River Flows in Us

By Chimezie Umeoka

Children are playing by the shallow end of the river. This end, separated by a fallen log of wood populated by women and young girls lathing out foam from clothes, is safe; the water isn't deep, and you can see this in the way its contour reveals the sand underneath. You wonder why the children, with their flailing bodies, do not corrode the sand, why the water remains clean, as though the sand is flattened by some supernatural force. It is one of the mysteries of this place, and maybe it's not enough to be called a mystery; it's your perception, shallow as it was, that couldn't make sense of such things. You are standing above the river, on a lump of wet, feet-strewn sand, close to the signboard that welcomes people. You decide it's time to step in. You want to remove your clothes, but you're overly conscious of your body. You try to compare what you thought your body looked like with that of others; the proportions of your discovery were varied. There are many close-to-naked people in the river, but with the watery prominence, none of that matters. 

You walk into the river and your legs dance in its reflection, appearing as though they were being sliced. Your eyes meet those of a girl watching you, holding a smile like she could already discern that you were afraid of water. This is a bad idea, you think. But you're here now, and the only way forward is never to go backwards. You're trying to push your way through the other end, which appears more shallow. To the right, you see a path that branches off from the river. You look into it and see red and white ribbons used as decorations. Empty bowls are floating above the ground, and there's a tree dividing the view; its roots furrow deep into the earth. Such a sinister phenomenon for a tree to settle on a river. A rush of trepidation surges through your veins. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. Maybe what one of your friends believed was true: African rivers are evil rivers. Their deep histories are full of black mermaids who haunt strangers. A mouth is always waiting to devour something — someone, and even though you find it inconsequential that you'd be a nutritional prototype, you're afraid of leaving things to chance. You decide to leave.

As you walk back, you see the girl again; this time, she's laughing, wild-eyed. You begin to laugh. She knows enough now to be sure you were afraid. And you knew enough now to know you could no longer hide it.

"Bag of salt, I suppose. Are you afraid of melting?" she asks.

"I've never swum in my life," you respond defensively.

"Well, there's a first time for everything. Come; it's a safe river. Let me show you," she says, offering her right hand towards you.

She's slightly shivering; she's been in the river for so long. You'd seen her earlier diving from end to end with aquatic finesse. She's beautiful; you can't resist. So you offer her your hand. She begins to lead you back into the river. This time, you don't look around the surroundings; you focus on your legs matching into the water, deeper until the water starts to get above your waist. She continues leading you, and you want to ask where she plans to stop. But you find yourself unable to speak. This time, it is not fear you feel; it's uncertainty. Before you knew it, the water was reaching for your armpits. It tickles your sensations, and it is here she stops – this deep end.

"You don't need to be afraid; the river flows, but it never drowns. Just let yourself be weightless; forget that you have bones."

You love the way she speaks – the way she takes charge, like the river. You spread your arms and try to be weightless. It's easy. The sun kisses your skin; it rubs its rays on you. In the distance, the voices of the children are trickling into the forest. The leaves are billowing against the wind. The girl is laughing; you're laughing too. You want to say thank you, but you're still unable to speak. Maybe this is what being weightless feels like – being unable to do. You close your eyes and try to be more weightless. You feel as though your body is a string, and somewhere, it is trapped in the labyrinths of Yiruma's "River Flows in You." You dip into the river; it smells of human love. No evil has ever tasted this beautiful.