Boys’ white shirts vanished.
Then… SPLASH.
Uncle Micah, crossing the bridge, heard the cries. Saw the horror.
Dropped his crutch. Dove 20 feet into the torrent.
Current slammed him. Cold. Pain.
But Uncle Micah grew up swimming rivers in Delta village.
One leg? Didn’t matter. He kicked furiously.
Spotted sinking shapes. Dove deep.
Grabbed Alex—pulled to surface.
Kicked to shore—crowd hauled them out.
“One more!” he gasped.
Dove again. Exhaustion burning. Hunger weakening him.
Found Andrew. Held tight as current dragged them both.
Nearly blacked out… but refused to let go.
Hands pulled them ashore.
Boys lifeless. Blue lips.
Crowd: “They’re gone…”
Uncle Micah—half-dead himself—remembered village first aid.
Chest compressions on Alex. Mouth-to-mouth.
“Come on, small boy!”
Alex coughed—water gushed—ALIVE!
Then Andrew. Harder. Longer.
Crowd prayed.
Andrew sputtered—ALIVE!
Miracle. Cheers. Tears.
Uncle Micah collapsed.
Mr. Bayo hugged him sobbing: “You saved them! Thank you!”
Uncle Micah whispered: “Just glad they’re breathing.”
Dr. Okeke—in London for deals—got the call.
Nearly collapsed. Chartered jet home.
Burst into hospital: Sons alive, but traumatized.