Making Waves

Watching a program tonight I was reminded of something that happened to me. We tend to think of these monstrous earth events, like hurricanes or earthquakes, as stuff that always happens to “them.”

But in 1975, in Dakar, Senegal, it almost happened to me, and I still don’t have an explanation for it. I was 18 and we had an apartment three minutes’ walk from the totally cool beach. Our favorite pastime was body surfing in the three or four-foot waves that came in at around 30 degrees Celsius.

God knows how many times I almost broke my youthful neck tumbling in the surf, but we never thought about it.

Until one day when the waves came. Maybe it was a tsunami — I’ll never be sure. Records at the time say something of an earthquake in November, but they mention mainly Hawaii being hit.

All I know is, the day I went down to the beach for my daily sunbathe I was in for a large shock. I know you’ve all seen those videos of the 2004 tsunami but I was not prepared for the sight I saw that day (and for about two days after.)

Waves that were obviously 40 feet or more were rolling in — just giant behemoths roiling with sand and mud and foaming all the way to the top, making a noise like a jumbo jet. If you had been caught in one of those, you would have been simply erased from the face of the Earth; crushed and separated like a mosquito in a washing machine.

And I knew what the walls of water could do: I’d had some bad tumbles in 7 or 8-feet high waves while body-surfing; you never knew which way was up and everything was all just green and white and even though your eyes were used to being open under salt water you just never knew what was going to happen next. Death was just seconds away. This is called being young.

I huddled with the local fishermen at the very lip of the beach while I watched them come in, wave after wave, impossibly high — words can’t muster the description of the incredible walls of water hurtling in on a perfectly clear day. After about an hour, I totally lost my nerve and beat a hasty retreat. It was just too goddamn scary -- the waves were almost reaching our feet, and we were at least 400 yards from where the shore used to be.

Later I watched more from my 18th-storey apartment as the waves continued to roll in. They consumed 90% of my familiar beach and almost rose onto the highway adjacent.

Jesus. Let us never underestimate the power of nature. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen a 40-foot wave coming at you at 30 miles an hour.