“All part of the thrills, guys,” said Phillip, as we gawked at where we’d just come down.

Approaching a grade three rapid, Phillip asked whether we wanted to take the easy or hard way down. The majority of us voted “easy,” still dizzy from the waves before. Phillip nodded and was quiet for a second before he said, “You know, I can’t guarantee that we won’t flip, no matter which way we go down.” We understood, we said. Phillip grinned. “You’ll be fine,” he said (was that the hint of a smirk behind his sunglasses?). And we were on our way.

It was one of those rapids that you could see coming because you saw where the water ended, dropping off for a foot or ten feet, impossible to tell—and we pushed hard over the edge. “Get down!” the cry went out and we scrambled to get low in the boat. With a rush of water beneath us, we dropped into the gaping hole and rose up against the other side. For a breath our boat stood vertical on its side—I looked straight down at my mother, already partly submerged in whitewater—and then suddenly I was tumbling and we were all underwater, flailing against paddles and each other trying to find the surface and the boat.

Somehow in the skirmish I’d kept my paddle but lost my grip on the rope. After a few terrifying seconds of confusion and darkness, I popped up under the boat in one of the air pockets created by its buoyant sides. Here, at least, I could breathe. Another head spluttered to the surface beside me and looked about wild-eyed before going under again. I followed suit and came up to the open sky and a bunch of bobbing bodies lined up alongside the boat. Phillip stood on top of the overturned raft counting heads.

“I see seven, team! Where’s the eighth? Who’s missing?” he yelled above the noise of the rapid. I looked back towards where we’d come and saw one of the Irish guys, Aiden, ten meters away, looking surprised and floating feet-first downriver. Phillip spotted him too and waved to make sure he was okay before turning the boat right side up.

We gratefully made our way into the boat, either by pulling ourselves up by the rope or by being pulled in by a teammate already inside. Aiden had latched onto a kayaker who was waiting at the bottom of the rapid for exactly this purpose, and pretty soon we’d gotten him in as well.

“Got a belly full of Nile, don’t know about you,” said Aiden, and let out a large belch. We laughed and put our paddles together for a hearty post-rapid cheer.

The boats stopped for lunch on a small island where we gulped down sandwiches and pineapple in the company of a large monitor lizard named Bob. After lunch the rapids were spread farther on the river, leaving long sections of flat water where we’d have to paddle twenty minutes or more. The breaks allowed us to let lunch settle and pay more attention to what was happening on the banks of the Nile: women hunched over scrubbing laundry, colorful fabrics laid out to dry in the sun, children splashing in the shallows, cattle coming to drink, fish eagles nesting in treetops.  Read More...