Bunji Jump

As I stand on the huge bridge that borders Zimbabwe and Zambia I look down to the uncompassionate waters of the Zambezi River contemplating my fate. Tourists of all nationalities dander along the walkway peering over the bridge, gathering in small groups around the bunji cage. Cameras hang around their necks like ornate jewels and baseballs caps shade their eyes from the sun that burns a hole in the cloudless blue sky above us. My family urge me towards the bronzed bunji officials in khaki uniforms who are busy talking to the nervous jumpers egging them on with terrifying bunji myths of how their eyeballs will pop out if they don't close their eyes. I swallow nervously and make my way to the front of the gathered onlookers. I am greeted warmly by the officials as they tie ropes around my bare ankles, I think of the irony of prison like shackles being necessary for me to enjoy the freedom of flying. I have some last minute coaching from the two strangers that I am trusting with my life and I shuffle onto the small stage from which I am about to throw myself. The small iron gate closes behind me separating me from my excited father and terrified, tearful mother and I know there is no turning back. I force myself not to look down as my countdown begins, the crowd join in and somewhere between 5 and 1 I manage to sum up enough courage to jump into the balmy African air as they all scream BUNJI! As my feet leave the platform with my arms outstretched and my toes pointed the moment lasts forever as I am held in the air by the hands of time, all fear drains out of my body as I surrender myself to the forces of Nature. Suddenly I am falling through the air cutting it like a knife, gravity becomes my master as I am spiralled downwards faster and faster. The wind smoothes back my hair and my eyes become dry from the speed at which I am diving towards the water. The blue of the river moves closer and closer as I gather speed, I am sure I will be immersed by the choppy intimidating currents below me, swallowed by the jaws of the Zambezi that show me no mercy as I plummet to my destiny. Just as my face is within inches of the surface the rope becomes taught and I am wrenched upwards on the elastic band by which I am dangling from the bridge above. My rag doll body bounces as if lifeless and I catch a glimpse of the faces above peering down at me before I am thrown down again violently. I feel like a yo-yo as I spring up and down on my invisible trampoline enjoying every minute of my freedom. The rope is now exhausted and I dangle heavily by my feet as my rescuer is lowered down from above. The blood is concentrated in my fingertips and I force myself to open my eyes and view the world from upside down. The rugged cliff faces stand solid and reassuring and the occasional tree grows bravely from a horizontal position. A family of Vervet monkeys with their bright blue genitals play in the long grass beside the river like mischievous children while the sun reflects off the water like small crystals floating on its surface. I can detect the smell of Jasmine coming from the surrounding trees and exotic birds call out to one another as I am suspended in an African Paradise. My sightseeing is ended by the strong arms of a bunji professional, he chatters endlessly as we are reeled in like a fisherman's catch. I stammer a few nervous thank you's as my feet are unbound and I stand firm on the bridge. I pause to look down at the huge expanse of clear cut air that I flew through only minutes ago as the next adrenaline addict is roped up and ready to go.

©Bethany Morrison 2002

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