Country Daze

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A family of four—a mother, a baby in a wrap, a young boy, and a girl—wading through shallow river water carrying plastic bags at sunset.


The River's Embrace: A Life Lived on Both Shores

The school bell rings, a distant chime across the water. Our school sits just across the river, a stone's throw, yet a world away. Why endure the long, dusty highway when our destination lies so close? Because this river, the one that gurgles and whispers at the edge of our backyard, is a formidable boundary. Too wide for a simple bridge right here, its moods too swift and unpredictable for an easy crossing.

So, a quarter mile upstream, a bridge stands – a testament to necessity. Our daily ritual begins with a careful packing: shoes, dry clothes, precious schoolbooks all sealed tight in a plastic bag, held aloft like a fragile crown. With our free hand, we test the cool, flowing water, a constant companion in our lives. The opposite bank is our dressing room, the sandy shore our temporary sanctuary before we step onto the school grounds, perhaps bare feet sinking into the earth until the very last moment.

I've heard whispers, felt the condescending gaze. "Those from across the river," some murmur, "primitive," even "savage." But they don't see the strength etched on the faces of the women who navigate these currents with infants cradled in one arm, skirts held high, and the small, insistent hands of their other children firmly grasped. They don't witness the quiet dignity in our posture, the heads held high, a legacy of generations who have forged this watery path. This river is in our blood, a constant presence in our family's story.

After the day's lessons, the lure of home sometimes feels heavy with the weight of chores and homework. The long way around, the familiar dusty path, becomes a welcome detour, a chance to linger with schoolmates, to stretch the precious moments of camaraderie. But the river always calls us back. It is the source of our sustenance, the place where we gather water for washing, for cooking. Often, a lonely pail awaits its bearer near the bank, a silent reminder that the longer route home means an extra trip down the slope, a weighty climb back up. Water is life, a truth we understand intimately.

And then there are those stolen moments of childhood. A ride home with a passing adult offers a tempting opportunity. We lag behind, just a little, our eyes fixed on the shimmering surface. Out of sight, a quick dip, a refreshing embrace. Uniforms are hung out to dry, a silent plea to the sun for crispness by morning.

Why would we willingly sit confined within classroom walls, chanting multiplication tables, when the river beckons? Its banks are a playground, a pantry. We learn the art of finding wild snacks, the thrill of swinging from sturdy branches, the exhilarating plunge into the cool depths. Our hands become adept at coaxing crayfish from their hiding places, trapping skittish crabs, perhaps even landing a freshwater fish for the family pot.

This river, this constant in our lives, shapes us. It demands resilience, instills a deep respect for nature's power, and fosters a unique bond within our community. We are children of the river, and though the highway may offer an easier passage, it is this watery journey that truly defines us.



Click here to explore B. Marwo’s books on Amazon.


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