Crocodile attacks

Reading about these crocodile attacks brings back a flood of memories. I remember those long, hot days tracking man-eaters along the Shire River — boots sinking into the mud, rifle in hand, heart pounding like a war drum. It was never about glory. It was about keeping a fisherman’s wife from becoming a widow… keeping a child’s laughter from being silenced forever. The rivers of Malawi are beautiful, but they have teeth. I pray the next generation learns to walk those banks with respect — and a sharp eye on the water’s edge.