Anna and I got married in Portugal in September last year. We had been together for 13 years. She said in her vows, “I don’t know what life is going to have in store for us, but I know our love for each other is always constant.”
Ten days later, I found myself in a swamp in Botswana with my intestines hanging out of my back.
We were on our honeymoon in the Okavango Delta. That evening, we had set off with a group in traditional canoes. We weren’t looking for hippos; the excursion was supposed to be about plants.
Before we left, we were warned that a mother hippo with two babies was nearby, so we would stay away from her. I spotted the hippo in the distance and zoomed in to take a photo – she was huge, her open mouth showing big teeth; the calves were behind her.
Our canoe had drifted away from the others. Suddenly, I heard a noise behind us – splashing, grunting, growling. The boat started rocking. I turned to my left and saw the same hippo, mouth still open, charging. The look on the guide’s face was one I will never forget: sheer terror.
Then the hippo hit me. It was like being struck by a car. I was knocked underwater and pinned to the bottom of the swamp. I could feel her crushing my chest and back. For a moment, her jaws loosened. Then they clamped down again, around my leg.
Anna saw me lying in the hippo’s mouth. She thought I was dead. But instead of saving herself, she sprang towards the hippo. She remembers making a primal scream and charging through the shallow water. Then she punched the hippo near its face, and it dropped me.
I surfaced and tried to walk. I felt pain in my back, looked down and saw my intestines hanging out. I said to Anna, “I need help.” I wrapped one arm around myself to hold my insides in and put the other around her shoulders. We waded until we reached one of the other canoes.
The other tourists were horrified. I lay on my stomach on a pile of lifejackets. I was wearing a belt, so Anna took it off and made a tourniquet for my leg. She used her headscarf on my arm. I told her to push my intestines back inside me. Sensibly, she refused and held them in her hands.
We had been told a helicopter would arrive in 30 minutes. I thought, OK, I can survive that long. But after an hour or two, the sun began to set. Then we were told no helicopter would be able to make it that night. What made me angry was the idea that I might die now. I’d just got married.
I was carried back to camp on a stretcher. Every bump was excruciating. I was treated with a basic first aid kit. Someone had managed to retrieve Anna’s phone from the water. Incredibly, it worked. Just before 8pm, she called my mother. I took the phone: “Mom, I got attacked by a hippo. I’m lying in a tent with my guts out. I’m going to die. I need to be evacuated.” My family jumped into action. The US embassy became involved. A hospital in South Africa was alerted.
After many hours, the sun came up and I heard a helicopter – the best sound I’ve ever heard. A doctor came into the tent. The first thing he said was, “He has no pants on.” Modesty had slipped a long way down our list of priorities. “My guts are hanging out of my back,” I said. “You’re not forcing boxers on me.” So Anna covered me with a sheet.
At Netcare Milpark hospital, I was rushed into emergency surgery. My injuries included a hole in my back, deep wounds to my thigh and arm, fractured ribs and vertebrae, damage to several internal organs and crushed intestines.
I spent 19 days there before I was well enough to be flown home. Physically, I’m still recovering, and I’ve discovered pottery is mentally therapeutic. Anna is still having physical therapy, too. It turns out punching a hippo is not good for your ribs. We’ve also had counselling. Neither of us blames the hippo. She was only protecting her territory.
We still have the photograph I took, hanging on the wall at home. It’s probably an unusual souvenir. But then it’s not every day your wife punches a hippo to save your life.
As told to Sophie Haydock
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