The Pool, the Parade and the Point

Every time I read about mass deportations in the USA or Canada’s not-so-warm welcome to certain newcomers, it feels like the world has learned all the wrong lessons from history. Families get split up, kids are left wondering why dad isn’t there for supper, and people who’ve lived somewhere for decades are suddenly told they don’t belong. Governments seem to think geography and paperwork decide a person’s worth.

And yet, despite all that seriousness, I keep being reminded how ridiculous these divisions look when you zoom in on everyday life. Two moments in Costa Rica proved it to me, neither involving a border officer, just the day to day life.

During our scouting trip to Guanacaste back in February, we stayed a few nights in Samara. One hot afternoon, I headed for the hotel pool to cool off. A young local boy wandered in, plopped down in the shallow end, and started watching me like I was the most interesting thing in the water. To be fair, I was since no one else was in.

I smiled at him and with a wink, flicked a little splash his way. He lit up and splashed back. And that was it. We had ourselves a twenty-minute gentle splash battle. I didn’t speak Spanish, he didn’t speak English (or French), but we were fluent in laughter and fun.

No one asked for ID, no one questioned my immigration status. The only thing we both cared about was who got the most effective splash in. For the record, I’m claiming victory although he might say otherwise.

Fast forward six months. We’re now living in Costa Rica and taking in the 157th anniversary of Atenas. It was everything you’d hope for: music, dancing, food vendors, traditional costumes, Ticos and “Expats” (I don’t like the term) all mixing together.

After the parade, I spotted three women in beautiful traditional dresses. I asked if I could get a picture with them and they agreed instantly. Standing nearby was a young boy in full costume who had marched in the parade with them, the son of one of the ladies, I assumed. He joined the picture but didn’t bother looking at the camera. Instead, he kept watching me, probably wondering why this grinning, poorly-Spanish-speaking foreigner was chatting up his mum and friends.

When the photo was done and people started to move off, he stayed put. Then, without a word, he opened his arms wide and took a step towards me. I bent down and he gave me a hug so tight it almost wrung a tear or two out of me. Okay, maybe more than two.

Moral of the story

We live in a world that’s quick to build fences. Some made of metal, others made of fear. But those two moments in Costa Rica reminded me that human connection needs none of that. It doesn’t care about passports, languages or even who won the splash battle.

Maybe if more of us could meet like that, no questions asked, no suspicion, just the willingness to play or share a hug, we’d start to see each other the way that little boy saw me: not as a stranger, but as a smiling individual worth splashing or squeezing half to death, someone who loves life and genuinely cares.