On our last day, the weather was beautiful; it had rained all night and so the day dawned without the killer humidity that we'd been enjoying. As we were at our furthest point from the lodge in deepest darkest Africa we managed to get the car stuck in the mud, literally... The rains had turned the dry ground to a quagmire (sound familiar?!) and the heavy Pajero was not shifting for love nor money. We all sat in the car looking at each other for a while until the Dad and I decided the only way was for us to nip out of the car and push the vehicle out of the mud whilst his missus sat clean and dry in her sparkly white Tshirt and shorts in the driver's seat (yeah thanks Bonnie - I think I got the wrong end of that deal!!) Well the Dad Steve and I pushed and pushed and pushed this flipping car but nothing happened except getting liberally sprayed in mud. By now the kids were beginning to stress... they were smart kids - they were stressed we were out of the car, stressed we were stuck and increasingly stressed at how late it was getting. There was no mobile phone signal, no one was expecting us back (as we were heading directly home afterwards) and frankly, we were in a bit of a pickle.
In the absence of any other plan we kept trying to push this darn beast of a car out of the mud. We dug away at the mud around the wheels, put shrub under the front wheels to gain traction but nothing worked. By now the kids were besides themselves. I remember Steve looking at me and basically saying - we had no choice, out of somewhere we had to find the grit to push this car out of the mud. I was already completely knackered and marginally concerned about the various animal noises surrounding me, let alone the herd of elephants that seem to be wandering around in the visible distance.
So we took a deep breath, dug out feet into the mud as far as they could go and pushed with every bit of strength we found from somewhere. Slowly the car began to give, we didn't acknowledge I just remember digging my feet deeper into the same spot and swearing that I wouldn't stop pushing until this car moved and the kids were ok. Slowly, slowly it began to move, the kids were cheering but Steve and I just kept on going. With a final slurp the car jumped free - Steve leapt forward like a triumphant, all conqueroring hero, arms aloft cheering. I however was rather knackered and as the car moved, my arms slipped outward, my feet firmly wedged in the mud, and in slow motion, I had assumed a fully extended position as I faceplanted the biggest pile of elephant poop you could imagine. His wife immediately leapt out of the car shouting for me not to move. "How sweet" I thought, "she has come to help me after I jointly saved her entire family from obvious painful death being eaten by wild African animals". Well no, she just wanted to get her camera....
I had a long time to ponder the incident on a quiet drive back to Nairobi wearing only underwear and a borrowed TShirt. The fact that you could take yourself to what you thought was your limit (either physically or mentally) and if you were on your own that may have been it. But having the kids there and the overwhelming need to protect them meant that, from somewhere, no idea where, you find strength and mental fortitude you never knew you had. And these weren't even my own kids.
So whilst I don't recommend an elephant poop spa (although I have to say my skin was just Glowing afterwards) nor do I recommend morbidly obsessing about doing heroic deeds to save my children from imminent disaster, sometimes when I think I'm being a particularly crap Mum I do stop and try and put things into perspective. I may not be the most homemaking, casserole-baking, eternally-patient mother going but I love my kids like no other person on this planet, I will always be there for them and if the worst happen, I would willing lay down in elephant poop 100 times over to save them.
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