Hanimaadhoo

-Cleverquacks

 

Sinking through the waves, gasping for air, the last thought I had was, “I wish I could swim.”

Okay, I’m sure I’ve gotten ahead of myself, so let’s start from the top.

I’m a young girl living in the island of Hanimaadhoo in the Maldives. There isn’t much to see here, apart from the beach, and rainbow corals thriving in the reef, but I think this island is perfect the way it is. The beauty in the simplicity here is unique, and worthy of adoration. The island is long, yet narrow, and everyone seems to know each other.

Growing up on an island like mine, I’m expected to know how to swim. I’d say it’s a bit stereotypical. Even though I live near the ocean, I might not know how to swim, and that’s not a problem.

Maybe I’m being a bit defensive. The thing is, I don’t know how to swim. I was never taught how to swim, as I had no one to take me.

Believe me, it sucks. While all my friends wade across the gentle waves, I sit by the shore, digging holes in the sand or collecting rocks and shells. If I’m going into the sea though, I have to take my childish kickboard along with me, which is rather embarrassing. I mean, swim a mile in my fins, won’t you? Surely, you’ll get what I mean then.

You might say I’m rambling too much, and although I agree with you, I also believe I have every right to say all this. But, for your sake, I’ll quench your thirst of curiosity, and get on with it.

My tale takes place when I agreed to join my grandmother for a beach clean-up. Since our island is known for its magnificent beaches, we civilians take pride in it and try our best to keep it clean. I was delighted, and enthusiastically agreed.

My grandmother was a wonderful lady. You could say she’s my second mother. Where my mother had been submerged in piles of work, grandmother had taken me under her wing. She fed me rice with clear fish broth, gave me warm hugs and sent me home smelling like rose attar. I am forever grateful for her generosity.

Jogging on the fresh sand, I scanned the beach for bits of trash. My grandmother trailed behind me, a dainty smile playing on her lips. She hummed an old lullaby, and although it was soft, it seemed loud, for the beach was silent apart from the call of the Koel birds, known as ‘Koveli’ by locals.

As we continued our work, some of my friends came over, inviting me to go collect the trash that started gathering in the reef. I glanced at my grandmother, and seeing the look of approval on her face, accepted.

Oh, what a horrible decision that was.

I knew I could not swim. And yet.

That’s how I ended up drowning. I’m sure everyone on the surface is worried about me. But while I drowned, I realized I heard voices, as if people were talking to me.

Then it hit me! I can talk fish!

Did I spring that on you too abruptly? I hope not.

I’m telling you this because I want you to know what they have told me. Trust me, I heard it!

” Young human,” a blue surgeonfish growled, startling me. “For years, we have watched you wander along the beach. You must protect the reef. You must keep your reef safe.”

“Why me though?” I wondered aloud.

“Because you’re the only unfortunate human who drowned today.” The surgeonfish snapped.

“He doesn’t mean that,” a moray eel piped in. “We’ve watched you take care of our beach for years.”

I stared at them dumbfounded, freaking out, a desire to breath burning in my chest.

“Time to send you back then,” the surgeonfish sighed.

Before I could think, I lost consciousness.

I’m now in the medical center of our island, under doctor’s orders, but my grandmother had brought me my notebook. If you’re reading this, it means I have grown old and passed away. Now the responsibility of the reef has been passed on to you.

 

20^th June 1969