Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: ALONE (10/20/22)
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TITLE: Enola Monroe | Previous Challenge Entry
By Corinne Smelker
10/27/22 -
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The morning started out well, and Enola swung her arms quickly as she strode along the roads of Cape Town, heading north, backpack with essentials nestled on her back. After hiking the Appalachian Trail and Pacific Crest Trail, Enola was ready for anything this trek could throw at her. Her boyfriend, Najir, was going to fly out and meet her when she reached the Zimbabwean border and hike through that country with her before flying on to Nairobi, Kenya, where they’d join up again.
Enola loved the solitude of these hikes, pushing her body to its limits and even further, meeting people and exploring new countries. Her mother claimed she must have gypsy blood because, from the time she was a toddler, all she wanted to do was travel. Becoming a travel blogger was the natural career choice for Enola.
Africa soon wrapped Enola in its welcoming arms, embracing her with its vivacity, its uniqueness, and its joy. This was different to her American hikes, where she was familiar with the culture and the people. Here she was the alien; she was the stranger. It was a disquieting and, in some ways, humbling experience.
It was during her third week of hiking, as she was reaching the border between South Africa and its neighbor to the north, Zimbabwe, that it happened. In retrospect, she could not tell whether it was the water she drank or some food she consumed, but she was struck down with the worst fever and gastric distress she’d ever felt. She lay in her tent in the middle of the bush, writing in pain, wishing she were dead.
On the third day, as she lay there, half out of her mind in pain, she cried, “Help me!” To whom she called, she had no idea. God had never been important; she followed the creed of ‘if you’re spiritual, that’s all that matters.’ “Help me!” she cried again in desperation.
The wind whistled around her tent, rattling the fly sheet and straining the guy ropes, but Enola was beyond caring. Suddenly she heard, “Enola Monroe, you will be alone no more.”
“What?” she sat up blearily. “Who’s that?”
“You know me. Your mother told you who I am when you were little. I am the God who rescues you. Enola, you will be alone no more.”
“Jesus! Help me!” and with that cry, Enola slid back, unconscious, onto her soiled sleeping bag.
“Tloho le ’na. O bolokehile.”
“Wha-?”
“Come with me. You are safe.”
Enola awoke to find a young woman kneeling at the tent's entrance, blocking the sunlight. “Tloho le ’na. O bolokehile. Come with me. You are safe.”
“Who are you?”
“Sesi.”
Enola sat up and realized for the first time in 72 hours that she was pain-free.
“Wait! Was there anyone else here? Did you see a man?”
“No, missy. Just you. I have been watching you for one night and day, and there was no one. Come with me, and I will take you to my village, and the ngakeng can make you better.”
Who talked to me? Jesus?
It was Jesus, and I am alone no more.
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Enola – Alone spelled backward.
Monroe – an anagram of no more
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