caribbean sea basin
2050
In the humming waters, we approach the emergency gathering of thousands of guardian Ni Ara, young and old, and everyone’s naniki. They part to let us and our whale through, to the elders in the centre. Our fin-hands fuse tighter before we release them. Ready in shame, we will be reprimanded. But as our fin-hands detach, our whale becomes two identical spinner dolphins, alert, erect.
They are impressed, our elders.
This crowd should disperse! Skelele’s thoughts are mine.
“Your sky elders have agreed that you are the ones to make the journey for us and Mother Earth, Atabey,” they tell us. “Your naniki unison is a sign also.”
A cold, purple blue shudders over me and Skelele too. Our siblings and other youth turn the same shade of fear too.
As we try to explain, Skelele’s voice and mine become one.
We tell of the full extent of the destruction, and that the path to the Great Blue Hole, the whole Caribbean Sea, will soon be taken over.
“We should disperse! But we cannot be the ones — we are not even fully adult yet!”
Just beyond us, a set of oil-seeking missiles pierce through the depths, scattering fish and hitting coral. The circle of elders and Ni Ara tightens around us. We bow our heads to listen carefully, and our gold hearts hurt.
Our shaman nods to my baba and tells us:
“The significance of your joint WHALE naniki means ‘To learn from the past how to heal old wounds.’ Your identical dolphin spirits mean ‘To find harmony by moving forward.’”
My mother moves in and stays close, vibrating her reassurance through me. And the elders continue, it seems without hurry, calm as the eye of Huracan.
They proclaim that with our special skills and shining hearts, Skelele and I must go together to Bi, the Beginning, the source of ancient knowledge and life, deep in the forests of the mainland.
Our dolphin naniki have morphed back into the humpback whale, waiting and ready.
“Follow the Amazon River that led us here and that feeds the sea, to find the Spirit of Spirits, Yaya, who will show you HOW.”
Above us, in the frightening sky, silver surveillance aircraft cut through the clouds, slicing fleeing pelicans. We know Skelele’s elders are up there watching us too.
They have to pull my mother away from me.
I love you too, Bibi.
I join fin-hands with Skelele and a shower of red-hot metal pieces hiss through our waters, instantly killing a cluster of angelfish.
Bibi starts singing a blessing, and Baba and everyone join in.
“Guakía baba, turey toca
Our father who is in the sky
guamí-ke-ní lord of the earth and water
guamí-caraya-güey,16
lord of the moon and the sun,”
We tuck under the belly of our whale, as ready as we could be for their send-off.
“guarico guakia, tayno-tí, bo-matún;
come to us high honours, generous,
busica guakia para-yucubía, aje-cazabi;
give us root plants, Taino bread.
juracan-ua maboya-uá.
Hurricane no, malignant spirit no.
yukiyú-jan;… Yokahu yes.”
Holding each other tight, safe in the shadow of our singing whale, we shoot forward into the inky depths. We feel our gold hearts and shimmering tattoos streaking the liquid sadness.
“… Jan-jan catú! So be it!”
The cacophony of destruction presses us south and feels like a manic scream in our heads. Mega fires rage on some of the Greater Antilles, and Ke Choreto’s sea defence wall is up, a huge cone beginning to unfurl out from the peak of the island. We butt through dead fish and shift onto the back of our whale as she breaches.
Our joint fin-hand flips into our gifted mirror and now we can see better.
The looming Maboya billows and spreads itself. Shining, dripping, bigger, and more terrifying than we could ever dream, it snatches air vessels out of the sky and attacks boats that are fleeing the natural islands.
Ke Choreto has moved closer to another island and is extending a bridge, trying to save other Earth People.
We flatten ourselves onto our whale’s belly and it dives deeper, moaning a song to comfort us. Whooooooo ki mooooooo. Strengthening us with every vibration through a fluidness of one. Forward, southeast to the lightening blue and numbness.
Numb us.
With poison arrows
and dyes of forgetting.
Strum us
with constellations
that take us
beyond.
Bind us
with gut strings
of courage
and songness.
Moan our heartness.
Ahead in the rich blue, someone is there beckoning us, and our whale follows. It is Neptune. Of course we know this foreign God of the Sea, with his golden trident and flowing beard. We follow him outside of the volcanic island arc, into lighter water, and a shoal of flying fish flash nearby, making Skelele’s heart jump.
Riding the top of our humpback whale, we breach again with the flying fish in the bright morning light. Ichirouganaim!