Dear Editor,
Many years ago I shared an article in our newspapers in Guyana about a near brush with death I encountered as a young child. We had a fish pond in our backyard that was quite deep. I am from Half Mile/ Canvas City. In the 70s it was a forested area with swamps. Looking back I can now appreciate its beauty; it was nature in its purest form. Earth worms were in the ground, the beautiful woodpecker penetrated the trunk of the tree and butterflies and palm flies were everywhere. I was very afraid of snakes but there were so many different species. Turtles with old shells and African bees; it was nature as if the very Amazon blanketed that area.
I was about 6 or 7 years old and remembered lying on my stomach at the edge of the pond with what we called a ‘busy-busy’ in my hand trying to poke the fishes. I fell in. I went down twice, struggling, choking and horrified. I was drowning. My mother’s strong hands grabbed me as I was about to go down the third time, perhaps, never to resurface alive. She pulled me to safety. That experience and the trauma that came with it made me afraid of creeks. There were things that were inevitable in my boyhood years and swimming in creeks was one of them. I recalled going to Dread Creek, located off the train line, between Silvertown and West Watooka. It was deep; one level deep. It was a dug out square of clay with crystal clear water. I would go there to watch others swim but never ventured in because the watery deep unlocked the ID in my psyche where the trauma of near drowning was lodged.
Adults sensed fear in children and in a society where boys had to be men armoured with courage and bravery, someone lifted me and threw me into the deep. That is how I learned to swim. I got out spluttering only to be lifted and be thrown in a second time. That did not assuage my fear or removed the deep seated trauma. I continued to go to creeks only to swim in the shallow amongst many; fear did not permit me to swim alone. I had to find me and kill that fear that crippled and restrained me. One day after school, I was in my second year at secondary school, I went to Paddy Creek located in West Watooka. It was a beautiful creek with a shallow part where the fishes were bountiful, dancing beneath clear the water. The creek had a curve that disappeared into the deep end and not visible at the point of entry. There was a strong current that had to be surpassed as you swam around the corner to arrive at a fallen tree where people rested; it was a sort of private place where only brave and confident swimmers ventured.
I got there alone on that day. It was a day where I had to confront the trauma and that crippling fear, that kind of fear that caused you to dream of drowning over and over again in your sleep. I swam to the point where the creek turned the corner and the current was strong. Fear gripped me but I continued. Nothing is more frightening than when you get to the deep end in a place you have never ventured before. I was alone. I wanted to give in. I wanted to turn back but I saw the tree and went for it. I was shaking as I struggled to sit on it. I was alone and had to swim back. That was when survival kicked in. When life over death took precedence. When fear had to be casted aside to usher in the feeling of triumph.
I had to get back to the front. I had to go home to eat. I had to go to Sports Club Fair and other parties. I had to see a girl I liked and friends that made my youth meaningful. I plunged in and swam effortlessly back. The fear was left on the log I swam towards. I walk this life having to be fearless and confident when I feel the odds are against me. When I felt I was inadequate. When I was scared to write or speak because I believed I was not good enough. I write and speak nevertheless. As long as I live I will be me and I will not be afraid. I will not be afraid of myself or what others think of me. At the end of it all you have you. Make the best of you. Walk tall and confident even if you are rising from a fall.
Sincerely,
Norman Browne
Social and Political Activist
