Nightmares...at noon [Archives]

Thud. Thud. Thud. The sound of their feet hitting the rock path was getting more distant. The sound of the rabid creature panting approached like a nightmare. The shout of its nomadic owner was in the background, but was that not what hunting was all about? Maim, corner and delay the prey with the hound. Hone in for the kill. I could hear my heart beating like a sledgehammer. I could feel the overdose of adrenalin coursing through my veins. My breath was short, my legs were weak, but the carnivore kept coming. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. My wish could not drown my reality. It was day and there were no stars to wish upon- not that I would have. It was bare and there was no one running to wish upon- not that anything short of a gun would have stopped the fur bullet rushing at me with bared fangs. It was all rock and boulder; and there was nowhere to hide. That was the day I learned to face my fear.

 

Uche and Sam should remember it well. It all started with a fascination for water. The waters of ‘Bela’ were hardly one kilometre away from our homes on the mountain range. I’m not sure we told our mothers, but we went swimming virtually every holiday week. The walk through the mountains was stimulating. Out a hole in the compound wire mesh fence and up the winding foot path through the rocky range. Over a boulder here, through a narrow formation there, our path wound towards a stream with multiple mini waterfalls. We headed for the cesspool. Dove in with our trunks and underwear. Splashed around in reckless abandon. Laughed, joked and told stories. But not today.

The Fulani man had been rude. He brought his cows to drink at Bela. They micturated upstream, slurped up the water in which we swam. Opened their bowels in and around our pool. How presumptuous! We didn’t know whether mad cow disease was contagious across species; and frankly, Samuel didn’t care. I believe he was the one that exchanged words with the fair skinned stranger first. Emma’s short leashed temper flared. Yours truly just stood there. Then it degenerated. The nomad reached for a weapon and called out the blood thirsty dogs.

First of all, I didn’t see it coming. Second, the last time I really ran the tracks was elementary school. Whatever the excuse, I kept falling further behind and my nightmares kept gaining. After running for an eternity that was in reality less than 5 minutes, I got to that point where your lungs seem ready to burst and your heart sounds like the rhythmic reverberation of grandma’s pestle hitting an empty wooden mortar. I was barefoot on one leg; my garb was torn in a couple of places, my ego was nonexistent. Thud. Thud. Thud. I was one definition; terror. Stories of heads and shoulders dripping blood that made shampoo look like a joke took on life. I could feel the breath and hear the growl of the dog as the half-wolf, half-hound gained, gained, gained.

 

That was the day I learned to face my fears.

Pushing your prey to the wall can be counterproductive. He just might face his fear.

I turned suddenly to face the crazed  animal with its bared canines. I can still remember it well. The excited eyes, the local leather collar with tinkling metallic bells, the brown grizzly fur, the speed. The demonic incarnation of fear. I was alone, I was trapped, and I was notafraid. I was terrified. Two syllables of one name came to my trembling lips. Yesous (Greek- He Shall Save). A carpenter’s Son. As I turned, I screamed.

It was surreal. The beast stopped, turned around and fled literally tail between hind legs. The feared had become the fearful. The living creature with wild eyes had seen wilder. Ascream had drowned out its bark. A name had muzzled its bite. Shall the prey of the terrible be delivered? What you are running from is afraid of you. What you fear has fear. Turn. Look. Scream.

That was about 13 years ago. Today, I still turn, look, and scream.

When next the bills are hounding you; when next the unknown tomorrow breathes down your neck; when next the fear of yesterday’s consequences seek to drive you over the edge; when next the ugly spirit takes form; turn, look, and scream.

For God has not given us the spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind. 1 Tim 1:7