Bloukrans

It’s ten o’clock on a Monday morning and I’m threatening a man with a haunting.

As there’s no concrete proof of an afterlife, Enrique, my bungee-jump guide, laughs out loud as he continues to secure my harness.

Experts say if someone is fastening the ropes that will ensure your continued existence after you jump 216 metres off the Bloukrans Bridge, you’d do well to be delightful.

Me? I ask questions. I threaten ancestral revenge, and I tease a total abortion of mission, because what the hell am I doing anyway?

Internally, I’m hearing Biff Tannen say “What’s wrong, McFly? Chicken?”, as my unruly subconscious vomits a ‘Back to the Future’ loop from hell. Marty McFly’s “Nobody … calls me … chicken” is a given and it’s what has me being strapped in by Enrique, who assures me Bloukrans Bridge is not where I die.

Externally and for the past few days, I’ve been defending my honour among travel writers, influencers and radio personalities.

Africa’s Travel Indaba has just wrapped in Durban, and South African Tourism has flown the gang of us out to the beautiful, forest-fringed Tsitsikamma so we can dive into some adventure travel and preferably live to tell the tale.

In the shuttles that spirit us from the indaba and around the Tsitsikamma, the question is always the same: “Are you gonna do it? Are you gonna jump?”

Most of the radio folks from Tanzania answer in the affirmative. A journalist from Kenya responds with a solid “Never!” and I, in true oscillating Gemini fashion, careen between “Hell, no!” and an equally convincing “Hell, yes!”

By the time we’ve eaten a breakfast of champions at the wonderful Fynbos Golf & Country Estate and driven to Face Adrenalin Bungy in the Tsitsikamma National Park, I’m in “Hell, yes!” spiral.

I’m here. It’s the world’s highest commercial bungee jumping site, and I’m going to do the damn thing, because bragging rights for life.

That confidence evaporates like payday weekend cash as soon as I see the bridge.

To add to the general feeling of playing with your life, the walk to the jump site has already revealed a sign that reads “Beware of snakes” and then, suddenly, there it is – a massive white arch suspended over the Bloukrans River gorge as the Indian Ocean glistens in the background.

It would be beautiful if I were only there to admire the view and not lowkey having a panic attack.

At a quaint little rest stop, Enrique turns to face us with some tips for survival. Bungee jumping has some dos and don’ts, and our group has already screwed the part about having a light breakfast.

The rest is ahead of us and Enrique explains what we’ve actually signed up for.

We’re gonna throw ourselves off the bridge, freefall towards a rushing river reaching a speed of about 120 kilometres per hour, and bounce a few times before finally swaying to some kind of stop as someone makes their way to retrieve us.

“Please, when Spider-Man gets to you down there, don’t grab onto him or hold onto him,” says Enrique with a grin. “I know you guys are gonna be happy to see him, but he still has to connect your harness.”

With the facts of the matter laid out, I take another look at the bridge and reflect on my life choices.

Bloukrans is a functional bridge. On the road a few metres above the jumping platform, thoroughly sane human beings drive overhead, and I’m amazed at the difference in realities.

Sheer normality above and adrenaline-pumping, death-defying drama down below.

We walk on. Though it wasn’t part of my mental brochure, to get to the jumping site we have to zipline across the gorge, you know, just to get the blood pumping.

At the jump site, it’s an all-out party.

Loud upbeat music blares. A recent jumper appears with the help of Bloukrans’ Spider-Man. People are being strapped in, they jump, they laugh, they cry and the feeling of fear and euphoria is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

My jump number is J16, and, as I watch people leap out over the gorge or make it to the edge before turning back, I wonder what I’ll do when it comes to it.

My number call and the securing of my ankle connection is a blur, and I come to when two assistants make me shuffle, chain-gang style, to the brink before assuming the crucifixion position, ankles together, arms out wide.

I know the drill.

Bend your knees, leap head first, not feet first, and don’t look down before the jump.

“Five, four, three, two, one … BUNGEE!”

As I dive towards the horizon and begin to fall, ocean winking, wind whipping, forest bright, river rushing, I finally get it.

The loud music is on to drown out the screams.

I shriek. I swear. I apologise to my maker, my mum, and the mountains . . . and I meditate?

The chocolate waters of the Bloukrans River surge below. I’m engulfed in a godly, gorgeous sense of calm, and I burst out laughing.

The river hears it, the forest and the sea …

Then Bloukrans Spider-Man comes to get me.

– martha@namibian.com.na;
Martha Mukaiwa on Twitter and Instagram; marthamukaiwa.com