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March 2003 Chapter One - I found myself on my butt in the dirt It was December and I was on school holidays for 5 weeks. I had passed my exams with flying colours, and had been rewarded with a wad of cash. I was 14 years old, and didn't have a care in the world. The weather was typical for Botswana; hot, blue skies and just a hint of a breeze. My friends like me, would all soon be arriving after attending boarding schools scattered across the world. I was usually the first to get home as the South African school calendar allowed for a long Christmas break, some of my friends were less fortunate than myself. It was one of those really warm balmy days, and after relaxing for a week around the pool, watching more videos then I could count, I was somewhat bored and in need of a little stimulation. My parents were at work, my younger brother was irritating me... and I wanted to get out there and explore. After some negotiating with my brother, he loaned me one of his prize possession's - his racing bike. I set off happy and confident, racing down the main street of our little town, when a few minutes later, I found myself on my butt in the dirt. In those first few minutes all I felt was embarrassment, and my ego felt more bruised then my body. There were a couple of bakkies with people spewing out, and gathering around me like a crowd. One of my friends, who was passing at the time... actually on his way to my house had also stopped to see if I was all right..... which of course just added to my mortification. The drivers of the two vehicles were now in hot debate... raised voices, and waving hands just adding more confusion to my already battered state. It seems one of the vehicles was trying to pass the other, and somewhere in the melee, I was involved. My friend speaking the local language, having seen what had happened, tried to calm everyone down, helped me out of the dirt... and then the only local policeman arrived. All I wanted to do was return home and lick my wounds both figuratively and literally. It was not to be. Apparently, I was covered in blood, and both mine and my friends parents were well known and well respected in the community. The policeman, was adamant he was going to do this by the book. So, what we finally agreed, was that we would all trail off to my mom's office, and since my friends mom was also her partner, it seemed the most rational place to go. The problem was even more complicated then that.... how to get there. My friend was on a motorbike without a spare helmet, (and he was not going to add to the confusion by transporting me without one). The two bakkies which had been involved were already jam packed, and the black policemen was hesitant, to passenger a young, white teenage girl... especially one covered in blood. This was all becoming too complicated for me. I climbed back on my brothers bike and sped down the road, while everyone scrambled to follow me, lights flashing and hooters blaring. I walked confidently into my mother's office reception, determined to have this situation dealt with and resolved, where upon the receptionist fainted on the spot, (granted she was 6 months pregnant), my mom came running, took one look at me and screamed, (my mother does not like blood, and panics on the spot) and I still didn't understand what all the fuss was about. I made a bee line to the bathroom and had a look in the mirror, and for the first time realised the hysteria. The right side of my face was a battered mess, covered in dirt, gravel and blood. My right shoulder bone was completely exposed, protruding through a meaty mess. My shirt had been ripped and torn, with the skin scrapped away all along my hip. My right thigh was scrapped, and looked like a mix of dirt and dripping blood. I looked like an actor from a horror movie, shock set in and I promptly sat down on the loo. At least the toilet was too small for all those people to squeeze into. What ensued was me being rushed to the local doctor's rooms.... and six hours while he tried to clean and disinfect all the scraped parts of my body. Although I hadn't experienced much pain up until that moment, as he patiently picked each bit of gravel from the wounds with a sort of tweezers thing, my pain threshold was tested to its limit. Then the doctor sprinkled a fine sulphur powder over the wounds and said it was the best he could do with his basic equipment. He suggested to my mother that a plastic surgeon needed to be consulted at the earliest possible moment. When I finally stood before a mirror in the privacy of my room, the naked reflection was a totally different one to the one I had seen just that morning, some ten hours before. The right side of my face had all the skin scrapped from it, and had a sort of yellow orange type glow where the blood and sulphur had mixed together. My right shoulder was almost bare bone with the same yellow orange finish. From my waist to my right knee, the skin was scrapped and had the same complimenting yellow orange finish, with the added blue black bruising just to give it that extra bit of definition. Although, I knew the skin would eventually heal, I wondered how I would cope with the physical scarring to my body, and my overloaded brain had not even begun to consider the scars that would form on my heart due to the emotional damage I was yet to experience. In the quiet and privacy of my bedroom, I finally allowed myself to give into the moment, and exhausted, I climbed into bed, where my tormented brain and bruised, aching body, finally gave into the tears that I so desperately had held in check, and cried myself to sleep. Read the whole story by clicking the links below: [ Chapter One - I found myself on my butt in the dirt ]
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