tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6597022098053424805.post7658265920907432822..comments2024-03-29T10:30:30.927+02:00Comments on Justine's Post-Swazi Adventure: When it rains, it pours.Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07323105619171902251noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6597022098053424805.post-13318377640640486872009-02-21T21:48:00.000+02:002009-02-21T21:48:00.000+02:00Great stories; thanks for sharing them. I remembe...Great stories; thanks for sharing them. I remember being warned of snakes in training. We even practiced injecting oranges with pretend anti-venom. But 15 months passed and I never saw a snake, except dead or in captivity. Then one day while motorcycling on my tiny Suzuki a black mamba shot out of the bush in front of me. I had no time to brake without going down on the loose gravel so I put my foot on the handle bar. The snake, which had not noticed me yet, was going to be run over just behind its head. At the very last moment the snake whipped back and I sped through. I looked back and saw it madly striking in all directions as if fighting an invisible enemy. Kind of like an earthquake, it just happens suddenly one day with no particular reason. I was always amazed/amused how the Swazis were so single minded when they saw a snake, any snake. They immediately and unflinchingly went after it, women and men, until they killed it, which they always did. That answered why snake are rarely seen. They are, so to speak, snake bitten.Lowellhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18132582301343245337noreply@blogger.com