Holendgy shook his head no.
“No?” I didn’t understand. I come from America where every 11-year old I know is excited to go swimming. Please explain.
So, he did. Last year, Holendgy and his big brother Gyver went to the beach with some friends. They stayed for awhile, and then Gyver said it was time to go home. Holendgy didn’t listen. Instead, he jumped back in the water and started splashing around. A sort of whirlpool grabbed hold of him and started sucking him under. Suddenly, Holendgy remembered that he couldn’t swim. But it was too late. As the water tugged him down, down, down away from air and breath, Holendgy reached out his hand for help.
A man saw it. A random stranger who happened to be at the beach that day. Holendgy didn’t even tell me his name. He dashed into the water and rescued a boy he didn’t know from drowning.
I sat next to Holendgy on the bus in shocked silence. Dude. No wonder the kid didn’t want to go swimming.
We arrived at the beach. The water was murky and full of waves this afternoon. The aftereffects of tropical storm Emily, even if she didn’t ever really hit us. I got into my swimsuit and again asked Holendgy if he wanted to go swimming. Most of our team was already in the water. It looked slightly terrifying, but ocean water sure feels good when you’re in Haiti. Besides, the boy lives in a tent. How often does he get to go swimming?
There were stairs at our beach skipping down into the ocean. Skipping might not be quite the right word. It was more like one step, two step, woosh! Welcome to the Caribbean. I jumped in to choppy water up to my chest while Holendgy stood on the second step, considering. Could he get in without getting wet? Could he get in without drowning?
I told him I would watch out for him, that he didn’t need to be afraid; the water wasn’t too deep, and I was going to stay right next to him. He didn’t understand me. I said it all in English.
But my beckoning hand must have said something my words couldn’t say. This boy who had nearly drowned finally grabbed hold of my hand and jumped into the water. Well, he jumped on my back at least. And clung there for a solid five minutes, arms wrapped around my neck, while I struggled between laughter and fighting to breathe.
Slowly, I convinced Holendgy to relax his strangle-hold on my trachea. He let go with one hand. He flapped around in the water a bit. He let go of my shoulders altogether, his hand still clamped on to mine. He bobbed around by himself. He could touch. This wasn’t so bad.
Before we left the beach, Holendgy was splashing around in the salty waves, shouting and giggling with his siblings. He pushed a soccer ball under his chin and floated around on it. He tried to back float. We searched the rocks for crabs.
It was a beautiful picture. A picture of healing. A picture of trust. A picture of God taking something hard and sad and even frightening in our lives and teaching us how to laugh with Him again.
