An ubiquitous trope, prevalent in many in an epoch and one that engenders disquiet in the life of many black people. Its cultural equivalent might perhaps be ‘white people can’t dance’, but it doesn’t quite capture the nuance and unease of this historically entrenched misconception. Its roots can be traced back to the Transatlantic slave trade, thousands upon thousands of slaves trapped in tight wooden ships, barely able to breathe, the sea thus water as metaphor for both freedom, and death. Yet it, like many the neurosis of the contemporary black person, still permeates, interwoven with a history and identity entwined within slavery. My black mother never learnt to swim out of her own mother’s prohibitions and fear, despite being from the tiny Caribbean island of Barbados, enclosed by miles of coast.