When I was 10 years old, I almost drowned in River Benue.
Hundreds of people were standing on the riverbank watching me fight for my life.
But the two men who could swim well enough to save me didn’t jump in immediately.
They were negotiating a price first.
People had to contribute money before they would come rescue me.
I was already in the water.
Drowning.
I had gone to the river with some boys I didn’t even know. They were strong swimmers. I was just learning.
At first we stayed close to the bank, splashing and playing.
Then they swam a little further out.
I followed them.
That was the mistake.
The tide took me.
Suddenly I couldn’t find my feet. I kept kicking, searching for something to stand on, something to hold on to.
Nothing.
The river kept pulling me deeper while I kept fighting upward for air.
What I didn’t know was that the current had already dragged me toward the middle of the river.
I was running out of air.
Running out of energy.
Running out of time.
And I was just a 10-year-old boy.
At some point the river pulled me under again.
Under the water, I knelt down and folded my palms like I was praying.
I asked God one thing:
“Please don’t let me die like this.”
Then I pushed upward one last time with everything I had left.
When my head broke the surface, I saw the crowd on the hill watching.
And seconds later, two young men grabbed my shoulders and dragged me out of the water.
For three days after that, I couldn’t eat. I kept throwing up water.
But the real thing that stayed with me was the trauma.
Till today, I can’t watch a movie where someone is drowning.
I’m 6'4 now, but I have never stepped into a swimming pool.
I don’t use bathtubs either.
Months after the incident, I developed a strange habit.
Before bathing, I would fill a bucket with water, set a timer, and dip my head inside: training myself to hold my breath for as long as possible.
Just in case.
Just in case life ever tried to drown me again.
And the irony?
I’m a Pisces.
I love water.
But I will probably never have fun with it.
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