Over the years we build memory banks. Some we store but a number go into the recycle bin. If we kept them all our poor brains would explode from information overloaded! Sometimes, however, something happens that remains firmly fixed in our minds. It could be either a good or a bad experience. The good experiences get recalled time and again and make us feel happy. They create a positive effect, but it’s often the bad ones that remain to cause the most problems. These bad or unhappy experiences can shape or change our lives forever.
I am no different to anyone else and have carried a number of these life events with me. Some were traumatic and I am glad that time has diminished their impact. I can look back more objectively but they remain filed away, never completely forgotten.
I used to live on a farm in the Northern Cape in South Africa. I was young and naive and found farm life very challenging. I had always lived in cities, surrounded by people. This farm’s nearest neighbour was twenty miles away. The house was in a field about four hundred yards from a large river. There was a narrow river bank with a sheer drop of about twenty feet to the water below. The pump house for the land irrigation system was built right on the edge of the bank. It had been heavily reinforced after the last severe flood which had resulted in the house, barns and a number of fields under water for weeks.
Inside the pump house was dark and intimidating. I’d feel a magnetic force almost dragging me towards the edge. I’d take a deep breath and glance quickly down into the swirling black abyss. I have always had a very vivid imagination and was convinced someone or something was trying to force me into the water! When the pump was running the noise was deafening and the heat, during the long summer months, stifling. The only time I went there was to relay messages or bring refreshments if the pump broke down.
I had a love / hate relationship with the river. Early on a summer’s morning I’d sit on the bank and psyche myself up to face each day. I’d watch the water, quite still, sparkling in the sunshine, not in any hurry. I could take some comfort in this natural beauty and find peace. Just the river and me. Occasionally fish would leap out and cause ripples to mar the smooth surface. The sound of birdsong, the occasional barking of baboons on the hill opposite, the clacking of moorhens and ducks, were part of a rare, happy memory, filed away but not forgotten. Then I’d be either supervising the sorting of potatoes, weighing cotton or driving trucks filled with vegetables to the market. I had to learn how to drive tractors and tow trailers. I was not a natural and often really struggled to adapt.
When storms raged through the valley and sluice gates were opened to control the volume in the dam, the river morphed into a wild, raging animal! Huge torrents of water roared downstream, demolishing all in its path. The noise would be deafening. Fear would instantly replace those quiet, idyllic mornings spent sitting on the bank, mesmerised by the stillness. I wouldn’t have to walk far from the house to see the deluge surging past at an alarming rate.
One year there had been a significant amount of rain and the lower fields surrounding the house were under water. My daughter was ten months old and I had just found out that I was expecting my son. I had driven back from the hospital ninety miles away and felt exhausted. I saw the police car outside our house and didn’t think much of it. We knew him well and he would often pop in for a coffee on his way back to the police station. I walked through the front door and was amazed to see that the sitting and dining rooms were empty. I couldn’t put my sleeping daughter in her cot. Her bedroom had also been stripped! I walked through the house to the back door and saw two tractors with trailers filled with our belongings!
Paul rushed over to me. ‘We have to leave the house within the hour. Sluice gates higher up the Vaal river in the next catchment area have been opened and the house is probably going to get flooded. They’re taking our possessions up to Jannie’s barn.’
I felt as if I’d been hit with a pole. ‘Where are we going to stay?’ It’s two and a half hours to your other farm. Are they expecting us?’
‘Stop fretting! We’ll go over the bridge and get there in half the time!’
I had recently driven over that bridge and the water was already a few inches deep. I mentioned this and Fanie, the policeman, backed me up when I voiced my concern.
‘Don’t risk the bridge,’ Paul, he said. ‘It’s not worth it.’
‘We’ll be fine. The pick-up is high enough to get through at least a foot of water. Beats another hour’s travelling!’
I was too tired to argue. I just hoped that the policeman was proved wrong! We set off after I had fed my daughter and I closed my eyes as the pick-up bounced along the uneven dirt roads.
We got to the bridge and slowed down. l opened my eyes and and saw that it was completely submerged.
‘Please turn around, ‘I pleaded. ‘It’s taking an unnecessary risk.’
‘We’ll be fine! Stop being such a coward!’
I closed my eyes and held my daughter tight. She must have sensed my anxiety because she began to cry,’ Soothing her, I found her dummy and gently rocked her.
We were half way across the bridge when the pick-up stalled. ‘Damn!’ Paul shouted as he turned the ignition off then on again. ‘C’mon. You can’t stop now!’ He tried again and again but to no avail.
It was then that I heard a dull roar, gradually getting louder. We didn’t have to say anything but knew that the wall of water would soon be upon us.
I saw Paul’s ashen face as he tried to restart the pick-up. ‘Damn you! C’mon! Start!’ Screaming in fear and frustration he banged both hands on the steering wheel.
I shouted above the din. ‘Should we get out and try to make our way to the bank?’
‘Too late, we have a better chance of survival staying where we are!’
The roar intensified. Nothing moved as time seemed to stand still. My daughter had fallen asleep and the frantic sucking on her dummy had ceased. I watched, spellbound, as a huge wave rushed towards us. I was prepared for the worst. I’d heard that drowning was one of the better ways to die. I looked down at my daughter, beautiful in my arms, fast asleep. I placed my hand on my stomach and quietly apologised to my unborn child. Leaning forward I held my daughter tightly in my arms. I prayed silently for strength and asked God to please not let my children suffer.
I vaguely heard another noise but didn’t take much notice.
‘Come on, come on, please keep going!’ Paul pleaded.
I opened my eyes just as we reached the end of the bridge. With his foot flat on the accelerator, Paul got the pick-up over the bridge and up the hill just as a gigantic wave rushed past us. It flung the pick-up sideways into the scrub on the side of the road. I hit my head hard against the door and cried out in pain.
Paul had fallen onto the steering wheel and knocked his head on the hooter. It sounded muffled against the tsunami as it crashed past us, engulfing everything in it’s path. After a few minutes Paul composed himself and we drove, without further incident and in silence, to the other farm safely away from any rivers.
Even though this happened many years ago, it’s a memory that is filed away but will never be forgotten. Life has moved on. I never did go back to the river as the farm was sold. I know, without doubt, that my prayer was answered that day and will remain eternally grateful. This traumatic experience has changed my life and made me very risk averse. But that’s a small price to pay. Miracles still do happen despite the foolhardy behaviour of others ! 👠
Jenny Burrell 