When my father inquired about my plans for the free time I had gained due to the Nigerian university strike of 2010, I surprised both him and myself. Instead of expressing a desire to enroll in a coding program at one of the city’s computer centers, I found myself uttering the words, โI want to take swimming lessons.โ
If you’ve ever seen Baywatch starring David Hasselhoff, you might have a glimpse of why this decision seemed unexpected.
Over the course of my 33+ years on this planet, I’ve embraced a wide range of outdoor activities for their positive impact on my well-being. Take, for instance, long walksโan activity I consider my personal ritual for self-reflection. These contemplative strolls help me maintain my mental equilibrium. On the flip side, jumping rope has consistently been my preferred exercise for building endurance. Surprisingly, completing a thousand jumps in less than thirty minutes instils in me a profound belief that there are no challenges too formidable to conquer.
In the heart of Abuja, Nigeria, the landlocked city that shaped my early years, the idea of having access to vast estates with picturesque swimming pools or cascading waterfalls remained a distant reverie.
To learn how to swim required a more practical solution: a local hotel featuring its very own swimming pool. This establishment found its niche nestled in the bustling epicenter of a thriving business district, flanked by financial institutions and a lively array of food stalls.
A lifeguard stood over the modest swimming pool, which measuredย eight by twenty feet, ever prepared to switch roles and become the bartender at the adjacent bar should a patron request a drink.
Leading up to this novel endeavor, I harbored a deep-seated apprehension about submerging myself underwater. A nagging unease even followed me into the shower. At times, I would even lean away from the waterโs flow, desperately gasping for air.
I once stumbled upon a harrowing historical account that posited a connection between the scarcity of black individuals in competitive swimming and the dark legacy of the transatlantic slave trade. Chills broke out as I read how slave masters callously cast disobedient slaves into the unforgiving depths of the ocean, watching as these souls struggled and pleaded for their lives before sinking beneath the waves. It was a haunting tale, one that may have contributed to my profound fear of water.
As the day of my inaugural swimming lesson dawned, my determination to overcome the paralyzing fear of water intensified. Alongside me was my best friend, who had graciously agreed to accompany me.
My swimming instructor waited by the poolside bar. He stood there, sporting a white T-shirt and sunglasses, using the shades to shield his eyes from the scorching sun. โHave you brought your swimming trunks?โ he asked.
Surprise struck me like a wave. Of course I hadnโt brought swimming trunks. The mere thought of scanning the market for a Speedosent a wave of self-consciousness surging through me. It felt as if every passerby would discern my true motivationโmy desire to resemble the likes of David Hasselhoff or Michael Phelps. โNo,โ I replied timidly.
My swimming instructor led me to a room concealed behind the adjacent bar, where he sold me a brand-new pair of swimming trunks for a reasonable fee. Once I was attired and ready to take the plunge, he instructed me to wait by the pool while he made a quick change himself.
My best friend playfully quipped, asking if I knew how to execute a dive akin to Michael Phelps. Looking back, I’m not sure what possessed me to seek his approval. However, without hesitation, I embarked on my rendition of a dive.
My body met the waterโs surface. My eardrums were assailed by a cacophony of slaps. The sensation was utterly perplexing: I had never imagined that something as soft and yielding as water could simultaneously feel rigid. Panic welled up as I thrashed about.
My swimming instructor came to the rescue, hoisting me towards the poolโs edge. Resting against the lip of the swimming pool, I fixed my gaze on the sun above. His scolding pulled me back to reality. I made a silent promise to adhere to his every instruction from that point forward.
The most daunting aspect of that first swimming lesson was floating. Although I clung firmly to the poolโs edge, I struggled to release my legs. I worried that I could not control my lower half, and that the water might whisk me away in its gentle embrace if I were to lose my grip on the poolโs edge.
It wasn’t until my patient swimming instructor took hold of my hands and encouraged me to let go that I mustered the courage to surrender. โImagine yourself as a bird, soaring freely through the sky,โ he urged. “Can you sense the gentle caress of the wind enveloping you?” Strangely, as I conjured this vivid mental image, I began to experience a sensation of weightlessness. My fear of submersion ebbed away with each passing moment.
The gentle ripples of the water brushed against my skin. The pool came alive with a chorus of soundsโsplashes echoing through the air, the rhythmic motion of other swimmers, and the subtle murmur of water. In this immersive sensory experience, my fear of drowning began to dissipate, replaced by a newfound sense of harmony with the aquatic realm.
Prior to embarking on my swimming journey, my outdoor activities were limited to long walksโan endeavor I undertook primarily to evade social interactions, which often left me feeling uncomfortable and exposed. During these solitary strolls, I often found myself talking to the one person who never judged me: myself.
However, swimming lessons thrust me into uncharted water. For the first time, I had to relinquish control and place my trust in another person, exposing a vulnerability I had long concealed. Swimming required me to strip away not only my clothing but layers of insecurity around my self-image. I harbored insecurities about my physical appearanceโ my stomach was too round, my legs too slender, and my chest too flat. Yet, as I embarked on this journey under the guidance of my swimming instructor, who exuded confidence despite his own body’s unique attributes, I began to reevaluate my perception of my self-worth.
His presence and demeanor challenged my preconceived notions of beauty. In witnessing his self-acceptance, I began to understand that confidence transcended physical ideals. While achieving the sculpted physiques of my idols, David Hasselhoff and Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps, remained a distant aspiration, I learned to feel confident in my own skin, clad in nothing but a Speedo.
A decade has passed since that first swimming lesson. Inactivity eroded any proficiency I gained. For me, swimming remains an elusive skill.ย
My partner joins me at the swimming academy in Hong Kong, where we live. I emerge from the changing room in my Speedos.
His gaze evokes the allure of David Hasselhoff on the beach.
Author bio: Michael Ogah is a Nigerian writer with a screenwriting certification from the Royal Arts Academy, Nigeria. Michael’s screenplay, “The Missing Link,” came to life on Iroko TV, and his stories have graced platforms like Brittle Paper, African Writers Magazine, and Lolwe.
