Water And The Things With It Sylvia Eze   © Copyright 2026 Sylvia Eze

Photo by Glenn Haertlein on Unsplash

Honestly, that movie made water look so cool that I became obsessed with the way it flows. I don’t think it was just me. Soon after, Tyla released a song called “Water,” which pushed her into the spotlight. Even Fela Kuti’s “Water No Get Enemy” continued to be praised. And yet, sometimes I think water might have enemies—especially with the amount of pollution in water bodies today.

So, when I went on an excursion trip to the Shedd Aquarium in Chicago, organized by the Windsor Girls at Purdue University, I was expecting something cinematic. Shout out to them and the staff, students and women in Windsor Hall, Purdue University. I was one of the few Black women in the group—and the only African international student—but they welcomed me warmly, sharing everything from their food to their stories.

The aquarium itself was beautiful and incredibly organized. From the entrance, mini grey caves framed water cascading down from impressive heights. It was jaw-dropping. I have always been taught that clean water has no smell, but this place felt different. The scent was not chlorine like a swimming pool. It was fresh—tangy, almost windy. I cannot fully explain it, but it smelled alive. The air, the atmosphere, the caves, the scenery—everything felt alive. Some pools were deep blue, others crystal clear. None were murky, and you could tell it was not artificial chlorine water.

There were clear mini pools where fish glided effortlessly, and specialized housing sections grouped certain families of fish together so children could observe and study them. Waterfalls poured steadily, filling the space with constant gushing sounds. There is a unique beauty in the different sounds water makes depending on where it flows. Outside, there was even a beach-like arena by the lake, though it looked closed to the public.

And behind the aquarium, you could actually see the real ocean stretching outward. We went on a particularly windy day, so the water outside was restless. The waves were strong, and the surface was not clear at all. It was darker, rougher, constantly moving. Standing there, looking from the controlled calm of the aquarium to the unpredictable motion of the sea behind it, I felt the contrast deeply.

The sea is always subject to weather, wind, temperature, and forces beyond human control. An aquarium, on the other hand, is carefully managed—its water filtered, regulated, and contained. The difference was striking. Inside: stillness and clarity. Outside: movement and power.

Everything inside the aquarium felt inviting from the very start.

As we moved from one section to another, we entered rooms dedicated to different species. One room stood out: a tall tank that stretched upward through multiple floors. On the first floor, you could see the bottom of the pool. As you climbed the stairs, you saw higher into the tank. It was a clever design that encouraged visitors to keep moving upward. There were elevators, but not many—so you walked. A lot.

The place felt like an education centre, a school, a museum, and a movie set all at once. It was huge. I found myself wondering how much it cost to build and how long it took. In certain areas, you could learn the names of the fish and the families they belonged to. The lighting was beautiful. The aquarium housed all kinds of animals—penguins, seals, dolphins, and countless species of fish.

Eventually, I grew tired from standing and walking. I even became a bit bored, taking pictures for Instagram. Everything was calm and soothing—the opposite of what I had imagined from Aquaman. Part of me thought they should introduce small mobile carts to carry tired visitors between floors. Benches did not quite help or do justice especially when you were exhausted but still curious and wanted to explore more places. Maybe that is something I could suggest for a research project one day.

We watched trainers work with seals and dolphins. They performed tricks, and it was interesting—but again, not the intense action I had imagined. Some friends in my group began discussing city life. They admitted they did not enjoy fishing or studying fish, even though they loved eating them. Honestly, I felt the same. We city girls could not fully understand the pleasure people find in fishing.

For me, city life feels different. I am an introvert who gets tired from socializing, yet I love noise. Noise makes me feel alive. Since I am naturally quiet, I survive by staying in lively, busy environments. I enjoy people-watching. I do not feel much jealousy when others take the spotlight, even though I try to step into it sometimes. The countryside seems calm—maybe too calm for me right now. Still, I hope that one day I will understand the quiet pleasure of country life, maybe even the peace people find in fishing.

We watched a 3D video about sea life and had guided sessions with seals and dolphins. The animals were calm—almost too calm, perhaps because they were trained to follow instructions. One of the seals was blind, yet the trainers cared for her and fed her carefully. We were not allowed to get too close for safety reasons, which made sense. I have heard stories of trainers losing their lives in marine parks.

Still, something felt missing. Maybe the true action of the sea cannot be contained within an aquarium. An aquarium exists to protect wildlife and educate the public. The ocean, on the other hand, is the real jungle—raw and untamed—where no one interferes with the cycle of life.

Even the water in the tanks looked calm and clear, unlike the murky waves at the beach. Safety is clearly a priority. On the positive side, I appreciate that aquariums protect both guests and animals. A lot must go into building and maintaining such a place. But I still wonder about the interactivity. Do visitors sometimes try to interact with the animals the way they would with domestic pets? Does that create challenges for the staff? How controlled is the water? Even during the small shows, when dolphins and seals splashed water onto the crowd, there were no real waves. How do they prevent waves? How do they regulate temperature, pressure, and movement? Do the animals interact freely with one another? How is reproduction managed in such controlled environments?

I also found myself thinking about the Titan submersible implosion, where people tragically lost their lives exploring the ocean depths. It made me wonder why certain experiments or deep-sea simulations are not first tested in controlled environments like aquariums. If something cannot work safely in an aquarium, would it ever truly work in the real sea? Or perhaps the scale is too different. Maybe such experiments would disturb marine life.

The sea is a fascinating place—so vast and powerful that even an aquarium cannot fully do it justice. My mum often says that more lives have been lost to the sea than we realize, and that we know more about space than we do about our own oceans because of how dangerous and unpredictable they are. I am not sure how true that is, but the thought stays with me.

Maybe that is the difference. An aquarium gives us beauty, safety, and education. The ocean gives us mystery, risk, and raw power. One is controlled; the other cannot be contained.

And yet, despite the questions and the contrasts, the aquarium remains a fascinating place to be—an attempt to bring a small, safer version of the wild sea into human reach, even if it can never fully capture its depth.

The visit left me with admiration—but also with questions. And maybe that is the difference between imagined fantasy, protected environment and brutal reality. Aquaman gave me spectacle, the aquarium gave me stillness, and the ocean gave me action. And somewhere between these three, I am still trying to understand water—its power, its calmness, and the life it holds beneath the surface.