(Near) Death in The Mujib

April 30th -- The Lowest Tomb on Earth

Ignorance of the future is surely bliss

I shall make this brief. To linger too long on my near demise will surely drive me into the grave I just avoided:

Water is the source of strife and life in this region. I am told there isn't enough of it. What I think that means is that there isn't enough until there is too much.
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I took a trip with my friends from the University of Jordan to the Wadi Mujib. The day was filled with jovial climbs through the Wadi populated with girls in soaked hijabs and abayas and the laughter of my friends and me filling the vast space they call the lowest valley on Earth. Had nothing gone wrong, I would have had another "amazing day in Jordan" notch on my belt. The siq leading to the large waterfall at the end was challenging, you had to hike through an endless zig-zagging canyon and somehow climb up four strong, mini-waterfalls, but the end product was worth it. We all packed inside a massive waterfall and watched the fury from the inside, whilst more adventurous hikers abseiled down it from above. Half our group went ahead but upon exiting the waterfall we found more distractions: a lazy river, a fun rock slide into a whirling pool of water.

Then it happened. As I waited for my friends to come down the rock slide, I heard panicked yells and mostly "Yalla"s coming from a guide in front of me at the second mini-waterfall. At first, I didn't realise the water below me was growing stronger, murkier, and higher. To switch the brain from harmless fun mode to life-threatening mode is quite a leap to take. It all happened too quickly, as all accidents do. Adrenaline competes to slow it down but it's efforts are never enough. Suddenly, I could not ignore the rising water as I barely managed to stand. That's when the guide's panicked "Yalla"s had alerted my survival instinct. This was a flash flood and I may not make it out alive.

The water was almost protozoan, exponentially begetting itself. There was no source in sight. I looked back to my friends and as they still struggled to get down the first waterfall. It was then the guide in front of me picked me up and threw me down the steep waterfall in front of us. There were now two more hurdles. I struggled with the second one. The water grew in strength and I could barely hang on to this metal bar afixed to the rock. It swung my body around and I couldn't manage to stand up and my head was forced up and under like a fishing bob. When I return to this in my mind I can't recall the exact details of how I gained footing and made it down to the final waterfall. I think my brain was less worried about making memories at this point in the off chance I wouldn't have any!

What I do remember was the feeling of abandonment and worry. The guide was more intent upon saving himself and in his brief appearances he was only speaking rapid Arabic. I was on my own, unable to ascertain our chances of survival, trailing just behind a group of girls whose names I didn't know. I couldn't manage to stand on the long-stretch out of the Wadi, the water which was at our ankles on the way in was now at our knees and it delivered its defeating blow with each step I could muster. I kept landing face down in the water. There was a stranger who helped me up and I eventually made it to the sandstone walls of the Wadi and used it as my guide out. Meanwhile, I worried about my friends. I knew they face greater dangers than me and higher, more muscular water.

At some point, I knew I was safe. The siq opened up and I could see the basin that lead out to the Dead Sea. I still felt no relief. The fear complexes that had awakened every useful limb and sense I had, were still running through me. It was raining heavily at this point and I stood on the metal platform above the Wadi and waited for my friends. I saw glimpses of them 25 minutes later. I hugged them and listened to their stories through panting breathes and weak, but comforting, attempts at humour. They were too abandoned and left at the first waterfall. My two female friends nearly drowned trying to save each other. Had they not had our male friends with them to pick them up by the neck, I fear they wouldn't have made it out alive. We try not to think about this too much.

So were there signs of danger before we went in? We knew it was raining heavily in Amman but the water from there does not reach the Wadi Mujib. It is supplied by tributaries near Karak, which was not expecting rain, and which quickly overwhelmed the dam that should control the water levels. It is extremely rare for the end of April to bring flash floods, but such was our luck.

It is entirely exhausting to accept that you may not exist and your last thought would be a helpless plea to God or the Universe or to whomever may care about your tiny body on a large, unforgiving Earth, and can actually do something about it (who makes this Rolex again?). And it is hard to think about the people and reasons you want to stay alive. These thoughts still manifest as cryptic nightmares that I struggle to digest.

I know I will tell this story repeatedly throughout my life, and that it will serve as a constant reminder of the bell tolling for me and thee, but I will try and meet it with a laugh and a foreshadowing prelude that goes something like "So once, I almost died in Jordan..." It might go well with "So once, I almost died in Latvia..." and "So once, I was caught in between gang crossfire London..." Welcome to my life.