A taste of paradise at Akwidaa

Bliss. And an overwhelming sense of gratitude for everything that I have. That's how I felt during the three days that I was in Akwidaa, an idyllic fishing village at the mouth of an estuary and bordering the Atlantic Ocean. I arrived late Saturday afternoon, apparently on the wrong tro-tro, which took the new town route. The route to the old town, though still an unpaved road, was like a Formula One racetrack compared to the deeply gullied dried mud path that the inbound van took. People literally dusted themselves off when the got off the van.

As usual, several people asked where I needed to go, and pointed me in the right direction. "Go down the hill, over the bridge, and it's two beaches down from the village". So down the small hill I went. And that's when my "blessings" started to mount. First, the overcast sky that I've been under for the past three days lent way to a warm setting sun and luminous light. As I emerged from the houses onto the beach below, three brightly colored pirogues (long fishing boats) greeted me on the estuary, with the village across, and beyond that, the deep blue of the Atlantic Ocean. To my right, a narrow wooden bridge held up by what looked like sticks connects the mainland to the village. As I approached, four young people bearing twigs and small logs on their heads cross the bridge, silhoutted against the blue sky, a small promontory in the distance. Of course I stopped to take a photo. As I'm crossing the bridge, I can't but think to myself, "I have entered paradise". I tried to send Ben a text message but alas, no signal.


(Click on photo to go to album)

And then it gets better. I walk along the sandy beach, golden light and warm breeze on my skin, the Atlantic crashing twenty feet to my right, foaming and racing onto the beach, while on my left, palm trees. You know, the "stereotypical" beach scene. My small backpack feels even lighter, and I have a spring in my step. I am so lucky, I think to myself.

I pass by the first beach, where the Green Turtle Lodge was located, accompanied by two young boys from the village both waiting for their examination results and uncertain of their ability to pay for high school). I have tried to make a reservation there, but they were full, and I was glad I had to stay further down. I am sure everyone there is very nice, but they certainly cater to the younger, backpacking/student volunteering crowd. So on I go, round another bend before I reach the Safari Beach Lodge.

And by a convoluted arrangement that I won't go into, I get to stay in a very tastefully decorated ocean front chalet as big as my living room, with a 4-poster king size bed and an almost perfect view for $40/night. (View marred by stump of palm tree smack dab in the middle of field of vision from the bed). I decided I could afford to splurge.

Dinner--seared halibut-like fish in a bright red lobster sauce that tasted like the sea; with a fluffy yam cake, crunchy on the outside and soft but not starchy. I asked for a side of the corn relish that accompanied the beef dish. Such a good choice as the smell of cloves filled my senses, followed by the slight crunch of the sweet corn, and then just enough heat from the chilies to tingle. After meal after meal of banku, palaver sauce, fried plantains and rice, this was a very welcome change.

And the atmosphere was lovely. The jazz music and the kerosene lamps, and yes, again, the crashing waves. I smiled and tasted, and danced in my head, and my thoughts were flooded with all the things that I have the privilege of enjoying, many without thinking. Never again can I ever step into a hot shower; turn on a faucet with potable, running water; flip the switch for instant on lighting; flush the toilet; put a plastic object into the recycling bin; pick up a book; eat a meal; step on an airplane etc, without being thankful. Indeed, I was so profoundly grateful, so profoundly aware of my privilege, I don't quite know whether to feel happy or sad.