"TALKING DIRTY TO THE GODS"

This morning I hop a cab back to Afia Beach Hotel. I'd set out this morning to explore, but realized I had no idea where to wander. The dorms are in residential land and getting lost would be inevitable, the lack of road signs slightly daunting. Instead, I hop a cab here for breakfast. The driver served up proposal number two. Mr. Albert Tetteh claims he is in love with me, wants to marry me, to swim with me (complete with arm motions.) "We develop good friendship, tight!" I laugh and remind him to keep his eyes on the road. At the Afia, friends are scattered and I resign to a date with my journal on the deck dining area. I walk up and who do I see eating but Yusef Komunyakaa, AKA Pulitzer Prize Winner AKA conference workshop leader AKA my favorite poet ever. E-V-E-R. I catch his eye as I walk past (was that a glimmer of familiarity from our two brief interactions back in New York?) and I turn the corner grinning, doing a little victory dance that hopefully no one saw. I'm fairly certain this dance looked like a 5 year old with ants in her pants. No matter, now it's all real!

Caitlin & Yusef, days later!

Last night I had some incredibly intense dreams. People kept telling me Malaria meds are famous for vivid dreams and even hallucinations, but I'm on the once-a-day brand (the weekly are the "psychedelic" ones) so there is nothing to blame but my over active, anxious mind. My old roommate Christina, the one who is back in Brooklyn caring for my cat, appeared. We were at the conference together and I was surprised to see her. Except, as typical of dreams, it looked nothing like Ghana. A huge wave rolled towards our log cabin (tsunami sized) and I was afraid I would get hurt, swept up in the water giant, crashing into the house or street. Lo and behold, I was fine, riding the wave until I stepped my feet gently on the pavement. I remember, very clearly, that the water felt cool on my skin. How is that for metaphor? In real time, the power kept flickering on and off at 6am, each time the air conditioner beeping (which was once every 30 seconds.) Needless to say the dream marked the end of sleep and besides, the eighteen Nigerian students from the University of Lagos arrived last night and true to the name, we are now officially in dorms. They are yelling to each other and banging on doors and generally acting like normal 18-22 year olds and I've chosen to see this as a natural wake up call. Rise and shine!

The students!

And here I am eating an omelet and eavesdropping on a conversation at the next table. I am thinking of Sonia's Calcutta poem, how brilliantly she captures a city and its magic (a city where not everyone can see magic. As Jamie said, "I guess its magical in the way East New York, Brooklyn is magical." Hmph!) And how about magical hot spots? Bekah talks about such places, where you feel intense creativity rush through your bones. Yesterday, while the waves rolled in succession and the wind delivered a strong breeze, black clouds hung over head. The waves were large and violent. My heart, as if connected to the tides, rushed with anxiety and a strong unshakable sense of uneasiness. The ocean has always scared me, to be frank. I love it, of course, as I believe most people do, but mine is a particular brand of love born of fear. The kind of reverence some save for God. The water shows no mercy. It could at once swallow me whole and where would I be? A body in the Atlantic ocean. I am pleased this thought no longer tempts me. I feel distinctly thankful for being alive.

I keep stealing glances at Yusef and suddenly feel horribly embarrassed at the thought of him reading my manuscript. Yes, because the work is young, but more over there is not one, but two poems inspired by him out of just ten in the packet. Shit. Shit!