Thursday 8th November,2007

The kiteboarder.

Recently our oldest son who lives in Asia startled us (as children sometimes do) by sending a recent newspaper clipping of himself which describes a charity boxing match that he is taking part in. The picture shows Paul mock sparring with his opponent who towers alarmingly above him. Voicing my concern over this obvious insanity, I reminded Paul that his father and I are still recovering from his other extreme sport - kiteboarding. 

When Paul and his beautiful girlfriend Rachel arrived in Mozambique with his kiteboard gear, he could hardly wait to take us to Vilanculos to demonstrate his new found skills. We loaded up the Landrover with all his equipment which did not leave much room for passengers and made our way to the coast.

The next morning Paul and Rachel headed for the sea weighed down with boards and kites. Pat and I sat on the beach looking on fondly as Rachel ran up and down sorting out complicated looking strings attached to a harness. It seemed Rachel was doing most of the hard work while Paul shouted instructions. I was so relieved she was there as I had a horrible vision that I might have been called in to do the string thing. Paul then flexed his biceps and squeezed himself into a rather tight blue lycra top and when I enquired rather anxiously if it wasn't a bit small and might restrict his movements was informed rather abruptly it was what all hot kiteboarders wore. By this time a crowd had gathered, Granny Beryl and the gorgeous Kate took up their positions near the waters edge. The spectators ranged from holiday makers to dhow fishermen and were starting to grow rather restless with the length of time it was taking to put Paul in to action. They soon settled down when he gave the thumbs up to Rachel that he was about to launch, I shielded my eyes from the glare of the sun and gave Pat's knee a reassuring squeeze.

Paul did not disappoint us, the breeze picked up and he sailed off elegantly skimming over the turquoise sea. Pat and I looked to the crowd and smiled proudly as Paul effortlessly executed some rather amazing leaps and on one occasion seemed to be hanging upside down with his arms extended. As people picked up their video cameras to witness this kiteboarding phenomenon the wind suddenly changed direction and our kiteboarder seemed to lose momentum. For a terrifying minute the wind carried him off and I thought he was off to Madagascar but he managed to keep upright and was shouting for some sort of assistance. As he came hurtling back towards us Pat and I raced to rescue him. Pat lunged himself into a rather spectacular rugby tackle trying to secure Paul round the crutch area. I plunged waist deep into the water and jumped on Pat's back to anchor them down before they both orbited into the blue yonder. Suddenly Paul was pulled from our grasp and zig zagged across the sea like a balloon when you deflate it with the kite thingy firmly over his head. I watched in sheer horror that only a mother can understand as our oldest son narrowly missed a dhow and landed face down on a distant sandbank. "Is he alive" I shrieked hysterically to Rachel who managed to calm me down and reassure us all would be well. I remained in a deep shock for most of the day.

Perhaps boxing is a good alternative and thankfully we are not there to witness it. So fight with all your might and "Good Luck Darling". Always remember how much we love you!

Mandy Retzlaff
Chimoio
Mozambique

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