Beach Day

What’s the first thing you remember about playing in water? Maybe it is a fond recollection of running through a sprinkler with your brother or sister on a hot summer’s day or learning to water-ski on a lake. Water has always been such a huge part of my life. At every stage I have such vivid memories of summers being occupied by water activities, good friends and family.

I can instantly recall a hot Delaware summer when I was three or four where I learned to swim underwater by diving for quarters my Grampie had thrown into the pool- a high incentive when you got to keep what you found. Or splashing in the waves in Maine with my brother Colin and cousins Benny, Kayla, Kristina and Sarah when I was nine. I remember spending endless summer days after drivers ed on the boat with Heather and Tara perfecting our waterskiing, learning to master knee boarding and talking about our crushes. Or making my way to G’s boat no matter what time of day (5am!?) just to take a nap. Water has always played a huge importance in my life. I really can’t envision what my youth would have been without it.

That brings me to South Africa. The property we live on is stunning. Our stone cottage is quaintly set amid a few other stone structures, entangled in a maze of native South Africa flowers. Our pool is in the lower left part of our property adjacent to our amphitheatre (yes, amphitheatre…this place is outstanding). The pool overlooks the most breathtaking view I have ever seen; the valley of 1000 hills, on a clear day the Indian Ocean and always the homes of my patients and friends. The exact spot where my struggle with water begins.

After every long sweaty day at work in the hot South African heat or after every run I am tempted to wash away my stress in our pool or venture to the beach in Durban. Both I have done and both I will continue to do; however both cause me anxiety. The pool which we quickly fill with water from the hose when it starts to get low, sits two feet away from the cliff to the valley.

The distinction between the haves and the have nots has never been so unmistakably evident in my life.

When I heard my boss talking about how in the past former volunteers arranged a day to take patients from the Respite Center to the beach I was immediately interested. As per usual arranging a day and time to go proved to be tricky- South Africa runs on its own schedule. Mary-Kate and I planned to go three days in a row and were faced with bad weather, no transportation and abnormally busy work days. There were many countless exclamations of “TIA” (this is Africa) coupled with a shoulder shrug and eye rolls; a common expression in our household when things take a bit longer than anticipated.

Eventually we were able to gather 8 of our pajama clad patients and pile them into cars. I had the privilege of driving what they so fondly refer to as the Bucky which is no more than a overly kind name for the most impossible to drive truck with a covered back I have ever seen. Patric a patient sat up in the front with me and four others sat on egg crates in the back…another TIA moment. I prayed the whole way that the horrendous clutch wouldn’t cause us to lurch forward sending my patients flying or the breaks wouldn’t suddenly give out.



As we were driving to the beach I was talking with Patric a man in his mid thirties. I asked him if he was excited for a beach day and he shyly admitted that he had never been really played in water let alone been to the beach before. He said had heard stories of children having fun in water when it was hot, but was never able to make the half an hour trip to the Indian Ocean. I sighed realizing that in our rush to get out the door we had forgot to bring a change of clothes and towels, but assumed the patients would stick their toes in at most.

When we arrived at the beach I watched the patients run to the water and then into the water. Patric held back tentatively. Step by step he approached the ocean. He looked down at the water and up at me. With a nod of reassurance I gave him the go ahead. He rolled up his pants and stepped knee high into the water. Soon after he coaxed me in, clothes and all. Patric in his soaking wet clothes was the vision of youth.




I don’t think Mary-Kate or I have ever seen a smile so big and genuine. Moments later he was running in the waves, splashing, laying down on the shore and letting the wave’s crash over him.

I know that that although my past opportunities present a challenge for living a simple life here it is not something to feel guilty about, at least I am recognizing the injustice. It was such a joyful feeling hearing hours of laughter emerge from patients whose lives had been on the line just weeks earlier. Sandcastles and visions of sand Mary-Kates were made, Polony (a nasty hot pink version of our very own nasty bologna) sandwiches and ice cream cones were eaten, barriers broken, dreams accomplished, friendships formed and illness forgotten – even if just for an afternoon.