I rafted the whitewater of the Nile River a few days ago. Please be duly impressed.
I’ve been wanting to go whitewater rafting pretty much my whole life; I grew up in West Virginia, which is actually known for its whitewater, even among the badass raft guides here, who tell stories that go like this: “Both the Nile and the Zambezi [in Zimbabawe] have a lot of class 5 rapids, but in the Zambezi you’re in a gorge, so if the boat flips, you get thrown against a rock wall.” Or: “If water catches the boat in the wrong places, it gets pulled it through two rocks, which squeeze it, and the rafters end up with broken jaws or legs or whatever.”
I broke nothing, and I was not flipped against any rocks. But I did mock the Nile at one point, and I was suitably punished. We’d just rafted our way through Bujagali Falls, the intensity of which I only appreciate because I put myself in a little rubber boat and bounced my way through it. The rush was incredible, and everything after that just looked small. So on the next “rapid,” which was really more of a gurgle, I said something cocky, and pretty much on cue, the Nile kicked me right out of the boat. It’s okay, I deserved that, and the wee bit of panic I felt being stuck under the boat briefly came in handy at the end.
Here’s a rafting tip: If you’re going to fall out of boats, the best place to do that, perhaps, is in the whitewater itself. If you’re properly suited, in a life jacket and a helmet, the river works with you, even when it’s knocking you around a little bit. When you get sucked under a big, roaring wave, you’ll eventually get spit out somewhere, and a safety kayaker will come over and rescue you.
In fact, that is the hard part. You can’t just grip the man for dear life and let him drag you ashore. There’s a process: You hold on to the front of the kayak—there’s a handle on the nose—and you wrap your legs up and around it, so you’re facing your rescuer, boat on your belly, and you’re both trying not to think about how ugly your feet are. This sounds a lot easier than it actually is, and I think this is why they don’t really like to let children raft. Getting rescued by a safety kayaker takes a certain degree of sexual skill.
Or you can just rescue yourself, which, having always been rather an independent woman, is what I did. At the end of the journey, there’s an optional rapid called “the bad place.” The others have cutesy names like “the Silverback” (for the gorillas here) or “50/50” (your chances of flipping, of course). Even “the dead Dutchman,” a rapid not for tourists, feels like rather a charming epithet by the time you get there. But “the bad place” is simply literal: If you hit anything wrong in the rapid, it will kick you to the bad place, and your boat will flip, and you will be drug under water awhile.
Which is precisely what happened. We tried to go in on the easy side and stay to the right, where nothing really has to happen, but we hit a wave wrong, and we were kicked to the bad place. (Our guide told us afterward that We flipped, but I managed to hold on to the rope of the boat, and when I realized it wouldn’t be that hard not to let go, the rest of the ride was tremendous: three or four huge waves that suck you in, and then let you roll through them (assuming you’re geared up, of course). I was sad when we pass through the water and our guide righted the boat and made us go rescue the others. It was so nice in there.
It’s a great trip, but like everything here, not one that doesn’t trouble your conscience. The ride back to the campsite, where you feast on a yummy barbecue, takes you through tiny village after tiny village of impoverished people. You’re eating potato chips and drinking some crappy high-fructose juice cocktail, and naked kids with bobbing bellies chase your truck and ask you for things. You’ve just dropped on a day’s worth of “adventure” more money than any of these kids’ parents probably earns in a year.
But if you don’t beat yourself up too badly about that, the serenity of the Ugandan countryside after the adrenaline rush of rafting is amazing. You travel at that magical hour, when the light is the best, and everything has a hint of mystery in it.
Post script for adventurers: If you have any desire to be able to say, “I rafted the Nile,” do it now. They’re building a dam there, and when it’s done, there won’t be any more whitewater.
