Tragedy in a Swimming Pool

In my time at Starehe Boys' Centre where I had my high school and college education, all first formers were required to attend swimming lessons on weekend afternoons. The swimming lessons were compulsory and any first former who dared miss them risked being fixed for "working party", a severe Starehe punishment in which culprits worked shirtless for three hours on a Saturday afternoon.

As was the case with most first formers, I never got into trouble for missing the swimming lessons because I liked swimming - an experience I had never had before I joined Starehe. I still remember how elated I felt the first time I stepped into the swimming pool. It having been a hot afternoon, my fellow first formers were equally jubilant as we bobbed up and down in the shallow end of the swimming pool.

After my first form year came to an end in November 2002, I ceased swimming on weekend afternoons. From my second form year onwards, I only swam during some PE lessons. And I do recall when I was in third form, my deskmate Martin Wamoni, who was a better swimmer than me, was fond of torturing me in the swimming pool by forcefully submerging my head in water. Martin seemed to get a special kick out of seeing me gasp for air as he gripped my head.

Of course I ceased swimming on weekend afternoons after I finished my first form year so as to give first formers of subsequent years a chance to also learn swimming. I am sure they, too, enjoyed being in the pool on weekend afternoons, especially when the sun was blazing down from a clear blue sky.

One Sunday afternoon in 2004 when I was in third form, the usually fun-filled first formers' swimming session took on a nightmare quality when it was discovered the following morning that a first former had drowned in the pool and died. News of the boy's death spread in the school like wildfire.

At break time of that morning the boy was found dead, scores of students milled on the corridors of a building next to the pool. I was among the students in that building from where I saw the body of the boy, lifeless and floating in the deep end of the pool.

Dr. Griffin, the then director of the school, was also at the scene during that break time. He was angry at us for milling on the corridors of the building next to the pool. With his sonorous voice, he commanded us to come down from the building.

When our class convened after that break time for a geography lesson, our teacher - a likeable lady called Miss Mwangi - asked us to imagine how the boy's parents would react on hearing their son had drowned in a swimming pool. She really felt for them.

I can't remember what I made of the boy's death. All I know is that it didn't sadden me since I didn't know the boy personally. His classmates must be the ones who grieved him most as they stared at his deserted desk on that fateful day.

If my memory serves me well, I complained to my deskmate Martin Wamoni that he could make me drown and die like that first former if he continued submerging my head forcefully in water during PE lessons. But Martin probably knew his limits because I am still alive and kicking.

Looking back on the events of that day, I am sure Dr. Griffin, as the head of the school, had a difficult time breaking the news of the boy's death to his family. Maybe that's why he had looked stressed during that break time he saw us milling on the corridors of the building next to the swimming pool.

Questions were raised on what could have led to the boy's death. Were the swimming pool supervisors negligent in their duties? Did the boy's house captain notice he was missing on the night of that Sunday he drowned? There was a suggestion that the boy could have hidden somewhere near the pool, waited for the gates of the pool to be closed, and then dived into the swimming pool to have fun all by himself.

When we gathered for evening assembly on that day the first former was found dead, Dr. Griffin addressed us as usual but I can't remember a thing he said. The little I recall is us singing a hymn that touched on the subject of death. The hymn was either "Abide With Me" or "Rock of Ages" and it was specifically chosen to mourn the boy's death. And it was my brother Paddy who accompanied us on the piano as we sang it to mourn for the first former who had left us for the hereafter.

*******************
RECOMMENDATION: If you've enjoyed the above story on tragedy in a swimming pool, you might also enjoy another one on "Thinking About Death" which I wrote two years ago. Just click on that link in blue to dive straight into the story.