Chapter Eighty-Two: In Which Brianna Frets Laterally

And then *poof* the Caribbean dream was over.

It was sort of telling that my last few weeks in the region were mired with hurricanes, computer hackings and the widespread outbreak of dengue fever throughout the population.

It was just time to go. And so, you know, I am totally honest with you when I say that I was not sad to leave the Caribbean. Nor do I miss it.

It was an amazing time, but the time passed.

And unfortunately for this blog, my journey’s final conclusive stages passed while I was without internet or computer. Sigh.

But don’t worry, friends. I kept written notebooks. Lots of them! And while I was parted from you online I was actually very pleased to say I was able to pump out a LOT of writing that I’m really excited about.

My bags left Bahamas and headed to Toronto, where I whiled away a few weeks waiting to find out what was next for me.

And then, the obvious choice: Nigeria!

The man-friend’s job has now posted us in the non-glamorous, non-vacationy, non-exciting city of Abuja. It’s as expensive as New York, the buildings are as large as those in Brobdignag and yet it’s freakishly sparsely populated. Though the country has more than 150 million people, there are only officially 700,000 residents in Abuja.

Another basic fact I did not know before I researched it thoroughly:

Nigeria is roughly on the same longitude as Germany and roughly the same latitude as Barbados– so I’m still fretting close to the equator. Just a few miles further east. Just a few.

And so, you may be thinking, that I can perfectly well keep on keeping on with this blog here, and even keep the title and everything! How convenient!

But I’m sorta… thinking on it for the moment. Because through a series of events this blog came to the attention of a smattering of my family members whom I love very much, but once I found out they’d been looking at my blog, it immediately changed the way I thought about what I wrote. I self-censored. And that really wasn’t much fun or very useful for me.

So I’m just mulling about it for now: whether to start a new, more private, blog or just keep going with this one.

But in the meantime please know that I am happy and getting used to the groove here in West Africa… and meeting every day with a resolve for acceptance and adventure!

Chapter Eighty-One: In Which Brianna Explains Why She Hasn’t Updated Recently

Chapter Eighty: In Which Brianna Frets In A Hurricane. Right Now. It’s Happening Right Now.

Right now:

The photo doesn’t do it justice. Being in the middle of this is so noisy and bizarre. It really sounds like there is an elephant jamboree on the roof… what is that, even? Stuff that’s tethered down that’s flapping a lot? A very angry tap dancer?

Compare the scene, though, with yesterday:

And I even took that photo to demonstrate the craziness of the wind. Yikes.

On the bright side, no sharks have come shooting through the window. (Yet?)

For those who are curious about what it sounds like, I shall attempt description:

Sshhhhhlpt shhhhlpt, crrrrrrrrrrggh, boombabbbb thud thud thud thud thud thud, SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH rrrrrrrrhhhhhhhghhhhaaaaaaaa….

Oh shoot, it’s getting heavier. I guess the thick of it is here. Off I go to stare out the window like a scared puppy!

 

Chapter Seventy-Nine: In Which Brianna Frets in Hurricane, Take 2– Humid Boogaloo!

I knew it! I knew it! I knew this was going to happen! Although it’s not the best of news, it is always a little bit reassuring to see a prediction come true.
I moved to the Bahamas—the middle of the hurricane belt—in the middle of Hurricane season. And now, the hot and blasty chaos that is named Hurricane Irene, she comes! She comes!
As we live not ten feet from the ocean, and are probably not more than five feet above sea level, I was initially a bit worried about this scenario. Just a squidge.
Last night I kept having visions of sharks flying into our window, their fishy-smelling maws gaping and chomping at us as we cowered from its terror on the uncomfortable wicker furniture.
I then imagined we would throw it little bits of tuna at meal times. I mean, sharks are animals, too. I wouldn’t want to contribute to their suffering. And everyone here knows how much I value a good snack.
I’d share some of the stock of water we’ve amassed, too, to give it a little shower bath every now and then.
Maybe in return for my graciousness said shark would then become my ocean protector after the hurricane, swimming alongside me in the sea and fending off other animals that might like to take advantage of my exposed fleshy haunches.
Hello, feature episode for next Shark Week!
ANYWAY.
We got a call from the man-friend’s work, and they recommended that we take shelter at one of the nearby and really huge hotels. It is significantly more feet from the ocean. It is full of people prepared for emergency situations. It offers rooms that are *not* ocean view.

Sigh of relief!
So yesterday and today I stocked up on suitcasefulls of yummy goods. On things that will make this hurricane a little bit more enjoyable—and, possibly, romantical?—than the last.
Oh, that stinky old hurricane in Barbados. It came up out of nowhere and left us with an apartment reeking of mildew’d towels and fetid seaweed, eating meals of crusty cheese bits and bruised apples. Bleh.
This time there has been enough notice to actually plan some sort of Hurricane programming.
I am very pleased with my plans for it, if I do say so. I have even been able to fashion a sort of hurricane menu for myself and the man-friend.
Mm! Cornichons! Wine! Water crackers! How fancy!
So cross your fingers and wish me luck. That sad little fart of a hurricane we experienced last time was only barely, debatably, a hurricane. And this sucker is going to be Category 3 or possibly 4.
I trust that the man-friend will protect me. And the cornichons. And the shark friend. But still. It’s something legitimate to fret about, now isn’t it? Look who’s using her proper judgment on the matter!
[Brianna continues to pack gallons of water into suitcases, now wearing an air of self-satisfaction and triumph.]

Chapter Seventy-Eight: In Which Brianna Considers The Atmosphere

Aha, here we are: Another island to inhabit for a while.

The man-friend and I have landed in the Bahamas and after only a week have managed to forage for an apartment, sanitize said apartment, unpack our sundry goods and begin to attempt some sort of routine.

For me, this means praying that the internet connection makes itself useful (it has not been cooperative). It also means consuming lots of fruits and veggies to try to sort out the tummy situation, which had become somewhat frazzled in the midst of moving.

The good news… No, the GREAT news is that Bahamas is so close to the US that fresh produce is plentiful and affordable. In Barbados, a head of iceberg lettuce was $8. Here, it is $1.30. Be still, my heart! Kale can be purchased easily– ORGANIC kale! Our fridge is full of so many tasty fresh (well… semi-fresh… they were shipped from the US…) delights that I have fallen into flights of fancy several times where I simply daydream about how I will prepare them into meals.

I have especially been concerning myself with the combination of pears and caramelized onions. Also with eggplant. I am still not quite sure what to do with that one.

The other great news is that, though I had a somewhat “meh” experience of the country when I visited in January (I just found it so touristy… it really is built for cruise ship passengers… oh, and for the super duper rich… neither of which are ME), the particular apartment we’ve found for this longer stay allows me to conveniently forget about all that touristy chintz.

It is placed in such a way that I can look out and see nothing but ocean. Here, the waves are barely ripples. The waters are placid and clear as anything. But the money shot is the sky. It is HUGE.

Having been merely an English major, I cannot account for why the sky seems larger or smaller in certain places. But I tell you truly, this sky is breathtaking.

I am not sure whether it it is because it is hurricane season and thus more volatile, or whether the climate system here is simply more changeable by nature, but in either case the weather changes every ten minutes or so, and that means I have the terror and pleasure (they are mixed together, you know) of watching the most diverse storm systems approach, execute themselves, and then vanish. It is like watching time-lapse video, except it there is no lapse at all.

For a moment yesterday I began to ponder at this. Why would it be that I can see more of the sky? Or feel like it, anyway?

I began to imagine what the clouds are made of, how they occur, and then I began to envision the curve of the earth as expressed through the vague thing we call the atmosphere.

As you well know, existential crises are my specialty. But I am very pleased to report that for some reason (time? maturity? temporary insanity? the magical mystical spell of Bahamas?) I was able to acknowledge the horrific grandness of things… and then just let it pass.

In any case, the man-friend is finding it freakish how I am now able to perch at the window and watch the coming storm.

I am glad for this personal growth regardless of its motivation.

And I hope it may continue so that someday soon I may be able to consider the stars.

Chapter Seventy-Seven: In Which Brianna Is Banished

We both know that this blog isn’t like other blogs that I’ve done. The others have been fun little bits and pieces, blips and boops of creative stuff that make me laugh and help me hone my writing and production skills. This one, though, is my free, traveling therapist.

I imagine it as a lady with a very blue set of eyes that stare directly into the DEPTHS OF MY SOUL, accusing me, supporting me, and forcing me to see things I may not otherwise want to.

I imagine she has extremely clear skin. I wonder which face-wash she uses!

This terrifying webitherapist helps me make sense of what’s happening as I try to learn to move through my life on a current of exploration and adventure (ie; no steady job, no steady place to live, no guarantees I won’t get swept away by a tsunami).

And so I have avoided her and her scrutiny as I went through this past particularly difficult time.

I was kicked off the island. Kicked. OFF. In a tumult of finger-pointing and lip-pursing (theirs) and gastrointestinal distress (mine) I was told to leave the place I had lately called home. Due to some sort of immigration detail that has still not been made clear to me, I had to leave my man-friend –the only anchor in my current free-wheelin’ life– on those beachy shores as he continued his work in the region.

I was banished.

Which sounds kinda romantic, in a Romeo and Juliet kinda way.

Until the banishment actually occurred, and manifested in the form of my returning, tail between legs, to Canada where I commenced a period of many sleepless nights in my childhood bedroom where my parents would knock on the door to tell me when it was time for me to wake up or take a shower. There has been an explosion of stress acne across my brow. There has been enduring gastrointestinal distress.

I could not turn to the webitherapist then, you see. First, because when the immigration stuff occurred, I was afraid of documenting that kind of thing before I actually left the country. Not that I think the island immigration peeps are reading my blog. But, you never know. Then, when I got home, I shriveled into my teen self, riding my push-scooter around my suburban neighbourhood and waiting for capital-T “Tomorrow.” That wasn’t my Writer self. I didn’t even think to blog. There weren’t really blogs when I was a teenager. There was LiveJournal. But that’s another story.

Today, though, my fingers have found new freedom. Because capital-T “Tomorrow” actually IS tomorrow. Tomorrow I leave Canada again for a new tropical adventure. I shall meet the man-friend once again and we are off to a new island, a new set of geographic coordinates– a whole new place to fret in and about. (With a short stop first in Miami. Hello, Cuban food yummies!)

So this is me, calling up my webitherapist’s secretary, booking an appointment for next week, when I will again be able to dump all my irrational first-world worries into her waiting virtual office while I fret slightly further away from the equator.

Chapter Seventy-Six: In Which Brianna Frets in the Foliage

It is not a generic screen-saver image, peoples. It was the view from an eco-lodge where the man-friend and I stayed in Dominica.

I still goggle looking at this photo. My mind can’t get around all the giant and itsy bitsy things that must be living in there.

It makes me feel so big. And so small. And so itchy (there were a lot of little critters in there, just waiting to take a chomp out of my flesh).

But then again, such is nature, yes?