I miss swimming. It is my favorite form of exercise. I feel like when I am in Ghana, I don’t exercise much at all. Not like I do at home anyway. At home, I take night walks alone or with the dog, but here that would be considered dangerous for a young woman (especially a white one…I glow at night, so it would be easy to jump me). I go hiking in Minnesota, but in Besease the land isn’t for hiking, it’s for farming. I don’t own a bicycle, and the one that Star of the Sea owns has been used and abused so much over the years it is now just something to look at. If I had a bike here, I would bike everywhere, especially because I dislike running. So one day, feeling rather potato-like and restless, I begged some of the teachers to go to the ocean with me for a swim. And George, my really good friend in Besease, graciously volunteered himself.
George and I immediately had a disagreement when we arrived at the sea. I wanted to go off to the west, toward Komenda college, where it’s hardly populated and very few people swim. Because when I swim in Ghana, I get stared at and the young men bother me, and I just felt like being left alone for the day. But George, being a man of old-time tradition and a good friend, said that area was too dangerous for swimming and insisted we stay where all the people were, nearer to town and the fishing boats. He couldn’t have me drowning. “But I am a good swimmer!” I complained. “But you haven’t grown up around the ocean,” he’d say. And we went back and forth like that until finally I gave in and said, “Fine, I’ll sit with you and wade around a bit.” I was, in fact, a bit miffed and had stubbornly decided to not swim. This was mostly because, by the time we sat down, a crowd of kids had already formed waiting to see what the Bruni would do, and I wasn’t in any mood to be their entertainment for the day. As I said, I felt like being alone, but being stubborn is sometimes stupid and despite your best efforts, something can crack that stubbornness in two. George was wading around, and sulking in my own toilet of stubborness alone, on the beach wasn't doing anything for me or making any points (especially since George took no notice), so I walked down to join him. And instantly, as thought the ocean were laughing in my face, a huge wave came and drenched my skirt. So I thought, to hell with it, and I plucked off my shirt. (Though I had my one piece Speedo on, I left my skirt on as well, since none of the other girls swimming were revealing their legs.) And I jumped in.
George warned me not to go too far, and as the tide was coming in and the waves were rough, I decided to obey. A few girls came and joined us, watching me, then imitating me. And despite my mood earlier, I enjoyed having them there. The kids on the beach lounged around the fishing boats or sat gathered in the sand like they were at the movies. Old men were taking dips completely naked. So as the kids stared at me, I stared at these old men, hanging out in the water and walking around naked as jaybirds, everything free to hang. Sometimes, life is funny. In Ghana, old men swimming naked goes, but kissing in public does not. But in America, kissing in public is expected, old men swimming naked (at least in Minnesota) in a public area, is not. Also, taking a dump in the ocean in Ghana is okay. Well…..it used to be. Justin told me there are now strict laws about it; however, the police don’t go striding up and down the beach in small towns enforcing their no-pooping law, so it still goes on. I asked why in the world people poop in the ocean, because it all just washes up on shore in the end, and you have to gingerly make your way across the beach. He said it was because, the kids mostly, think it will get washed out to sea. Into the ocean, our giant toilet.
(Let me pause here to wonder at humanity. Ghana isn't the only place with people who hold such sentiments. In fact, most people hold these sentiments. It is why we have giant plastic islands made of bags and bottles swirling in the middle of the ocean, caught in cross currents suffocating and poisoning some air and sea animals and turning the males into females. It is why the Gulf of Mexico has a dead zone and ships coming into harbor find themselves running into old refrigerators and other marine sludge. We treat the ocean like our toilet, sometimes indirectly without meaning to, because we don't think first. I thought we were the most evolved animals, and therefore the smartest, so with all of our education, why do we still shit where we eat? Next time you think about getting that plastic bag at Wal-mart, think of it as a piece of poop that will get washed up onto shore because although you think it might end up in a landfill and so it doesn't matter, it is estimated that nearly 80% of marine debris is blown into the ocean from the land or washed down storm drains into the sea.)
At one point a young man came sprinting down the beach, straight into the water, swam to a huge rock, climbed up, and hurled himself off the other side into the depths and dangers of the oncoming waves. Foolish, stupid, crazy, daring boy. George could see the look in my eye. “Don’t even think about it,” he said. “He’s just tempting you to follow.” I wouldn’t have thought about it, but it looked fun and I had been wanting to climb that rock since I saw it. But I knew, that he knew this ocean. That that boy had lived here, gone out on the fishing boats everyday, and I would be mangled to death on that rock with the way the waves were coming in despite my 11 years of swimteam. One of the small girls swimming with me mimicked George and in all seriousness said, “He’s just tempting you.” So I stayed where I was, watching the boy with awe has he flipped himself off the rock into the danger of the untamed sea being, actually, quite a showoff.
The few Ghanaians I have talked to that can swim are curious about floating, as though it is the swimming skill that completely escapes them. Every one of them has specifically asked me if I can float. And I can, it’s as easy as breathing (or not) to me. But as I watched George, I realized it really is a skill. There is a technique: you fill your lungs with air and just relax, lie back in the water as though you are falling asleep on a cloud. The more you tense your body, the less you will float....
I think this can be said about life too. If you find yourself sinking more often than not, take a deep breath and relax. Climb on top of the current instead of struggling against it. And then you'll find, when you need to, you can float atop the toilet bowl of life. (Which reminds me of the Modest Mouse song Float On.)
Funnily, though many of my Ghanaian friends can't seem to float in water, they are very good about floating on the currents of life when need be. I, on the other hand, seem to like struggling against them. But the odd thing is, when I swim, when I float in the water and stare at the sky, all the struggle leaves me and I feel carefree, letting the current take me. Dusk started falling, so George and I gathered our things. We gingerly made our way across the beach, sidestepping poo droppings, followed by a few children. I watched other children more interested in their games, also naked as jaybirds like the old men, playing football on the beach, running and screaming after each other in the ocean. While this day my mood had been stubborn and terrible, after a good swim in humanity's toilet bowl, I found myself going with the flow again.
