By Abdool A. Aziz

HE was 17 years of age. A sailor on the prestigious M.V. Malali – the state-of-the-art ferry boat of the Parika – Adventure run – Essequibo River. Sunday was a lazy day. The ship was tied up and the crew was asleep, but he was an early riser and was agitated. He stepped out of the crews’ quarters and leaned against the gunwale. He gazed across the placid waters. Today was the day he would enact his dream. He would swim in that mighty Essequibo River. He was a great swimmer, although he had seven close calls with drowning. He loved water – he was a Pisces, Zodiac sign shaped like a fish.

He hung a rope ladder down the hull. He would use this device to climb back up the steep side of the ship, but that never happened. From the gunwale, with no one in sight, he plunged and went way down and struggled to surface. When he did, he was astonished to see the distance between him and the vessel. He decided to close that gap, but every stroke he made, he dropped back two more. He realised he couldn’t reach that ladder and now he was at the mercy of the ebbtide. He knew he should not panic and put in motion the strategies to save himself in such a situation.

He had to conserve energy and air, and at all cost avoid salt water getting into his mouth. Salt water is extremely dangerous to health. He rolled up in a foetal position to allow for buoyancy and drifted with the current. But he was wary of the fact that the channel was looming and certain death awaited. Inch by inch he began to move toward the shore. The ship was now a ‘spot’ in the distance. The sun was in its glory and the salt water lashed at his face. Yes, he was scared but he knew he must stay calm. Just when he felt he would be washed away to the channel, he spotted a log. He grabbed on to it for dear life. He threw his water-logged body over it and began to kick wildly while pulling with his hands. Little by little, the timber floated to the shore. The sun beat down on his bare back. His skin blistered. He pushed on and when he felt confident, he let go of the log and touched the mud flat. He was so elated. At last, Land! He lingered, catching his breath. He saw the water churning in the channel not too far away. ‘Davy Jones Locker’ was waiting for him. Again not this time, he cheated a watery grave for the eighth time.

As he reached the beach, he stumbled out of exhaustion. Sleep was fighting him, but he must race back to the ship before the captain finds the rope ladder. It was against regulations to leave the vessel without his permission, and worse yet, to go swimming in that treacherous river. If found out, he would be fired. He loved sailing. Running, walking, stumbling and falling, he reached his destination and was so lucky to find all still asleep. He quickly retrieved the rope and went to sleep on the stern deck with the river that almost took his life, splashing below.

When he worked in the interior, he swam in almost all the rivers. Here the tide is gentle but danger lurks from crocodiles and electric eels to piranha. But swimming was his hobby and he learned to love the water but had great respect for it. At 75, he still lashes about, especially in the Pomeroon River that almost took his life in 1956.

Caution: while swimming, never panic! Don’t fight the tide. Don’t drink the water when it’s salty. Float on, conserve air. I will always remember my almost-fatal swim in the Essequibo River and how a ‘fish’ nearly drowned.