WATER REMEMBERS

It holds the echoes of laughter, the weight of sorrow, and the rhythm of stories that refuse to drown. Wade in the Water: Black Aquatic Heritage Part II dives headfirst into that memory—tracing the journey of Black communities and their sacred, often stolen, relationship with water.

For generations, water has been both sanctuary and scar. From Mali’s king Abubakari II setting sail across the Atlantic in 1324, to surfers riding waves on Ghana’s coast in the 1600s, Black aquatic history is rich, bold, and ancient. But colonialism hit like a tidal wave—ripping communities from the shores, flooding memory with violence, and damming up access to the very source that once gave life and direction.

Slavery. The Middle Passage. Segregated beaches. Public pools fenced off and drained out. Black beachfronts stolen under the disguise of eminent domain. Private shores in the Caribbean built to keep locals out. The message was loud: water, once home, now had “No Trespassing” signs nailed to its banks.

But we’re still here.

This second chapter in the Wade in the Water story flows wider and deeper than the first. We travel from Mali to Brazil, from Trinidad to Jamaica, from California to Australia, stitching together a global patchwork of stories—surfers, scientists, divers, artists, historians, and healers all reaching back toward the water and finding themselves in the reflection.

These aren’t just stories of survival. They’re stories of return.

We begin at the roots. Forgotten figures like Abu Bakari II, Juan Garrido, Lope Martin, and Carlotta Stewart Lai rise from the shadows, reminding us that Black folks weren’t just victims of history—they were sailors, mapmakers, and innovators steering their own ships long before Columbus fumbled across the Atlantic.

Then the tide carries us into today’s surf culture—where changemakers like Vipe Desai, Maya Duarte, 7TILL8, and the ECO by Ry founders are flipping the script on an industry that’s long erased Black faces. Through business, design, and community, they’re building new spaces where we don’t just fit in—we lead.

Environmental justice flows through every frame. Scientists and stewards like Dr. Tiara Moore, Ashley Townes, and Yowar Mosquera are restoring coastlines and replanting mangroves, weaving cultural memory into conservation. In Kenya, the SeaTrees initiative is bringing both land and legacy back to life.

Next, we wade into healing.

From Los Angeles to South Africa, surf therapy is rising like a warm swell. Whether it’s veterans, kids, or families dealing with trauma, these programs use saltwater as a kind of medicine. Black-led collectives are blending ancestral knowledge, yoga, community care, and the steady pulse of the ocean to help people breathe again.

But healing isn’t the end of the story. Justice demands its own chapter.

We walk with elders who once staged wade-ins at segregated beaches in St. Augustine, Florida. We surf with South Africans who challenged apartheid with a board and a wave. And we meet today’s youth—activists and artists who know the fight isn’t finished. They're claiming their space on the sand, in the lineup, and in the stories we pass down.

So, we ask:

What does it mean to belong to water?
How do we reclaim a space that tried to forget us?
What futures are possible when we stop seeing water as just scenery, and start honoring it as family?

This film is personal. It’s led by a Black and Afro-Indigenous team whose lives are tied to this story. We’re not just pointing cameras—we’re showing up with trust, respect, and the blessing of the communities we’re filming. It’s a small budget with a big soul. And every wave, every story, every frame is shaped with care.

Wade in the Water: Part II isn’t just a documentary. It’s part of a movement—a ripple that’s turning into a wave. We want Black kids to see themselves as swimmers, divers, surfers, and oceanographers. We want elders to feel remembered, and futures to feel possible. We want joy to be as loud as struggle, and the sea to be a place we all can call home.

Because water is not just background. It’s witness. It’s healer. It’s relative.

And it’s time we let it speak.