Wonder World: Ignition

Survivor

"At least I'm not dead," Alex thought as he came to. He felt like he might as well be. His left leg was in agony, and his head felt like it had been split down the middle. He drew a sharp breath as he opened his eyes.

"No, No. You must rest," came a voice to his right. Alex's eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light. He was in some sort of hut. The walls were made of woven sticks and mud, and the roof was thatched with broad leaves. The voice belonged to a small man with coffee colored skin and the warmest smile Alex had ever seen.

"Where am I?" Alex managed to ask.

"You are in the home of Mbabelli," the man said, pouring something into a wooden bowl which he handed to Alex. "In the village of the Baka, near the Congo River."

"What's this?" Alex asked, taking the bowl.

"Water. Drink, it will make you strong again."

Alex drank deeply, his brain buzzing with questions. "How am I alive?" he asked at last. It seemed like a good question to start with.

"You are lucky, my friend. You fell through the trees, landed among the the ferns," answered the man.

"Jesus, I really should be dead," Alex thought as he tried to ignore the stabbing pain in his leg. He had heard of an RAF pilot in WWII who survived an 18,000 foot fall into a pine forest with no parachute, so it wasn't impossible, but still.

"Rick! Tom!" He said with a start. "They weren't in the plane. Did they ... did they ..." his voice trailed off.

"Your friends ... I am sorry, they were not as lucky," the man said, his head bowed. Alex finished his water in silence. He wasn't surprised by the news, but his heart sank anyway.

"I am sorry, my friend. We found six bodies in the forest. We danced for them all night so that their souls might find peace."

Alex just nodded. A wave of emotion threatened to wash over him and drown him in despair. He took a long, deep breath, forcing his emotion deep down within himself and locking it away. He could deal with grief later. If he wanted to survive this, he needed a clear head.

"OK, so who are you? You have a name?" he asked.

"I am Mbabelli," the small man replied, refilling Alex's bowl.

"You speak English pretty well for a guy who lives in the middle of the Congo."

"Yes, yes, " Mbabelli said with another smile, "Many years ago, one of your scientists came to live in our village. When he left I asked if I could go live in his. He said that I could."

"So you lived in America and then decided to come back here? Why?"

"This is my home, friend. It is a good life, and it makes me happy. I have a wife, a son, and a community that I love. I hunt in the day, dance in the night. Does your life make you happy, friend?"

"No," said Alex, wincing as he examined his leg. "I can't say that it does." His leg was bound tightly in a splint, and his many lacerations were bandaged with leaves and some pungent paste. "Who do I have to thank for this?" he asked.

"Our shaman is wise," Mbabelli answered. "He found you bleeding with your bone sticking out of your leg. He placed your bone back beneath your skin, and filled the wound with healing herbs and maggots to eat away the infection. What is your name, friend?"

"Alex," he replied. "Alex Fletcher."

"When they first saw you, Alex Fletcher, the people said, 'Look, God falls from the sky. We must help him.' But I said, 'He is no god, he is just an American,'" Mbabelli said with his warm smile.

"I need to find a phone," Alex said, trying to get to his feet. "I need to let people know I'm not dead. Get the hell out of here, no offense."

"What you need, friend Alex, is rest," Mbabelli said, pushing him back down onto the woven mat. "When your leg is healed I will lead you down the river to the city. But for now, rest." Alex lay back down and fell into a fitful sleep.

He spent a total of six weeks living with Mbabelli. His village was small, consisting of four families including his own. In the mornings Mbabelli, his son Mbeh, and the other men would go hunting. Alex stayed in the hut while the women sang and gathered plantains. He was fantastically bored. He learned how to weave palm fronds from Mopana, Mbabelli's wife, but gave it up after a day. Mbeh began teaching him archery in the evenings, which, to his surprise, Alex was quite good at. Mbabelli was the only one who spoke any English, so during the day Alex had to use charades and the handful of words he had picked up to try to make himself understood, which everyone except Alex seemed to find hilarious. He explained to Mbabelli every night how important it was that he get to a phone, but Mbabelli seemed to be in no rush, insisting that the journey was too difficult for a man with a broken leg.

Alex was enjoying the shade of the hut winding a new bowstring when he heard raised voices from outside. He stepped out to find two men carrying assault rifles arguing furiously with Mbabelli in a language Alex didn't understand. Obviously the men didn't like what Mbabelli was saying. One lashed out with the butt of his rifle, knocking Mbabelli to the ground.

"Hey asshole!" he yelled, snatching up his walking stick and hobbling forward. "What do you think you're doing?" The man leveled his rifle at Alex's chest, barking orders angrily. Alex stood his ground. The man continued shouting, and took another step forward.

"Sit down, Alex friend," Mbabelli hissed at him while holding his bleeding nose. "This is not worth your life."

Mbabelli was right. There was nothing he could do with a broken leg except get shot. He slowly took a step back and lowered himself to the ground. This seemed to please the gunman. At least they weren't threatening to kill him anymore. They finished yelling at Mbabelli, apparently having already made their point, before turning and walking away into the jungle. After a moment's silence Alex heard what sounded like an engine starting.

"Who are they? Friends of yours?" Alex asked, helping Mbabelli to his feet.

"No, friend Alex. They are not my friends," he said as he made his way gingerly to his hut. "They are bad men. They tear up the forest, cut down her trees, dig through her earth. They work for evil men who wish to claim the gold in the dirt at the expense of all the riches of the jungle. They say that they will be back tomorrow to burn down our houses, with or without us inside them."

"Can't you do something?" Alex asked as he lowered Mbabelli onto his mat and poured him water. "Call the authorities?"

"Which authorities, friend Alex? The officials these men bribe to get the rights to our land? The police and military that calls my people animals? The government that will not recognize us as citizens of their nation? There are no authorities to help us, friend Alex. Tonight the village will decide what to do. Meanwhile, friend Alex, I must rest and think."

Alex left Mbabelli alone in his hut. He stayed there all afternoon. In the evening the village gathered around the cooking fire. Mbabelli spoke first, but was soon interuppted by Mbeh. Alex wished he knew more words in Baka, because the argument was getting intense. At long last Mbeh stormed away from the fire and the matter seemed to be settled.

"Gather your things, friend Alex," Mbabelli said somberly as they returned to the hut. "Tomorrow we will move deeper into the forest."

"You can't just run! You can't let them get away with this!"

"The young always think alike," the small man replied with a smile. "Mbeh wishes to fight as well, but violence will only bring more violence. No, we shall endure, as we always have."

"But ..."

"No more talking for tonight. Your leg is almost healed, friend. Tomorrow we shall begin your journey home. Then I shall rejoin my people and we will find a safe place to live." Mbabelli spoke confidently, but Alex noticed his brow furrow with worry as he spoke.

Alex gathered his bow, arrows, and the ruined remains of his wingsuit and packed them into one of Mopana's woven baskets. He didn't know what to feel. Excitement, worry, anger, and relief all swirled tumultuously through his head. He lay down on his sleeping mat and slipped into a fitful sleep.