It's that day again, the day where the rest of us are reminded how
alone--how very alone--we are. I wouldn't have even remembered, I
never know what day it is here, had Google not posted a horribly
tacky valentines day version of its site banner.
Love is in the air in Peace Corps Burkina. Probably 2/3 of my
training class have steady playmates, either other volunteers or
lovies from home. And, you know, I'm an open-minded, non-judgemental
kind of guy. Do whatever you want in the privacy of your hut.
Indeed, some of them are my very good friends, but what I can't
understand is why these HETEROSEXUALS insist on FLAUNTING it in my
FACE! ...not that I'm bitter, or anything.
Today, they will do special things for one another, sharing a coconut
before retiring to their conjugal straw mattresses. The long-
distancers will receive a special phone call, and procede to make
gushing baby noises at each other for an hour. Why should these
gaudy rituals be limited to the happily coupled amongst us? I'm
reclaiming V-day, reclaiming my right as a forsaken bachelor, an
uncaught catch, as one who can look but not touch, one who must apply
sunscreen to his own back, resulting in burns the shape of
california... my god-given right to make weepy, inane expressions of
Love. To imaginary people.
Dakar, Valentine's Day, 2005
My dearest love,
Yes, I'm still stuck in this city for one final week, and it tears me
apart to be away from you on this special day. I went for a walk on
a vast, spectacular, isolated beach the other day. But it all seemed
so dreary without you. What is the point of beauty if there's no one
to share it with? Even the most spectacular scenery seems like a
festering hell-hole when you're not there. Especially when I turn
around to see 10 men pissing all over it.
Almost as a reflection of my longing, aching soul, the usually
steadfast sun has hidden itself behind overcast clouds for the past
several days. It even rained last night. Tears from heaven,
lamenting that we should be forced to have our hands off of each
other for like a minute. I mean, come on! The rain made everything
smell like raw sewage. God, I miss you.
Of course this has ruined my plans to go to the beach every day.
Perhaps for the better. I know how you detest when my eyes wander to
other men, but I swear, when I stare at those firm round black
buttocks packaged in spandex on the beach, I think only of you!
In Dakar I've met volunteers from Mali, the Gambia, Cape Verde and
Benin as well as Senegal. None of them even approach your level of
hotness. When can we be together again? When can we once again make
out and grope, or whatever?
During those few moments when I haven't been paralyzed by my thoughts
and love for you, I've managed to put together an album of my photos
for you to view online. It's my hope that your seeing them will
bring us closer together, even though we're separated by like way too
many kilometers. Just go to http://photos.yahoo.com/pgosselin8
Maybe soon you can send me some of yourself, perhaps naughty? My
love for you is like a thin flame burning beneath my skin, but hell,
it needs rekindling sometimes.
I don't know how I managed, but I also built yet another virtual
monument to our love, to preserve all our deep, meaningful
correspondance. It's called a blog. I call it a Blog d'amour:
Now I will go shed my salty tears into Lac Rose as I dream of holding
you close to me.
Ooooooh, I need you! I miss you! Goo goo gaa gaa!