Between Two Waves

On the shores of Freetown, Sierra Leone, time is measured by the breath of the tide rising from the depths of the ocean. As a wave crashes against the shore and recedes, it leaves behind a playground—damp, muddy, and still carrying the scent of salt. This is a stage the ocean temporarily “lends” to the children. And in that moment, the game begins.

The old fishing boat named “Leomah Star” stands like a wooden relic watching over the shore. In its shadow, on this wet, textured ground left behind as the ocean recedes, the children play the game of their lives. Mud, sweat, salt, and the ball’s tracks mingle on the sand. Every pass, every shot, is a race against the time until the next wave arrives.

This field is not a permanent place. When the ocean’s breath grows stronger, the second wave crashes onto the shore with greater noise and determination. Splashing water droplets, feet sinking into the mud, reflected silhouettes… all signal that time is running out, that the ocean is about to reclaim its domain. But the children, despite the mud and the approaching water, hold out until the very last second. In this fleeting world where yellow flip-flops wait on the sidelines, the desire for that final goal hidden behind torn shorts is a passion even the ocean cannot erase.

And finally, the moment arrives. The ocean’s breath reaches the shore, briefly reclaiming the muddy footprints, the sounds of footsteps, and the ball. The field closes. But that final goal scored between the two waves, that last joyful shout, remains etched on Freetown’s shore as a mark that even the water cannot erase. For this is an endless poem written by the children’s hopeful energy into the ocean’s vastness.