The Water Ceiling
9 min read
“Yetty, Yetty, let's go into the swamp today.” Miriam ran inside, jumping around. “My sister and I want to go gather some mushrooms and firewood. You should come with us,” she said.
It was a no-brainer for me. I always watched people from my room window enter the swamp and return back every day, some passing there to their neighborhoods as a shortcut. I always dreamt of hiking into it too, one day but my mom would never approve of it. The swamp was dangerous with felled trees, dangerous animals and all sorts of things in there. I could slip, fall or sink into its green algae water. A wild animal could bite or attack me. I could get lost or kidnapped. So many things could happen in the swamp but never was there a warning of strange creatures or mermaids; it was just the possibility of wild animals or falling.
“Yes! I will go,” I replied.
That day was also the last time a flood submerged our house and community. I was ten. Rafi, Miriam and I were home alone, on midterm break from school and our parents weren’t home. Rafi and Miriam lived next door; they were sisters and my close friends. Most of the time, we just have to open the window to wave and communicate with each other.
On that day, the sun was bright orange deceiving us into thinking it was a good day to hike in the swamp. Though the rainy season had started, no one really expected the first rain of the year that day. It was 2006; weather predictions on the phone weren’t a big thing. Miriam came running that morning after she caught a glimpse of my mom’s departure.
The swamp circled our little new site town—Matogun—like flanking ants. It was quiet and calm that day save for the constant chirp of birds and buzzing of insects. There were a few patches of dry land in between but it was mostly water, swamp and logs of wood you have to jump across to move forward. The logs were crossed in zigzags and skipping or missing any of them could land a hiker deep into the water. The other dangerous part of the swamp was that an area of land could very well have sand on its surface but it’s water just beneath the sand. The sand was only a cover until tested and approved. My parents always reiterated to us how dangerous the swamp is, sometimes referencing the catastrophic Oke Afa Canal swamp incident which was caused by some armoury explosions in 2002. It was a miracle that my grandma survived; they never fail to remind us. Moreover, we had no business going there. The swamp pathway was narrow with tall palm trees, iroko trees, plantain trees and some other trees on both sides. We kept jumping over the logs. I wanted to take in everything: the birds flying above, beyond the tall trees, the depth of the swamp and water and I also did not want to lose my balance and fall. My slippers were already slippery. Rafi and her sister were used to it, walking ahead and not so panicky like I was. We encountered people coming from the opposite direction, some with logs of firewood on their heads, others just whistling across. Sometimes, the road was too narrow; we had to wait for the other person to go first. After about 20 minutes, we got to a sandy part of the road. At first I felt relieved as it was less dark. The sand was too much; it was difficult to walk on it. We took our slippers off at this point but it was still strenuous. After about 5 minutes, we came to a clean water spring. The water was bright, clean and flowing quietly. There was a white egret drinking from it. We saw some people resting on some stones just by it. Rafi and Miriam paused here, waiting for me to catch up with them. They used the water to clean up as if our journey into even dirtier muddy water was not just about to start. Of course, I followed, rinsing my face with the water. After a three-minute rest, we resumed our journey, first into a residential street like ours back home and then through a farm; we walked into another swamp. It was in this part of the swamp that firewood, mushrooms, crabs, medicinal herbs and other things were found. However, this other swamp was deeper, narrower and more dangerous looking. From where we stood, I could see tall trees getting submerged by water. The water reaches the necks of the trees and in some parts, completely submerges the trees. I badly wanted to turn back at this point, maybe back to the clean spring, at least. There was no way I was going deep into that part of the swamp; I do not even know how to swim. Even Rafi confirmed the swamp was looking unusually scary that day, especially with the water submerging the trees, making it nearly impossible to chart our way. Still, she was determined to get what she came for. I, on the other side, had seen enough and just wanted to turn back.
We were still arguing about this when the sky suddenly got cloudy, with an alternating streak of lightning and thunder rustling, shaking the swamp. All of us panicked at this and we just knew we had to turn back, quickly too. We rushed to turn back at the same time and run back to the residential street at least.
“Place your left foot on that log and your right on the other. Don't worry, Yetty; this is not the first time we are here. Nothing will happen,” I heard faintly and tried to do as instructed but my left foot placed on one of the logs sent it going creakkkkk. In a second, I found myself going down. All I heard was a sudden rustle as my sharp scream shooed some birds away. Our weight broke the log and sent Rafi and me into the swamp as Miriam quickly jumped over to the next log.
“Rain! It has started raining. Can you two hear me? Try to swim up; hold a tree root. Rafi, Yetty! Helppppppp…” was the last I heard of Miriam’s voice.
I think I must have lost consciousness but I woke up to find myself sitting in a large expansive field, white sand with marbles and seashells everywhere. The field seemed not to have an end. It reminded me of a video of the sky. It was like I was in space but with white sand on the ground.
I pulled my hand up and it was solid rather than liquid like there was a water ceiling up there. I tried to stand up but I could not; it felt like I was pinned to the ground there. Then almost immediately, a hand tapped my shoulder from my back. I turned my head around and saw Rafi sitting just behind me, her eyes red and swollen from crying. I gasped but also felt safe at the same time that I was not the only one there.
“Rafi, for how long have we been here? I remember we fell. How do we return to land? Is this going to be our end?”
“I don’t know. Thank God you are awake now though. I have been praying, begging God that you’re still alive.”
“What do we do?”
“I don’t know,” she said, bursting into tears.
I have never seen Rafi cry. It was the first time; she was the strong iron no-nonsense daughter, always up, doing, unafraid and defending her siblings. I was sad too and scared but I could not cry. I was too scared to cry. I tried to close my eyes and will it all away. Closing my eyes will help me pretend it isn’t real or happening to me. It was a coping mechanism I picked as a child anytime I found myself alone at home or in a dark scary room. I used to be afraid of the dark.
“I'll just close my eyes and so I won't see or imagine anything scary.”
“Close your eyes, Rafi, and pretend you're at home. Forget here, forget all of—”
I had not finished talking when slashes of light appeared out of nowhere suddenly enveloping the place and almost blinding us. If Rafi hadn’t closed her eyes then, she would have been forced to, and still the light sent its rays into our closed eyes. It was like we were looking at the sun straight ahead. The light soon metamorphosed into a beautiful young half woman, half fish. Her skin and scales were glimmering and flickering in the sea. She was not alone. There was an entourage of other mermaids with her and other sea animals. Whales, fishes, crabs, octopus, crayfish, every one of them. Rafi and I held each other close, shivering and whimpering.
“Don’t be afraid, my daughters.” She addressed us, her voice echoing through the water.
“I did not bring you here to harm you. I only have a message for your people.” We nodded our heads in response as we were completely lost for words.
“Your people have turned the swamp to a refuse dump, dumping all the bins here, cutting trees and stepping over my boundaries, by building houses on my body. You humans only take, take and poison me. My children are dying.”
She moved a little closer to us and pointed at a firmament in the space. “See,” she said to both of us as the firmament opened into a scene.
Rafi and I watched a tree trunk tumble from the water ceiling into the space and deep into the white sand and saw it smash a number of baby fishes.
She closed the firmament and continued, “Those fishes were little innocent children; they were on their way to school.”
She pointed at another firmament which also opened, showing us a chemical substance spilling into a part of the space.
“That was last week,” she said. “That substance killed thirty whales slowly. It was a slow painful death. One of your people poured it into the swamp.”
Again she repeated her motions pointing towards another firmament yet again. This time, it opened up into a food pantry. Suddenly, tiny plastics, papers and dirt started flying everywhere in the pantry, sticking to the foods, drinks and fruits.
“The plastics you dump, nylons, papers, they turn into shreds and pollute our foods, poisoning and causing us health issues and shortening our lives. This is not my first warning; it will be the last though,” she said, her face sad and angry.
“Two weeks ago, I visited the Chairman of your Local Government Area in his dreams but he did nothing. Right now, on earth, it is raining heavily and most of your houses are flooded. That is my warning. I could flood and drown you all if I wanted to. Remember Noah and his people? This time, there would be no ark.”
“I pulled you both here to give you humans a second chance. Correct your ways before it’s too late. Leave things alone in their natural state and natural order and stop trying to trick nature; stop harming nature with your carelessness.”
Rafi and I were shocked, too lost for words to say anything. We continued nodding our heads like Agama lizards. And just as swiftly as they appeared, they retreated back into the blinding lights. We sat dazed for some minutes before we realised we could now stand up and move our bodies, though we were still too stupefied to talk. I kept pinching myself to be sure I wasn’t dreaming.
We stood up, our heads hitting the solid water ceiling; we held ourselves together, took one step with the intention of running everywhere until we found a way out. We didn't know we only needed to take a right foot forward.
Swooooosh! We met ourselves back on dry land and though it was pitch dark, we could see the swamp some steps from where we lay. Our clothes were torn, and we had bruises everywhere on our skin. I immediately felt an unfamiliar numbness and baldness on my head only to realise my hair was all gone, completely shaven. I had long black hair and was shocked to see it all gone. Rafi had a cut across her nose and was bleeding, tufts of her nasal hair sticking to the scarf she tied around her nose. Though it was dark, we wanted to find our way back anyhow; we did not want to remain alone in the swamp, after our experience. We tried to navigate our way back to no avail. We circled through the swamp, running and crying, but we remained on land, almost in the same place like we weren’t moving at all. The river was looking near, and seemed to move farther from us with every step we took. The rain covered the logs and the swamp was even more dangerous from the recent rain. I finally understood why people avoided the swamp during the rainy seasons.
We eventually got exhausted and decided to rest and wait for dawn. It was the longest night of my life; the first cock eventually crowed and light slowly descended upon the earth. Finally, we heard footsteps and whistling but could still not see anyone though we deduced that a search party was around looking for us. We decided to stay put and let them find us.
After about two hours, their footsteps began to get closer; it was a barking dog that first calmed us. Our minds were at rest knowing for sure that the dog would lead them to us. After some more minutes, we saw the dog running towards us, barking and wagging its tail before the entourage eventually caught up with us.
“We have been out here since before daybreak, trying to find you two. We hope you are not hurt?” the leader of the search party, Boda Taiye, said, as some of them rushed to hug us.
“Hope you are not too cold?”
“Are you okay?”
“How did you come back up?”
“We saw your slippers and a piece of cloth on the spot where you sank with a line of hair floating on the water leading all the way here; the hair helped us trace you two, until the dog took over on the sand.”
They threw so many questions at us as they gave us clean dry clothes to wear and first aid before we all walked back into the town sober. When we got to the street, the whole community was at the entrance of the swamp waiting for us. It was our opportunity to narrate our experience to them all though it was still a surreal experience for us too. We agreed on narrating it right then; thankfully the chairman and members of his Council were all there that morning. The press who had come to cover the flood from the previous day was there too. It was a miracle that the flood had entered into the majority of the houses, almost submerging them and yet had destroyed nothing nor harmed anyone.
“It was like a flood warning,” someone said and that was our cue to start our story.
Rafi began by clearing her throat and narrating everything to the community. More people came up to share similar stories which they encountered through dreams. By the time we were done, the Chairman felt sorry and apologised to the village while pledging to make amends. Now, almost 16 years later, the plastics in the community have become a huge source of revenue generation by recycling them. Many previously unemployed people now make their livelihood from recycling and planting trees. We now plant trees everywhere and replace old ones. There is now a designated system for refuse dumping, far from the swamp. Since then, even when the country’s water dam gets opened every three years, there is little or no flooding in the community, just the water overflowing a bit into the lands close by. Rafi and I often look at each other, thanking our stars that we did it. We were puppets of change. That day was the last time we saw the flood submerge our houses.
Author: Rahma O. Jimoh is a writer from Nigeria. Her works have appeared or are forthcoming in Lolwe, Adi Magazine, Gulf Coast Review, Salthill Journal, Tinderbox Poetry Journal and elsewhere. She is an MFA student at the University of Alabama Creative Writing Program and an Assistant Editor at YesYesBooks and Black Warrior Review.