Catherine Nicolette
Many years ago I was doing Charity work in a squatter camp.
Having made many friends there over the years, I used to enjoy visits to the camp as it became as much a social visit as a Charity visit.
On one particular occasion it was a bright sunny African day, the thorn trees were in abundance, and there was a lovely fresh breeze which kept the sun from being too hot.
A perfect day, in other words.
On this particular day a fellow Charity worker and I arrived for our regular clinic and found, much to our surprise, not even one patient.
Everyone was healthy and happy, and they laughed at our surprised faces.
"Everybody is well today", a group of ladies of sturdy build and wearing traditional dress told us.
They had waited at the Clinic.
"But now we want to say thank you for all your care of us, so we have prepared a surprise for you.
We heard the little sister say she always wished she could go for a ride on a donkey cart," - (they nodded their graciously turbanned heads in my direction) -" and we have arranged a ride for her. And you", they courteously added to my colleague.
Picturesque scene
My friend did not look too enamoured of the idea, but I was immediately delighted.
I had indeed remarked on a number of occasions as we drove patients to hospital in our trusty and rickety red van, that I would love to have a ride on a donkey cart.
This, it must be noted, was as we bypassed the patiently plodding donkeys with gentle eyes and humble demeanour as they pulled the wooden carts - a most picturesque scene.
I persuaded her however, to go for the ride.
"The donkeys are quiet creatures," I declared, "they won't hurt you. You'll see."
Rolling eyes
I was not to know, however, that the ladies had enlisted a young teenager to drive us around the settlement. He had taken a bet with his fellow teenagers that he could scare the life out of us; he and his friends used to have donkey cart races.
Until then I had not known such a thing existed.
So we climbed into the cart.
I must confess, I felt slightly uneasy as the donkeys which were to pull our cart were wild looking creatures, which rolled their eyes as we climbed on and bared their teeth, snorting in what seemed to be anger.
Far from my idea of the humble and quiet donkey.
Once we were on, the lad gave a loud "Yi,yi,yi,yi!" slapped the reins on the donkeys' backs, and I kid you not, they leapt into action like the horses of Charlton Heston's chariot in the great race against Messala.
The wind fairly whistled as we hurtled grimly around corners, holding on to the homemade seats for dear life. (There are no safety belts in a donkey cart).
Eventually the lad, looking at my thrilled countenance, said, "Nothing seems to rattle you, does it?"
I think he was thinking that he was going to lose his winnings from the bet with his friends.
"Well," he said, "Let's see what you think of this!"
He whistled at the donkeys, slapped the reins on their backs, and on his command, they started backing up to the large donga (a deep ditch) which was like a miniature Grand Canyon at the edge of the camp.
They did not stop until his nerve failed, at which point the two wheels of the cart were teetering over the edge of the donga, and the two of us in the back were leaning backwards over the donga. Our headscarves hung downwards in a straight line with the force of the gravity.
Chased back home
My friend by this time was too scared to utter even a sound; I was laughing away. All I could think of was, if this is the way I am going to go, at least it will look interesting on my obituary.
"Killed during charity service in a donga during a donkey ride." Our teenager was disgusted. "Nothing scares you, " he said.
And he clicked the donkeys forward out of danger, and back to the matrons who had been uttering cries of distress and trying to chase after the cart every time it whirled by them.
Once he climbed off the donkey cart, the matrons chased him back home, furious that he had endangered their two friends.
He ran off as his friends stood laughing and calling after him that they would be along to the shack later to collect their winnings.
Never again
And my friend? After giving one whimper, she climbed, shaken, into our van and sat silent.
Once we were in, just before we got home, she came out of her reverie, and said quietly, "Never invite me to do anything like that again."
I agreed amicably. My dream of a gentle ride behind humble and quiet donkeys had suffered somewhat of a reverse, and I had no desire to test my luck again.
The next time I visited the camp, the matrons were there with profuse apologies. There was not a teenager or donkey in sight. They had all been grounded for a long, long time...
*Picture taken by Catherine Nicolette in beautiful South Africa. Please fee free to use copyright free for any worthy purpose
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