663 the dream...
on Jude Timothy (Ghana), 27/May/2010 00:04, 34 days ago
My eyes open and slowly and in the distance they focus on the early morning sun shimmering off a cerulean sea. Around me I become aware of the muted clink of cups on saucers and the gentle whirring of a giant wooden ceiling fan. The air is rich with the aroma of fresh coffee and tobacco. For a moment I am unsure of where I am. I hear muffled voices and slowly become conscious that I cannot understand what is being said until, as my senses gradually tune-in to their new surroundings, I recognise those familiar melodic Gallic strains.I notice a series of small round wicker tables and matching chairs on a terrace drenched in the cool, fresh glow of an early morning sun. At each table smartly dressed businessmen and women in crisply starched shirts or smart jackets pore over paperwork, tap away at computers or hunch forward in earnest debate oblivious to the calm, unruffled surroundings they find themselves in. Between the tables wanders a burly waiter black trousers, immaculate white shirt and long drawn apron tied at his waist, his footsteps tapping almost incomprehensively on the polished wooden floor. In his hand a tray, two espressos, orange juice, water, croissants.The snap and rustle of a broadsheet, on a neighbouring table, draws me further out of my slumber to an immaculately kept avenue where a man is walking past new, expensive European cars, baguette under his arm, small dog at his side. I turn again to an almost imperceptible creak as a door swings open and I catch the faintest hint of pastries and freshly baked bread wafting in on its wake.Everything suddenly seems absurd... Obviously I must be in France... Nice maybe... ? St Tropez... ? I’m not sure but if there’s sea it must certainly be the Riviera. But how did I get here... it must be a dream, vision, nightmare... after punishing it constantly with too many interrupted sleeps, too many late nights and early, early mornings, too many long body-breaking bus, train and motor-cycle journeys, my tired, worn out old body has finally cracked under the presure and is exacting it’s retribution by playing wicked tricks with my mind... I squeeze my eyes shut burying my knuckles deep into them. When I open them I know I’ll be back in Africa... back deep in the rain-forests of Gabon... back in Libreville...But... ... open again and nothing has changed.This was the reality of Libreville... a beautiful, clean, modern,‘Franco-style’ city hewn out of the dense forests of Gabon and squashed up against the sea. A tiny bit of France in amidst the jungles of Africa... I loved it...