It was my fourth day of wandering in the jungle and I was beginning to think there was no hope of finding my way out. From time to time, my feet got entangled in the creepers and I had to extract them.

Finally, I came to a small, fast-flowing stream beside which I decided to rest, hoping my pursuers had given up the chase. For the umpteenth time I wondered just what I had been doing in a village inhabited by cannibals.

The images came back – seeing my friends roasted over their communal fireplace and watchiing everyone tear at their cooked flesh – eagerly – still made me sick. How did these people think? I shuddered again when I remembered the earthen urns filled with blood – they had been reserved for the toothless elders who knew they would be eaten once they became a liability.

I never can look at meat the same way again – I swore never to taste it again till I die.

Coming back to the present, my feet were blistered from running. The irony of it all was that I was sure I’d never looked better in my life – I’d been running almost non-stop for three days which translated to a five hundred miles on a treadmill. All that ugly fat Id been trying unsuccessfully to lose had been stripped off and here I was, thin and badly malnourished.

In normal circumsttances I’d be loath to taste the water from this dirty stream but I went at the water eagerly, scooping it in my palms and drinking heartily until I felt I was going to burst. I’d discarded most of my clothes because of the combined heat and humidity, leaving me topless with only my badly ripped pair of jeans.

The jungle was calm and serene, and I loved to hear the birds chirp. I spied a goodlooking tree. I plopped down in front of it, and propping my back against it, went to sleep.

I woke up close to an hour later to the sound of voices coming towards me. I caught the glint of sunlight on metal and knew they were after me again – that was definitely a spear. In a flash I was on my feet and placing a hand over my breasts to prevent them from flapping I was off again.

This time, they caught me before I had gone fifty paces. The hefty dark-skinned natives surrounded me. I clawed and scratched and screamed to no avail – they held me tight but didn’t do anything else.

I was beginning to wonder what they were up to when the circle parted to let someone in. It was my husband.

My throat went dry and my mouth hung open with shock.

‘Honey,’ he said gently.

‘I can’t be,’ I said, my voice sounding strange – even to me. ‘The cannibals ate you..’

‘What cannibals?’ he asked. He appeared genuinely surprised.

‘These cannibals,’ I gestured to the people around me.

I couldn’t believe what was happening. I flung myself at him and he received me in his arms, not mindful of how dirty I looked – I must have been a sight. We just stood there holding each other for something close to eternity before he released me.

‘You ok?’ he asked.

I nodded, unable to speak for fear I’d break down in tears.

‘Let’’s go home.’ he said.

I’ve been on therapy for a year now and I still find it hard to believe all I had seen hadn’t been real – I had had a nervous breakdown while on safari in Africa. I’m really glad they caught me.

My “roasted” friends still come to visit me. They’re very curious about how they looked to me during that period. I’m always careful, though to exclude the gory details. As always, Pierre has been there for me – I’m grateful I have him.