of his hind parts up and over. The rope is flying out of my hand and off with the horse. My left foot is swinging out and up while my body is leaning back and right. I somehow find the time to think that I shouldn't get caught in the stirrups so I instinctively kick my right leg back, up and out to sling off the stirrup. My right arm reaches out behind me and finds sand at about the same time as my right hip and lower back and then things rapidly speed up as I roll, jump to my feet and watch the horse high-tail it for home. I gather my flip-flops, and not yet feeling any pain take off after the horse.
As I watch the horse trotting merrily away with the saddle hanging off the side and one stirrup dragging the ground under his belly, my only thought is "please let me catch him before he shows up at home with all the people there who'll instantly know what happened." I doggedly walk after the horse who happily runs off every time I get close.
I soon start to feel a burning in my arm and notice that I have road rash all over my right forearm. I can start to tell, too, that once the adrenaline wears off my back and butt is going to be super sore. Koumakoi comes running up and I tell him I’m OK. I finally get a break when the horse follows the trail around a plowed field allowing me to cut across at an angle and get in front of him.
Then, not really looking back I start walking casually towards home. Occasionally, I'll stop, then restart walking until the horse starts to follow my lead...that's what he really wants, is to follow. At last, he gets close enough that I grab the rope, reposition the saddle and mount back up only to discover that the right stirrup is missing.
Koumakoi and I start to retrace our steps until we see two kids walking up holding the missing stirrup which is soon put back on the saddle.
Needless to say, there was no galloping the rest of the way...but, I can't wait to get back on...the challenge has been set, and I want to meet it...
James
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