It had just gone six o’clock in the evening, day was turning to dusk. The sky to the west blushed with violet and streaks of orange and white, as if added by paintbrush from an artist’s easel. The blistering heat of a dry African summer’s day was slowly draining away as its heat source dipped below the horizon. The earth could breathe again, even if only for a short while.

The next sequence of events unfolded somewhat quickly, Africa can be like that, fearsome while unpredictable. The movement drew my eyes away from where earth meets sky and I peered at the road in front of the Land Rover. There she was, moving almost in complete silence through the gloomy light toward us, like a shark coming out of the deep blue to surprise its prey. She approached the vehicle with the typical slow-gaited walk, on the only dirt track available. The problem was that we were making use of the same track, which of us would win the right of passage?

Mark, our guide was quick to act. The sound of the diesel engine faded as he groped at the ignition key and pulled off the road into the long grass. She had won. A sudden nervous hush came over all the occupants, human instinct had taken over. She came on without hesitation as if we had not been there at all. Her tawny coloured flanks rippled with muscle and sinew as she sauntered past only meters away. She tilted her head as if moving in slow-motion and looked up at me; it felt as though she was looking deep into my soul.

Two days earlier my travel companion and I loaded our bags into the boot of our trusty Toyota Conquest. We had welcomed the opportunity from a friend to stay at Singita Ebony Lodge and enjoy one of the greatest safari experiences available in Southern Africa.

Singita Ebony Lodge, “a Place of Miracles” reads the brochure. Situated in the Sabi Sands Game Reserve in the eastern part of South Africa, it lies adjacent to the world-renowned Kruger National Park. Here we discovered a retreat where luxury abounds and the wildlife becomes part of your life.

We followed the dusty dirt track for over a half hour after entering the reserve, my shirt glued to my back from perspiration. It was noon and the mercury was pushing through 35 degrees Celsius, the air hard to inhale. The thick African bushveld (a large area of wild or uncultivated land in South Africa) surrounded us and the buzzing sound of cicadas and crickets drowned out the noise of the engine.

The dirt road eventually revealed a series of wooden signs indicating directions to various lodges in the area. I pointed the Toyota toward the arrow signing ‘Singita’. We finally arrived at the parking area and no sooner had I pulled into an available space that the doors were yanked open and we heard, “Welcome to Singita!” from two smartly dressed gentlemen. Before long I had been relieved of my car keys, our bags were on the way to the reception area, and we were sipping on ice cold orange juice. The freezer cold face-cloths we had been handed now stained a reddish brown colour from wiping our dust-caked foreheads.

We followed the two gentlemen down the path towards the reception area; a beaming faced woman by the name of Megan met us there. After filling out the usual indemnity release forms found in all reserves containing dangerous game, she lead us on a short tour of the main lodge area and all its amenities. These included a huge open plan lounge, a large wooden deck overlooking the Sand River, bar area, traditional open boma (an enclosed camp or an enclosure for animals), gymnasium, health spa, library and wine cellar. 

Part of the luxury of Singita of course lies in the accommodation. Our luxury thatched suite was one of only twelve suites housing a maximum of twenty four guests. The attention to detail is unmatched in Africa, some of the highlights being the Egyptian cotton linen, the enormous deck and heated plunge pool overlooking the sand river and savannah (flat grassland, sometimes with scattered trees) beyond. The outdoor shower, fireplace, bar fridge, air conditioning, internet connection and telephone proved sheer extravagance.

Before being left to explore our ‘room’, the important safety precautions were fully explained. The fact that Singita Lodge (like all in this reserve) is unfenced and open to nature (this is clearly part of the appeal for those visiting) means it is safe to walk around within camp boundaries during the day. However, we would be escorted by night-watchmen after dark.

With our afternoon arrival, the afternoon game drive was already leaving on safari. We declined the offer to radio our game ranger to set up a rendezvous in the bush, for the alternative, which was relaxing in the comforts of our room. The view from the deck, apart from the sun setting over the sand river, included a quorum of undertaker birds – marabou storks – with their black backs and wings, and red bow ties. Long-legged they stared down their elongated beaks at us, with a bemused look. Their far flung cousin, a grey heron, curved in silhouette against the reddening ball hovering over the distant horizon. After sunset there were other game species also visiting the water, they were represented only by the dark shapes moving in the fading dusky light. Night fell quickly as if a blanket had been thrown over us. 

It was at seven thirty in the evening when the watchman knocked on our door, he escorted us to the bar for a drink before dinner. Most of the guests were already there having freshened up after their game drive. The bar staff, looking very smart in their evening attire, slipped between the guests tending to their every whim. The humdrum of voices, laughter and clinking glasses spoke of a successful safari all round.

Dinner was an enchanting affair, possibly due to Singita being a part of the renowned Relais & Châteaux group. - An exclusive collection of 475 of the finest hotels and gourmet restaurants in 55 countries worldwide. Established in France in 1954, the Association’s mission is to spread its unique art de vivre across the globe by selecting outstanding properties with a truly unique character. (Relais & Châteaux)

After a long, slow dinner, replete with gourmet food which included an appetizer of pan-fried Dorado, steamed mussels in saffron cream with fennel; followed by a main course of braised Noix de Veau with shitake ravioli, seared foie gras and confit tomato; and concluded with a dark chocolate parfait with kirsch poached pear and flambéed raspberries, a total sensory overload. We fell asleep on our bed with a full and free view of the moonlight river. The Mozambique nightjar’s characteristic gurgling sounding bird song radiating from the bush which surrounded us.

The knock on the door seemed to be only a few minutes later, however, it was five o’clock in the morning and this was our wake-up call. Tea and coffee is served at five thirty in the dining area and the safari heads out at six o’clock. By the time we made it to the coffee station, the light of a new day was breaking over the treetops.

The pungent odour of freshly baked spuds given off from the potato bush (Phyllanthus reticulatus) welcomed us on our dawn game drive. Guinea fowls rushed about in their workday calico too busy to stop as a kudu bull swirled his magnificent horns at the rising sun. Rhino appeared with red-billed ox-peckers delousing their backs. Termite mounds littered the landscape covered with the rich blue buffalo grass which glistened with dew. Later we came upon an old rhino bull, a silver spray of liquid emanating from between his hind-quarters. He was spraying to mark his territory and does not accept any imposters, especially another bull rhino.    

Zebra were next to make an appearance and reminded us that, like finger prints, the stripe pattern of each are unique and individual, thus allowing each calf to be able to pick out its mother. Her own design imprinted on the calf’s grey matter immediately after birth.

There were plenty of wildebeest – creatures known for their stupidity. Often when danger strikes they run away stopping thoughtlessly to look behind and measure the distance from the threat.  Our ranger, Mark, told us of a Gnu that did one better and crashed into a tree, stunned he dropped at the feet of the chasing lioness. The result was an easy kill that fed the pride for four days.

There was a three hundred year old Jackalberry tree which offered us respite from the increasing heat. Here the absolute beauty of the bush is contrasted; in one direction is the beauty of unspoilt Africa and in the other direction a fence surrounding this Noah’s Ark. Outside the fence lies poverty and starvation, causing some speculation as to whether such reserves will survive the increasing pressures from expanding populations.

We arrived back to a hearty breakfast served on the main deck. The meal took on similar characteristics to the one from the evening before and it became obvious that one could not eat such delights every day of one’s life, without adding on a considerable amount of weight, and guilt, at the same time. The rest of the day was spent lazing around our private pool and dozing on the pool loungers. The massive Jackelberry trees protruding through our deck provided welcome shade and relief from the midday sun. The buzz of the surrounding bush interrupted only by the cry of the African Fish Eagle or the call of the Zebra grazing on the far side of the river.

It was late afternoon when we began readying ourselves for the dusk game drive. We dragged our lazy limbs up to the main lodge for more food, which was presented in the form of a high-tea. Here we discussed the forthcoming adventures with the other guests whom we share the vehicle. Mark wet our appetites with talk of tracking down the elusive big cats as we gulped down the last of our drinks and hurried to the parking area and our awaiting Land Rover.

After the lioness had so impressively pierced my soul Mark sought out a suitable location and stopped for a sun-downer drinks break (included on all evening game drives), I definitely felt as though we all deserved one. The table unfolded from a seemingly hidden place on the back of the Land Rover and was placed on the riverbank; the crystal glasses emerged from a cooler box and were placed on the white neatly ironed table cloth. Drinks of choice were offered to all the guests and as Mark handed me a Gin and Tonic I truly felt like I was part of the Livingstone expedition to Africa, all that I was missing was a pith helmet!

We absorbed the beauty around us while discussing the amazing sighting of the female lioness. Hippopotamuses eyed us, submerged all but for their eyes twinkling just above water-level. Another gigantic old tree stretched its branches over the water causing me to wonder at what creatures it had witnessed during its ancient history. As we drove home we were confronted by a herd of silent elephant moving in a family group, they passed by like grey ghosts in the night. The temperature had dropped and we wrapped ourselves up, with the blankets supplied for the rest of the journey.

Back at Singita dinner awaited after several drinks generously poured by the barman Mishak Mekwana. Another gourmet meal ensued which was followed by a table of delectable and mouth watering desserts.

It was a little later, while trying to walk off my over indulgence that I came across a large visitors’ book. It took centre stage in the middle of the very well stocked library. Paging through the comments and names of illustrious visitors such as Boris Becker, Andre Agassi and Luciano Pavarotti, I respectfully lifted my pen and inscribed in the next available space “Place of Miracles, indeed!” – Darren and Candice Smit.

I have been lucky enough in my life to have worked in some of the most wonderful places on earth as well as on some of the most wonderful machines created by man. It was while working on one of these machines, namely a cruise ship from Norwegian Cruise Lines (NCL) that I experienced one of the most humbling and amazing phenomena known to man. This turned out to be one of the greatest shows on earth, the migration of Megaptera novaeangliae, commonly known as the humpback whale. Before I unravel the mystery behind these astonishing and colossal creatures, I need to first explain and go into a little detail of exactly what whales are.

Whales are cetaceans, dolphins and porpoises fall into the same classification. These are not fish but breathing warm blooded mammals who nurse their young. There are around eighty three species of cetaceans found in our oceans, the largest being the 100 foot long blue whale which is the largest animal ever to have lived. The smallest being the 4 foot long hector’s dolphin (Watching Hawaii’s Humpback Whales).

 Adult baleen whales are ‘toothless’ and have rigid strips of baleen (made of keratin, very similar to what makes up human finger nails) hanging from their upper jaws. By taking in large amounts of water and straining it through the baleen plates they are able to filter out thousands of small fish and planktonic organisms. The humpback whale is a perfect example of a baleen whale (Watching Hawaii’s Humpback Whales).

It was early in September that I first joined the cruise ship ‘MS Wind’ in Juneau, Alaska. The string of flights taken to get me from Miami to the ship included flying to Salt Lake City, onto Seattle onto Ketchikan, Sitka and finally Juneau. The time taken was an entire day of frustrating delays and stopovers, not to mention all the time changes along the way.  The ports of Skagway and the traversing of Tracy Arm Fjord waited. I had arrived into the wilds of Alaska and had no expectations of what was to follow.

The humpback whale is the fifth largest of the world’s great whales with populations to be found in each of the earth’s oceans. The newborn calf weighs in at an amazing 1.5 tons and range between 10-15 feet in length, while adults range between 40-50 feet and average up to a ton per foot. One of the oldest humpbacks was 48 years old. The greyish-black colour of the humpback is in stark contrast to the white markings found on their underside. These markings give each individual their own distinctive identification. The name Megaptera novaeangliae “Great wings of New England”, refer to its huge 15 foot pectoral flippers. The “humpbacked” name results from the arched back when diving and the prominent dorsal fin (Pacific Whale Foundation).

My first sighting of this wondrous creature came while the ship was traversing the Tracy Arm Fjord, a few days after I first boarded the ship. It was September and the whales were nearing the end of their time in the temperate waters of the North Pacific. During this time they would have consumed nearly a ton of food every day. The ensuing layer of blubber will allow them to last for the rest of the year without eating. The winter period from November to May is spent in the warm waters of Hawaii. It is here that they mate, calve and nurse their young.

Although my first sighting in Alaska was a brief one, the huge tail lifting in the air before slipping below the water’s surface was a humbling sight. As the ship passed the point where the whale had disappeared into the depths, I wondered if I would share another moment like this in the waters off Hawaii. The cruise was the last of the Alaskan season and we would soon be setting sail for the Hawaiian Islands and the winter season.

The migratory cycle of the humpback whale ensures that pregnant females and nursing mothers spend most of their time in relatively warm waters. The speeds that humpback whales can attain are up to 32 kilometres per hour for brief periods. However, average is about 7- 10 kilometres per hour during their migration. Satellite tagging has shown that individual whales have travelled the 5600 kilometres in 30-39 days. It is thought that that the whales use ocean currents, temperature change and even magnetic fields to find their way (Pacific Whale Foundation).   

A few days later the ship docked in Vancouver, the inside passage had been a breathtaking experience. There had been many sightings of the humpback whales; all of them heading in the same direction as us, south.

The ship was restocked with hundreds of tons of fuel, food, drink and most importantly, new passengers. The crossing of the Pacific Ocean to the Hawaiian Islands is a five day exercise and with three thousand souls to feed onboard, it is a logistical nightmare.

The sixth morning after leaving Vancouver finally arrived and I quickly made my way up to the top decks to enjoy our arrival into the port of Hilo on the Big Island of Hawaii. The crossing had been pretty rough and the ship along with my body felt as though it was in constant motion. As I climbed the stairs towards the promenade deck I noticed that the ship had stabilised and everything felt very calm. We had arrived.

I peered over the railing down to the ocean thirteen decks below. The brilliant deep blue colour dazed me at first. It was the richest, most vibrant blue I had ever seen. I found out later, the colour I was seeing was a direct result of bright sunlight reflected off the water molecules and miniscule particles suspended in the water. This journey of the light rays into deep water causes all the red rays of the spectrum to all be absorbed so when returning to our eyes the cool blue colour is what we see. The dark green colour of the North Pacific is, in comparison, caused by the rich plankton populations hence it loses its glassy transparency.

The Big Island of Hawaii is a living creature where just under the surface the liquid fire which created it still lives. Over the season it became apparent that with its vaporous and odorous flow of new lava found in the Volcanoes National Park, human life is only a very recent and insignificant feature on this or any of the Hawaiian Islands.

Over the coming months I enjoyed almost daily sightings of the humpback whales. It was during one of these days in January while anchored just off Lahaina on the island of Maui that I decided to go snorkelling. I made my way to Black Rock Beach where I previously had the benefit of some fantastic snorkelling. The weather was perfect and as I strode onto the beach, tropical sunlight glistened brightly off the ocean surface.

I geared up and swam out to about thirty metres off the point into deeper water. Here the reef, which teems with life, drops away dramatically to the sea bottom. It is here where the cool deep water meets with the shallow warm water I had experienced some of the best sightings of the Green Turtle. I adjusted my mask, took a deep breath and dipped my head below the surface. The sound was mind-boggling, at first I felt totally confused and disoriented. Where was this sound coming from? It was moments later that everything fell into place. I realised I was in close proximity to whale song!

Research has found that both male and female humpback whales produce a wide array of sounds, including the high and low frequencies which humans can hear. It is still unknown how whales produce these sounds as they have no vocal cords. It is, however, thought that these sounds are created by various valves and muscles in a series of sacs within the respiratory tract. It is during the winter and the breeding areas that males produce a complex pattern of sounds which they repeat for extended periods. Usually these patterned sequences make up a phrase and these phrases constitute themes. This whale song can last between six and eighteen minutes depending on the number of phrases (Pacific Whale Foundation).

Research shows that little or no whale song occurs during the summer months, the astonishing thing is that when returning to these waters the following winter the whales sing the most popular version from the previous breeding season. It is obvious that this attracts females and assists in male interaction (Pacific Whale Foundation).

The song had such a mesmerizing effect that I found myself staying under water for as long as I could muster, bursting through the surface and gasping for air between each dive. Whenever I surfaced I looked around for someone else to signal, someone to draw attention to my finding. I now could hardly make out the other snorkelers below Black Rock cliffs, I had ventured into no-man’s land and the boating lanes. I suddenly felt extremely vulnerable and realised I needed to head back to safer waters. I turned towards the shore and started swimming back to the beach.

I took one last breath and went under for one last listen to the whale song. I looked back in the direction of the deep blue, light rays were dancing and splaying downwards into the abyss. My body suddenly froze devoid of any movement, all four of my limbs hung motionless. I peered through the glass of my mask into the kaleidoscope of light beams, there were two very large, dark and silent shapes headed straight for me. My heart skipped a beat. As the shapes entered my focal range I saw a mother humpback whale with her calf stuck close by, they effortlessly glided toward me. The feeling of total insignificance overwhelmed me and time stood still.

When the mother was almost within spitting distance she broke off with the calf in tow. Diving, they disappeared as quickly as they had appeared.  

Humpback calves are conceived and born near Hawaii every year. Gestation is around ten to twelve months, soon after birth its mother remains close to shore, resting and nursing her newborn. The calves survive on their mother’s fat-rich milk for six to eight months before they begin to feed independently. The calves will double in length during the first year. 

As I swam back toward the beach and terra firma I realised how fortunate I was to have had this fleeting experience. I walked up the beach a short while later looking at all the happy holiday faces of people around me, wondering if anyone had seen or knew the elation I was feeling or why. The rest of the day was spent lazing on the beach, sun worshiping and reading a dive magazine I had picked up earlier that morning. There was an article on humpback whales which explained that while almost totally decimated by whaling in the early 1900’s the humpback had received protection from the United States in the  1970’s. As a result of these protective measures the population of humpbacks in the North Pacific had grown to between eleven and fourteen thousand. The article also stated that the whales are still considered and remain on the endangered species list, pressure to end the ban on commercial whaling threaten the long term survival of these whales.

I felt as though I had been blessed. The few hours in the water listening to the whale song and culminating into the sighting of a lifetime was hugely gratifying. These are the moments which enable us to truly feel the harmony between all living things. I pray that their song never falls silent.

“You shouldn’t go,” my mom said. She had been on my case since the beginning of the week. I had just finished my final semester of college, and I planned and actually booked a flight on El Al airlines. My destination was Tel Aviv in Israel. My mission was to work on a kibbutz. I would use it as a springboard into Europe during a gap year of travel. It was July in the year 1990; I was 20 years old and ready to take on the world. Tensions in the Middle East were rising, and the papers were ringing out with talk of war between Iraq and the coalition forces.

“What happens if war breaks out while you are in Israel,” my mom reiterated. “Then it breaks out mom!” I replied. I had been planning the trip for months, and everything had been organised. I had been through a long process with the Zionist Association already, involving medicals, interviews, and evaluations. I had passed all of these with flying colours. I was young and determined. Nothing was going to stop me, especially not some guy called Saddam Hussein.

“I have made up my mind mom, I’m going.” I said, “Besides, all the work and saving will not be in vain. I have worked too hard to cancel now,” I added.

I walked through the arrival gates at Ben Gurion airport into total mayhem. There were people rushing everywhere, and I remember lots of noise. The heat was stifling; it felt as if I had walked into a brick wall. It was the first time I had left the comfort zone called home. It was my first time in an international airport. I was in Israel, and my senses were being overloaded by the unfamiliarity of what my eyes were taking in.

“Yella, Yella,” yelled someone gesturing to me and the crowd now massing behind me. He was pointing towards a revolving carousel. He had a very large automatic weapon slung over his shoulder, so I quickly moved in the direction he was pointing. I soon realised it was where my luggage would appear. A large suitcase flopped through the wall onto the snaking carousel.

I stood in a far corner trying to avoiding eye contact with anyone. The guy with the weapon had moved off towards another gate, probably to scare someone else I thought to myself. I had picked up my backpack already and was now waiting for my surfboard to appear. Just as I was wondering to myself how it would fit through the hole in the wall, a door opened behind me. Another man with a gun over his one shoulder and my surfboard over the other walked through the door. I now regretted that I had been so stubborn in bringing it with me. Were there even waves to ride here?

I am not sure why, but the armed man came straight toward me and dropped the surfboard at my feet, ignoring the fragile stickers I had meticulously pasted all over it. It may have been due to the fact that my hair was shoulder length, and I was wearing a very colourful surf shirt and board shorts. There were not too many of those types standing around waiting for luggage. I thanked the man with as many words and gestures I could think up. He turned away from me, muttering something in a series of mixed-up syllables throwing his hands in the air as he went. Obviously, the need to leave his post to deliver a strange looking bag had not been high on his things-to-do list.

I hoisted my backpack over my shoulders and picked up my board bag and headed toward the exit sign. All others were in Hebrew. As I walked away through the exit door I felt a thousand inquisitive eyes burning into my back.

The instructions I had been given from the Zionist Association was to get the number 121 bus to Haifa and then the 25 to the end of the line. Once there, I would find Kibbutz Neve Yam. This was the Kibbutz that I had been allocated to. A person by the name of Rifka would supposedly be my point of contact. Outside the airport, I heard a voice yelling, “Haifa, Haifa, Haifa” A small man in a brown uniform was pointing toward a bus. I ran over and produced a ticket I had carried all the way from home. My luggage and board were loaded into the container hatch, as I reluctantly stepped up into the bus. There were a couple of empty seats among a sea of brown-clad armed soldiers. I made my way to the first one available and sat down; my heart beating so fast and so loud, I was sure everyone could hear.

It was the fourth time the siren had gone off that week, a wailing sound so loud and terrifying my skin crawled each time I heard it. I jumped out of bed, reached for my gas mask on the shelf below the window, threw on some clothes and rushed out the door. In the moonlight, I could make out a line of people heading down into the bunker situated about a hundred yards from my room. It had been five months since I had arrived at Kibbutz Neve Yam and tension in the area had escalated ten-fold during this time. Saddam Hussein’s army had invaded Kuwait. The coalition forces, led by the United States of America, had made their intentions clear. They would go to war unless the Iraqi forces pulled out.

The relationship between Israel and its neighbours had been stretched to the limit. Iraq had scud missiles pointed towards the holy land; fear of chemical warfare was clear in everyone’s mind. I ran down the stairs into the bunker and began taping up the window frames. This task was mine.

A few tense hours passed before the sirens ceased their wailing. A false alarm. We all filed out from below ground and made our way back to our rooms in a group. Everyone had their own opinion about the war and when it would come. If it would come. My time in Israel had been the most humbling experience I have ever had, but I knew one thing, it was time to use the springboard and make my way to Europe as soon as possible.

She sat down next to me sliding the tray onto the table beside the bed. I could see various sized needles, syringes, and what looked like empty test tubes with red rubber stoppers stuffed in one end. “You alright love?” she asked in a rich cockney accent. I was about to answer when she added, “Just need to take some blood, and, you will need to go to ward B for your ECG.” “Where is ward B,” I replied through a very dry mouth. My voice was trembling and she could tell, she would have seen this all before. “Don’t worry love; you may feel a small little prick and then a warm feeling. That will be when the blood starts flowing, OK?”, “Be gentle,” I replied while battling to pry my tongue off the roof of my mouth.

I stared at the neon lights on the ceiling. I took a deep breath; the heavy disinfectants smell reminding me where I was. Was it all worth it, I thought to myself? I felt the cold hard needle puncture through my skin in search for a vein.

I had arrived two weeks prior. Broke from backpacking through Greece for the summer I did what any self respecting traveller would do, I headed for London to find work. The plan was to save money over the winter and travel to Germany for the Oktoberfest. Plans have a funny way of changing and generally do at the most inappropriate time.

The youth hostel in North London had a free pickup service from Heathrow so that is why I ended up there. It smelled of stale beer and was full of strange people from all parts of the world. The hot water ran out every time I decided to have a shower and the floors creaked so loud it woke you whenever someone took a step. It was perfect. I met A.J the first night; he was a fellow South African staying at the hostel. He made a couple of calls and the next day I found myself working on a construction site in a new development called Canary Wharf.

It had been two weeks of hard graft and it was payday. The thought of eating some real food was the only thing on my mind. I had been living on one bowl of spaghetti a day and my budget had not allowed for any sauce! The day at work finally came to an end and a man arrived and handed out a cheque to everyone on the site. The only way to get the cheque cashed was at a pub in Finchley. A.J and I jumped on the tube to the nearest stop and made our way to the pub, the process involved handing your cheque through a window and the cash (less a fee of course) was handed back to you. After a few well deserved beers and a plate of bangers and mash we headed back to the hostel.

“A.J wake up mate, I’ve been robbed!” I shook him violently. “What!” he said while wiping the sleep out of his eyes. “The money is gone, I put it in my backpack when we got back last night and now it’s gone!” I cried. A thief had broken in overnight and had been through our things. Out of the eight of us in the dormitory, six had been robbed.

The advert said, “Volunteers needed for a drug trial at Guys Drug Research Unit. Earn cash as a participant.” I called the number and got through to Gloria. She proceeded to tell me what the drug trial entailed and asked if I was interested in taking part. “What does it pay?” I asked “The trial is a ten day trial and we pay 100 pounds a day,” she replied. It sounded too good to be true. “Sign me up!” I said without hesitation. I had been earning 40 a day breaking my back. “You will need to come in tomorrow for a full medical check up, and we will let you know in a few days if you are able to take part.” She added.

“OK love, I have the blood I need for screening, sit up now.” The nurse said. I was sent from one ward to the next and after being prodded and poked for most of the day, I was told that I needed to call Gloria in a few days. She would let me know if I could take part.

The ward was buzzing with doctors and nurses on the day of the trial. The ten of us who had been chosen were all lying in beds spread throughout the ward. It had taken most of the morning to get us all signed in and hooked up to the various organ monitors. Blood was taken again for pre-trial testing. I was in bed eight so would be administered the drug in turn. The drug was being given subcutaneously, this meant by injection under the skin. The place to be injected was our stomach region.

I was keeping a watchful eye on the doctors administering the drug to the volunteers in the beds before me and noticed that some were having adverse skin reactions at the point of injection. There was a nurse taking photos of these reactions and I knew this was obviously for their research purposes. As the doctors got to number six a nurse came over to me and asked if everything was OK? She had noticed that my heart rate had climbed. I was getting nervous.

Just then all hell broke loose at bed number one. The volunteer, who I knew only as ‘Mike’ the Australian, began screaming. He was bent over in the fetal position. Something was horribly wrong. While the nurses were attending to ‘Mike’ the doctors had now arrived at my bedside. They were about to inject me in the stomach when number two, three and four volunteers had also began screaming in pain. I could see their heart monitors were all showing serious spikes in the beats rate.

“We are cancelling the trial right now,” shouted the doctor to the two nurses hovering over me. The three of us left unscarred were immediately rolled out into another ward. We were told to get dressed and could leave as soon as we had been cleared by security. I could still hear the screaming as I walked out onto the street and headed for the closest tube station.