A Hippo Attack!

Clyde Ritchey, Africa

Jonathan Ritchey was born on Christmas morning in Africa. Growing up, he learned many Bible verses and accepted Jesus as his Savior. He finished High School in Africa and returned to the States to attend Toccoa Falls Bible College. However, he didn’t want to be a missionary just because his parents were. He needed to know what God wanted him to do.
Then Jon had a chance to visit his parents in Africa. One day he and I, his father, and a cousin named Ray, decided to go fishing in a big lake. By noon we had caught a lot of fish, even one over fifty pounds! But we didn’t stop. We saw an island where there might be more, and we guided the boat through tree roots into the shallows.
Suddenly Jonathan yelled and disappeared into the water as the boat capsized. A giant hippopotamus had grabbed Jon’s leg, piercing it through. It dragged him to the bottom and shook him like a rag doll. Jon kicked with his left foot to free his right leg from the hippo’s teeth and shot to the surface, where he filled his lungs with air. Ray tried to turn the boat over, and I swam to a low tree limb.
The hippo surfaced angrily and grabbed Jon again, slashing his leg with deep gashes. One of its teeth had pierced the back of Jon’s right leg to a depth of about eight inches. Now another tooth penetrated his left hip, puncturing a hole about four inches deep and two inches in diameter. Later we could see from the lesser cuts and abrasions on Jon’s stomach and back that the middle of his body had been in the hippo’s jaws. I prayed desperately, “God, save us!”
The lad twisted and turned and shot once again to the surface ten feet from where I was hanging from the small tree. I yelled, “Are you hurt?” Jon replied, “Yes, badly.”
The hippo leaped out of the water and came toward him, roaring like an angry bull. “Swim toward me,” I yelled, and Jon did, in spite of his wounds. I pulled him up as I hung precariously with my left arm, and prayed for the animal to leave in the name of our powerful Lord. I believe God intervened again because the hippo was stopped as if by a mighty hand! Immediately it appeared thirty yards away, red with anger and occasionally looking back toward us, but it did not return.
Jon was bleeding badly so I tore the bandanna from my neck and stuffed it into the largest deep wound in the back of his right leg. I tied my spare bandanna around the upper part of the leg to act as a tourniquet, because I could see another deep wound near his ankle made by the hippo’s teeth.
We tried to float Jon to shore on top of the overturned boat, but the current was against us. Caustic diesel fuel-filled water from the outboard motor burned our stomachs and chests as Ray and I swam to shore with Jon between us. We collapsed in a big muddy hippo wallow. Ray stayed close by while I went for help. I found a footpath by a mango tree and ran four miles through the bush until I met someone.
Back at the hippo wallow, Jon’s pain got worse, and the African night grew chilly. Ray covered Jon’s shivering body with his own clothes.
I tripped over roots and mud wallows, and failed to mark where I came out of the jungle when I found a schoolteacher who owned a moped. We rode to the lake and began searching and calling. No answer. I put my face in my hands and wept. What would I tell my wife? Was Jon still alive?
We returned to the village, found a truck, and immediately drove to the closest town for help. The pastor there had a truck but as we drove along, the vehicle high-centered on a large rock. It took half and hour to jack the truck off the rock. These hardships made the nine hours of delay in rescue even more heart wrenching. Finally we arrived at the lake with a searchlight. We found the mango tree and at last our call was answered, “Over here!”
There was Jon, lying in agony. I fell on my knees and whispered tenderly, “I love you.” Jon answered weakly, “I love you too, Dad.” We put him on a stretcher, crossed the lake in a boat that had been tied onto the roof of the truck, found another truck and drove to a hospital. It was closed! A nurse gave Jon a shot for his pain, and we still had to drive 121 miles to Kissidougou, the same hospital where Jon was born.
To our surprise, although it was eleven o’clock at night, this hospital was all lit up and the staff was scrubbed, ready for an operation. They immediately took Jon into surgery where eleven people worked on him for five hours. He needed four pints of blood. Because he was allergic to the anesthesia, the operation had to be done without it.
The doctor said, “Jon shouldn’t be alive because it took fifteen hours to get him here. The kerchief stuffed into the hole stopped the bleeding. There are painful skin grafts to be done, and Jon’s leg might have to be amputated. He probably will always have a very bad limp.”
But God! The president of the national church prayed that God would give Jon perfect restoration like he had before the hippo attack. And He did! He spared Jon’s life, but Jon said he died at the lake when he gave himself to the Lord for His service. He recovered, returned to Bible College and played soccer, running fast without even the trace of a limp!