Pikipiki

We were driving home from the Cinemas, four of us in the car and Davin up ahead on his motorbike. I was a little tired, drifting to black as Brad was saying, “Davin is like the Tanzanian James Bond–”

“Oh shit!”

I looked up to see sparks skidding across the road up ahead. Davin’s bike was on its side. When he came into view he was limping off the road. We jumped out. Cars kept passing with beaming headlights, annoyed Tanzanians expressed their displeasure out of car windows. We picked up the bike and helped Davin to the side of the road. He kept insisting on riding back home. This was as we were debating whether we should take him to the hospital. “It’s OK, I’m fine.” He could barely walk. Brad got on the bike, and we got Davin into the car. He winced in pain as we drove home, mostly silent.

Back at the apartment we iced his ankle. Jeremy inspected the leg for broken bones. It was badly swollen, but appeared to be only bruised. By morning he was walking around the compound, though limping. By noon he had was back on the bike. He has every intention of following through on his plans to go riding up the backside of Meru tomorrow, down gullies and through riverbeds.

The drivers that caused his fall never stopped. If not for his twisted ankle, he would have jumped back on the bike and chased them down, peppering them with bad tomatoes. It’s the Namibian way.

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