Amazing Realities

Today, I am upside down in a downward dog yoga position. My hands, in pose, are lightly buried in wet sand. Each grain a different shade, speckles that blend beautifully together. My feet planted behind, kissed by the Atlantic, as the waves roll in and scuttle away. As the morning sun warms my back I focus on the water and the sand. No to do lists…no thought…nothing intrudes. This is life in this moment. Perfect tranquility.

It was a circular journey of two years, but I ended back at the start where the ink made its first mark on the page. The first time I actually touched the sands of Gorée Island it was love. Wouldn’t it be a dream to live there? Then the journey took a different turn. My Senegal budget was limited, so I went back to Gambia. I was a wiser traveller this time, after the first twelve- hour Banjul -Dakar road trip, bombing through the savannah, and becoming highly overfamiliar with the true meaning of dust and heat.

Back in Gambia I chose a random location. Basseh Santa Su. It seemed a bit far. It was. Something got lost in translation. I was told it was a six -hour journey. Twelve hours later, when I could no longer deny it was night, and so close to my fellow traveler in the minibus that our flesh had molded around each other, I asked if we were nearly there. And he laughed…and laughed, until tears made paths in the dust that was his new skin. I was joyously informed that we had 6 hours more at the very least.

We arrived at one in the morning. The hotel was across the river. There were no canoes until morning. It would be a stretch to call our alternative a hotel, but less so to call it a brothel. The rats, dirty walls and sheets meant a night with eyelids semi open, furniture rearranged, (because of course the door did not close) and fully clothed. Night eventually gave way to morning, the canoe was there and the hotel across the river was indeed a hotel.

The circle continued; a year in Sierra Leone, one in London, one child, one divorce. I packed the bags, rented out the house, took a plane to Dakar, then the ferry to the island. That’s how I ended up here, doing downward dog on the beach in peace.

Gorée is not just special because of the pastel colored buildings, lack of cars, or rich history of slavery intertwined with the thrilling tales of everyday lives. It’s more than that. There are other islands. Other stories. No…. in Gorée, the magic is in the air. It’s pure enchantment with just the right dose of reality.