with it’s own fluting.
-Sappho
Children squeal wildly, their skin flashing through the water, sure as seals. Bright toys and towels lay scattered across the waters edge. “Look me! Look me!” they shout, desperate to show off underwater flips or unsteady dives. One new mother dips her toes hesitantly into the water as another mother has water to her neck and is tightly holding the hands of a volunteer. An older devoted couple float lazily, their feet intertwined, her hijab contrasting brightly with the water and pool noodles holding them to the surface. Splashing is inevitable and one little boy tries at least twenty times to sit on a raft. The water shines so brightly that one must occasionally look away.
I stand momentarily off to the side with an older Spanish man, his tall posture bending slightly with age. He tells me of his organization based in Spain, Proem Aid, which serves as search and rescue on the water, bringing boats to shore. “Yes, we take them out of the water,” he says. “but then we must help them reconcile with the sea.” Each day, he makes a trip to Pikpa, walking the one hundred meters with all the children to the sea. He crosses the street with care, scans the water and sends them in, purposefully stationing volunteer lifeguards around them.
And, with admirable patience, he teaches them. He gives them joy and he helps them to find their own power.
And the squealing continues...
