Evil bridges

Back in the days of yore people used to fear trolls and ogres and other such things hiding under foot bridges just waiting to grab them and eat them. Tanzania doesn't have any monsters minus the terrifying popo bwawa which is a vampire except that it doesn't suck your blood it instead flies into your bedroom at night and sodomizes you. I know, I didn't believe it either but I've asked Tanzanians and, once they're finished laughing, they have confirmed the popo bwawa is just as real as dracula. At any rate I'm getting off track. My point was that bridges here have no nefarious residents underneath because they don't need them, they are already evil enough peke yao (by themselves). They are usually just high enough off the ground to mess you up if you fall but are not high enough that you actually show them any respect. They are rarely flat or even manage to lean in the same direction over their entire length. Planks are arranged in a manner that looks like it was inspired by a Dali painting and the planks themselves are often rounded on one side as they are the left overs or are sometimes simply big sticks nailed to other big sticks. If you're drunk, daydreaming, or walking at night crossing one of these abominations can be rather dangerous. There is one in particular that I hate just outside of Songea Boys. It's only maybe 8 feet long, 4 feet wide, less than a foot off the ground, and bridges a stream barely worth the name that cuts through the surrounding rice fields. It is very unassuming and kind of quaint in a rural African sort of way before you realize it's evil. I had many run ins with him back in the day though so I knew better and approached him with caution. He hadn't weathered the years since I lived here very well and he looked even more surly than usual. His boards were in shambles with roughly half his length having them going from side to side and the other half going lengthwise. He was also dusty and the water passing under him had some unidentifiable grease slick on parts of it. I crossed him very carefully testing the boards before I stepped, ready for one to jump up at me at any moment but nothing happened. Shocked, I congratulated myself on my good fortune and continued on to my old house to see about borrowing the current PCVs bike since he was going to a july 4 party on the coast (about 300-400 miles away on one of the worst roads in a country where there are only two paved ones). After waiting for over an hour for him to come back from town I found out I couldn't get the bike till friday and headed back the way I came intending to head into town. I approached the bridge again feeling quite cocky as he had put up such little resistance the first time. That was a mistake. I got about half way across before he made his first move. As I strode forward one of the lengthwise planks jumped up at me and would have hit me except I was ready and eased up on my lead foot thus avoiding getting a rather embarrassing welt on my head. I smiled ans shook my head at the amateur move he had made. How far his skills had fallen I thought but I was arrogant. I was a fool. I should have given the enemy that had taken my big toe's nail from me once and almost dumped me in that dirty water many other times the credit he deserved. Just as any good boxer never leads with a power punch the bridge was just feinting. Setting me up for his real attack. As I reached the edge of the bridge I was daydreaming, remembering all the other times I had walked the same path in the past and I stopped to take a picture as there is a very nice view of one of the local mountains there. I should have been more wary. I should have known he wouldn't let me off that easy. By letting myself daydream I had fallen into one of his three traps and he was ready. As I went to step off the bridge, now completely in my own world, I stepped into a hole about a foot deep that was right in front of me and proceeded to fall forward swearing and flailing at the air wildly to no avail. As I looked around quickly to see if anyone had seen me fall I absentmindedly wiped my pant leg off with my right hand (the soil/dust here is a rust red) and for some reason, I blame the bridge, I decided the logical thing to do next was to wipe my hand off on the left shoulder of my clean white shirt. This of course left a massive red hand print on my shirt which meant I had to walk home first before going to town in order to change as it's important here to look "sharp" and the hand print looked so stupid I would have felt dumb even walking around in the states. Tomorrow should be interesting as I will get to go navigate lots of bridges like him with a bike, map, and a silly looking hat as I try to find all the well sites and get "before" pictures. We'll see how it goes.