…written by Safiya Salau.

We never knew ocean waves could get so angry until today. The way they crushed on the shore like they had reluctantly given up on chasing something. They stole away sun shades quicker than pocket pickers in Soweto.  Scary force of water drops on faces and in eyes. Burning salt like acid on fresh cuts. The waves grew bigger as the sun sunk lower into the horizon; the clear line between the dark blue sea and the faded blue sky. Two blue heavens. Above and beneath feet.

We had no worries with our wet underwear.  They said the salt water was good for exfoliation, and we all secretly know which parts needed good scrubbing. Vigorous cleansing by unseen salt and sparkling jots of sand, we became pure on the outside. But the water could not infiltrate into our souls and scrub out black spots of sin. It could not erase the one time we looked down on a being in rags, the one time we left dishes in the sink, the many times we used a bullet to end a life without looking back. Sins that stuck on so tightly to the inside of our insides that all the oceans combined could not wipe off.

We stuck together like the hidden cool gangs in the hoods in cool neighbourhoods. We knew how dirty we were, and we hoped that our beach trips could clean us up. But the ocean was fed up with our black spots that got blacker and spread wider with each dish we piled up and each soul we dismissed. Each body we fed to the ocean, it vomited it as if to say that our sins were larger than the ocean itself. The waves were speaking to us today. They did not like our fleshy offerings, they did not like our presence. They did not like the idea behind our existence. So we bought packs of acidic salt on our way home and headed to our bath tubs. Rope around necks hanging from shower heads.  Cleansing must come one way or the other.

Faisal Adamu