(Story continued from July 2008.)

By Jeff Scoggins

The story left off with Carl, my younger cousin Cameron, and I rafting down a crocodile and hippo infested river, and the trip was taking much longer than we had anticipated. It got dark. “Should we pray for help?” Cameron asked. The same thoughts had gone through my mind, but three strong young men praying together just felt too uncomfortable or too vulnerable. So I dodged my cousin’s suggestion by saying, “I think we have been praying already.” And the conversation died there on the altar of pride. I was ashamed to pray with my companions.

“I think we had better land and try to walk out,” said Carl. “I can come back on the motorcycle tomorrow to pick up our gear.” Carl paused and then said, “I still don’t have any regrets.” We again agreed, but for my part my enthusiasm was going the way of the temperature. I shivered in my wet t-shirt and shorts.

We cautiously steered our raft to the west bank our eyes willing the darkness to reveal anything that wouldn’t appreciate being stepped on. The moon did, in fact, make a welcome appearance as we collapsed the rafts and hid our gear beneath a clump of riverside bushes. Carl would have to return early if he hoped to find everything before someone else did. My watch read 10 p.m.

We began to walk south with the river through the soft dirt of the newly hoed sweet potato fields. Before long we happened upon a smoldering tree stump that someone had been burning out that afternoon. It wasn’t warm enough to do us much good so we trudged on. We were soon stretched out single file a 100 yards or so apart, the distance growing. We shuffled silently, heads down, watching our feet like we were trekking through a desert. About 11 p.m. I met Carl coming back. “It’s all swamp ahead,” he said flatly. “I couldn’t find a way around, and we definitely can’t go through.”

As Cameron caught up to us, suddenly, on the opposite side of the river, a pair headlights cut through the night tracing a path along a distant road. Our hopes suddenly soared and we walked quickly to the river bank. That road could lead us out of this situation. We stared warily at the black water swirling below us and seriously considered swimming across, but better judgment prevailed. “I guess we’ll be out here for the night,” said Carl. “Why don’t we go back to that burning stump to see if we can start a fire?”

Back at the stump we spied a large stack of dry grass nearby, which had been cleared from a field. I grabbed an armload and threw it onto the stump. It erupted into flame flinging back at us a welcome burst of heat. It lasted all of three seconds. We threw on another load then another, but realized that as large as the stack was, this fuel wouldn’t last long. Instead, why not crawl inside like a haystack and sleep in the pile of grass. It seemed like a good plan, but when we had carried the stack to a good spot and removed the top in order to bed down, it occurred to us that we were going to have to sleep close—very close, uncomfortably close. Finally someone said, “I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.” We agreed and drew straws for the unlucky person who would take the middle spot. The lot fell to me. We climbed in, pulled the top of the stack on top of us. I fell to sleep as someone said, “I still don’t have any regrets.”

About an hour later both Carl and Cameron leaped up, grabbed a large load of grass and threw it on the stump for the brief blaze. I groggily asked what was going on and they chattered, “We’re freezing.

“Why?” I said. “I’m toasty!” Suddenly the middle spot was the coveted one.

“Cameron is next,” ordered Carl, “Then me.” We spent the rest of the night rotating between warmth and sleep and cold and restlessness. I suppose I have never welcomed a sunrise as I did the next morning.

As the sun burned its way over the hills it also burned hope into us. We bounded out of our haystack, burned it, then struck off to find our boats. Our gear was untouched, but as soon as we uncovered it we attracted a crowd of farmers who were arriving in the fields. We patched a few holes, inflated the rafts, and with no crocs or hippos in sight we put out to open water.

Around 10 a.m. we heard the distinctive chop, chop, chop of a helicopter, and turned to see a fully armed French military gunship weaving its way down the river toward us. Carl stiffened. “Guys, please don’t wave until we know they are searching for us.” It quickly became apparent that they were, in fact, searching for us, because as soon as they saw us they began to circle. We waved and gave them a thumbs up. They waved back and relayed a message to our families that we had been found safe and our ETA at the bridge, which was about two kilometers further down the river. We found out later that a friend who had a number of friends on the French military base in Kigali had asked them to look for us.

When we arrived at the bridge an hour later my father, Carl’s wife, and a platoon of Rwandese soldiers awaited us.* My dad pulled us in and said dryly, “You think you’re going home, but you’re not. You’re going to jail.”

“I don’t care,” I answered, “as long as they will give me water.”

In discussion with the soldiers we learned that rafting this river was, oddly enough, illegal—something we honestly hadn’t known. They quickly realized this and took pity, ordering us to go home, clean up, then to file a report at the police station downtown, which we did without further incident.

As we left the station Carl said, “I still don’t have any regrets.” We agreed, but inside I had to admit I had one regret. When my cousin had made the best suggestion of the trip—that we pray—I had been ashamed.

“If anyone is ashamed of me and my words, the Son of Man will be ashamed of him when he comes in his glory and in the glory of the Father and of the holy angels” (Luke 9:26).

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* The genocide in Rwanda began a year or two after my family had returned to the U.S. When the UN evacuated the missionaries in Rwanda, Carl stayed. I later learned that during that horrific time one of those soldiers, a general, saved Carl’s life because he recognized him from that day on the bridge.