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After our visit, we returned to the lumber camp. That afternoon, Paul set out to take some of our supplies back to the boat we had tied up along the riverbank. When he failed to return that night, I knew something was wrong.
The next morning, through gestures and broken communication, I managed to convey to a few workers at the camp that I needed to find my friend. Riding on the back of a man’s motorcycle, I eventually located Paul injured in a nearby village. His motorcycle had overturned in the deep sand, hurling him headfirst into the forest.
The villagers and I loaded Paul and the motorcycle into the outboard, and I navigated us back down the river to Impfondo, taking him immediately to the hospital. There, the doctors discovered that he had suffered a ruptured spleen. The next day, he and Diane flew back to the United States. Later, the doctor who treated him expressed amazement that he had survived.
I sometimes joke about having saved Paul’s life, but we all know who truly preserved him—and to Him belongs all the glory.
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