Red Sea Tragedy

The Red Sea is on the other side of Arabia from where I grew up in the Eastern Province of Saudi Arabia. On our side, we could see the Persian Gulf and the island kingdom of Bahrain from my roof.
One summer a group of us teenagers drove the family station wagon across Arabia – what were my parents thinking? – and we camped out near Jiddah on the Red Sea. Compared to the sandy shallow bottom of the Gulf, where you had to head out to the coral heads that surrounded the islands for some good diving, the Red Sea was Jacques Cousteau-style excellence.
The drop-off was very steep and often fish I’d be following around would just go down to where I couldn’t descend. It was stunning underwater scenery.
One morning there was this huge commotion down the beach. A little Arab kid was swimming around and he was stung or bitten by something. Anyway his scrotum sack was dangerously swollen, and everyone was freaking out.
We fired up the station wagon and hauled-ass into Jiddah with a couple of their people and the kid. We had to wait around for quite a while at the hospital but they all came out with some medicine. The kid was better, and we headed back to the Red Sea.
Now, hospitality is a huge deal in the Middle East. You couldn’t walk down the beach past a tent before this happened, without being invited for dinner, but after this incident it was ridiculous. So we had dinner with the kid’s people that night and stayed late around the campfire.
The sparks flew up into the desert sky and all was well.
Hearing about this tragedy in these waters, is painful. It is impossible for me to ignore the reality of it. The Red Sea isn’t one of those places I can pretend doesn’t really exist.