Risky Beaches

As a child, I worried grown ups in my life because I was too wild. Too impulsive. A kid with blond hair and blue-grey eyes (eyes that mirrored my father's), I nonetheless grew up in Africa, the land of wild animals and exotic spaces. My nature, unlike my look, fit the space. Today, when the promise of Spring peeks its head out of the cold in England, I rise-and-shine to the memories spent in a different sunshine. Like the day I almost ran into a hippopotamus and lived to tell the tale, for example. What a day that was!

Ethiopia is a Land of 13 Months of Sunshine. Beautiful, sun-drenched, warm and hospitable, this is a proud land with a proud history. My parents were missionaries, which meant I learned the Bible and was taught to pray, amongst other valuable things. Sometimes my prayers to God sounded more like letters to Santa, or my personal good luck charm, but I did try. Naturally, I suffered for my wild behaviour with the usual parental punishments. But for me, I learned that a little life risk was as beneficial as brushing my teeth with charcoal and milking our goats every morning (great milk but small udders), or avoiding the part of the compound where hyenas sometimes slipped in (they panicked easily). I got to roam free and I loved it.

Hippos happened to live in Lake Langano, a beautiful place where missionary families camped in their time off. The general African hippopotamus congregates in groups at big rivers, sharing waters with crocodiles and generally overwhelming with their shear presence, their impressive swimming, and their diet-to-size paradox: enormous, aggressive non-meat eaters. So much for skinny vegetable-eating theory. We were told to stay away from them. They're very aggressive and kill more humans than any other land animals in Africa, our parents said. We were always reassured, however, that there were no hippos and crocodiles by us. The official brochure stated: You'll be happy to know that the hippo and crocodile population is low. Low? Parents asked. Oh, those are on the other side of the lake, not to worry, the locals all said, pushing their hands into the distant horizon.

Well ok then, we all said. Let's go swimming!

The endless equator-strength sun shone down on our collective white skin, crisping us from the outside in and warming our creative minds. The brown water we splashed in cooled us off. The muddy lake bed squelched beneath our toes. Peace and paradise. Danger always felt distant in this sunny world. This was my normal. Freedom in chaos, living on luck.

Barely 12 years old, I woke to the horn bills' low-pitched calls. I stretched, yawned, blinked my grey eyes. Anticipation tingled my bones. Maybe I could be first outside today, set the scene and plan the day. I liked to be first--first to begin, first to finish, first to notice something new, first in line. It made me feel like an inventor, discoverer, someone important. Without waking anyone, I expertly manoeuvred my body towards the door, quietly unzipping the tent. This wasn't my first time, so I knew what to do, how to escape, and why I loved it. I stepped outside, thrilled with my successful sneakiness. A smug smile filled my face.

Zipping back up the tent, I separated myself from my sleeping family; I turned towards the beach and started running. The heavy sand slowed me down, a challenge I accepted! Then, though the sun was already hot, my blood and body froze. Directly in front of me, about two lorry-lengths away, a giant hippo was sprawled out, muddy and massive, snoozing in the sand. In the breeze, I smelled the bottom of the lake bed; a sweet and slightly rotten fishy scent. Mould and marsh. I gasped, hoping to sink into the thick sand. Maybe I could cover myself with it, or become the sand man! Could I sneak away? Suddenly, being first meant being abandoned, and I gulped.

My gulp must have made a noise, because its great black eye opened and it lifted its oversized grey head. Great nostrils flared and it sniffed the air, like a dog trying to catch a scent.

I didn't move. Legs wide, body open, blonde hair as wild as my wide eyes, I found myself all alone in a world blessed by sunshine, but separated from anything that could save me.

More horn bills hooted. They sounded like great alarm bells.

The hippo sniffed again. It bucked its head a few times, opened its mouth in a yawn and I saw giant, square teeth. Then It lowered its gaze to me; alert now. On edge. black eyes met my grey. My first thought, oddly, was how ugly it looked. Really, horridly ugly. How in the world did such bulk manage to swim, I wondered. But then I realised how much bigger it was than me. A new fear, the fear of death by trampling or eating or crushing, suddenly tormented me. My imagination, mixed with the millions of books I devoured, drew gruesome pictures. I mattered to this hippo, I realised, but not for good reasons. I quickly promised God that if I made it through this, I'd let the other kids beat me in arm wrestling for a week. I promised myself I'd slow down, be responsible and think before I act, as my father always said to me.

My senses rushed back to the present as the hippo, raising its head and neck first, moved to stand up. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, it climbed to its feet. Its giant silvery brown belly inched off the sand, bit by bit. How is it so fat? I wondered. Sooo fat! And it eats grass? Maybe it gets in a few little girls on the side. Head first. Think before I act, think before I act! Let others be first! I knelt before God in my mind. I promise! I'll be responsible!

it just stood there, watching me. Just staring, right at me, unblinking.

I stared back. There was nothing else to do really. If I ran away, I was appropriately afraid I wouldn't be first, and suddenly the stakes were high enough that I didn't try. All that racing wasted, I suppose. So eye to eye it was: Soul to soul. Connected to a hippo. And in that moment, it was winning. Please God, I prayed again. Please give me one more chance! I'll do better. I won't be so wild anymore. I'll calm down! Just give me a chance! I could almost see my little sister shake her head at me. Sure Becca, sure you will.

A shiver ran up my back like fire ants when I realised God might not believe me. What could I do to convince him? I stayed frozen in time.

As time seemed to stretch, I noticed that the hippo's black eyes were framed in solid, wrinkled folds. Almost like my grand mother’s. The eyes looked wise, old and all-seeing. These eyes, unlike my grandmother’s, were unconcerned with the rights of a child or with a childlike desire to live wild. I imagined those eyes began to look through me, as if my existence on that beach was dust in its mouth. Mud on its feet. Those eyes saw things invisible to me. Was God looking into my soul? Did I pass the test? How could I prove myself? One more chance God!

In the next instant, it blinked and moved: almost like it answered me. Instead of gobbling me up or trampling me beneath its fat feet like an injera pancake, this big grey hippo slowly turned its eyes away. Its head curved around towards the water; its body followed and I found myself looking at its great grey wrinkly backside. Also unattractive, but very impressive nonetheless. The flies must have thought so too because they were all buzzing around it’s bum, and it’s tiny tail couldn’t swish fast enough. Poor thing, I thought. A huge powerful beast, tormented by flies.

Lowering its head to the sand, the hippo started to move towards the warm water, plodding peacefully. Peace on earth and goodwill towards me? I began to hope. When it reached the water, it waded in: first legs, then torso, then eyes, disappearing beneath the lapping lake. The waves crested against the bulky body as it descended, moving away from me until nothing remained but the rippling and sparkling water and the bright morning sun.

Suddenly, I was totally alone on that beach, the sun shining in the East. I stared at the space where the hippo was, transfixed by something I didn't quite understand. Have I not commanded you? Do not be terrified rang in my head. I'd failed that test, because terror coursed through my body like the blood in my veins. But I did feel brave. Superhuman even! The chosen one!

Turning sharply, I quickly unzipped the tent, opened it wide and exclaimed: "Mom. Dad! A hippo! There was just a hippo out here! And I didn’t die!” Excitement mingled with any lingering fear, quickly dissolving it. I'd just seen a hippo! No one else could boast that. I had a story to tell! With a remembered quick Thank you God! sent over my head, I raced off.

Later, when everyone had filtered out of their tents to begin the day, my dad sat me down. "Why in the world did you get up so early?" he said to me in front of some of the other parents sipping coffee. They all looked at me with adult concern. He looked around at their confirmation, then re-eyed me, his worry at my wild choices evident by the crease in his brow. "You need to learn to think before you act." He ended with: "You need to learn to be responsible."

Adrenaline still spiked my blood. I gave the appropriate head-down-nod-respectfully response, waited a moment, then sprinted away to find people to tell. And yes, to the other kids that day, I became the hero of the hour, the leader of the pack, the wild child worth following. My dad's words echoed in my head, and I wondered what would happen when I finally followed his advice.

Throughout my childhood in Africa, nothing was safe or moderate, and intensity often amplified risk. Life, like the sun I experienced, was fierce. But I felt alive, I explored the world and I loved to dream of a bright future. Wild though I knew I was, my desires were the same as every child: I wanted to know the why in the world.

Sometimes I wonder how any child survives the risks they take. Children rarely care much about their safety in the face of discovery. And should they? Maybe we grow up the moment we decide the risks are too great to begin, or when past pain clouds our vision. Perhaps I got it in the end: I've learned to be responsible. Sadly, I sometimes find myself as frozen as the Winters in the Western hemisphere. But, when the sun once again emerges, and when hope perches on my mind, I imagine myself brave enough to risk wholeheartedly, to feel the wonder and curiosity of the child I once was. I therefore look towards Spring: for the light it takes to once again get out early and explore.

What a day that will be. What a day!