Several volunteers had horses in town and since I had always loved them so much, it was a chance to get one of my very own. Somehow the word went out and I was presented with a horse who looked as if he came out of the Arabian Nights. A boy charged up to me at full gallop, the horse's tassels flying. I was sold on the spot. I rode him on my off days and one day decided to be a little bold and took him out of town into the countryside. We were at an open field and Dembara took off at the speed of light. I struggled with all my strength to rein him in but kept losing ground and finally fell on my hip onto a rock. Stunned I laid there and finally was able to get up, limping badly, looking for Dembara over a ridge. There he was. A man had him by his halter and I'm sure that he was as surprised to see me as I was to see him. I called out in Amharic that that was my horse and he helped me get back on as I was quite a distance from town and could hardly walk. That was pretty much the last time I rode Dembara as fear set in plus the realization that I was in the MIDDLE OF AFRICA and advanced medicine was not available.
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