This story begins where the ocean meets the sky on one side and the rain forest on the other.   I’m lucky enough to live in this Eden, and to have this tale to spew to you.   Welcome to heaven; have a nice day.

A few months ago, as I was lumbering (some call it jogging) along the beach, I met a mama.  She was fully clad in a pan and panier.   She started flailing her arms and jogging in place.  I think she was imitating me.  I can only hope it was a bad imitation.  "Wa bo dze?" she said.   What are you doing?  I don’t know how to say "lumbering" in Fang, so I said "Ma bo dzom."  I’m doing nothing.  She asked me where I lived.  "Va," I said, pointing toward Cocobeach.  She said several things that I didn’t understand.  Smile and nod, like a good Peace Corps volunteer.  After several minutes of smiling and nodding, I got a kink in my neck and my jaw was sore.  She was just getting started, by the looks of it, and I didn’t want to stick around for Chapter 2.  I said, "Ma kaeande."  I’m going home.  I turned away.  She kept flailing about embarrassingly, and jogged with me for a bit.  This was unfortunate because I was tired and didn’t want to jog anymore, but one must keep up appearances here in the jungle.  You know how it is.  Anyway, she eventually turned around.  "Dzo a dzo," I said.  See you next time.   I decided that she was a few candles short of a menorah and went on my merry way.

A week later, I was on the same stretch of beach with bare feet and a book by Sidney Sheldon to boost my intellect.  (Snarf.)  I perched myself on a log and spent an hour reading about varying love sicknesses.   Just as I was on the verge of screaming, "Oh Elizabeth! Oh, Reese! Don’t you realize that you’re in love with each other?!" the mama walked up to me.   Damn.  Just when the story was getting good.  She said, "Bia ke ande."  We’re going home.  "Mmm," I said.   Again she said, "Bia ke ande."  "Mmmm," I said.  It was a fun game.  Then she said it again, pointing at me as she said it.   "Bia ke ande. Bia ke ande."  I finally understood that the "we" included me.  Now who’s short a few candles?  Even though I didn’t want to leave Elizabeth and Reese, the mama was so inspiringly persistent I hopped off the log and started to follow her.  "Yaaa," she said.  Must be her ancient Swedish ancestry!  We walked to her house, flanked by two of her grandchildren, Lebora and Bobby.

To make a long story longer, we talked for a while with Lebora as the translator.  The woman’s name is Mama Marguerite and she doesn’t plan to buy cuttings.  She has seven grandchildren, gray hair, and one spoon. She cooked up a storm, I got the sppon, and pretty soon we were eating orgasmatron gari with sauce and some bones that smelled like fish.  I spent another hour there cleaning manioc, then I had to leave.  The tide was coming in, you see, and the beach was waning.  I waded away as I waved good-bye.  And thus a friendship was born, full of words neither of us could understand, and smiles and nods that both of us could.

I began visiting Marguerite whenever I was down that way.  Just as things were becoming really comfie, I left for vacation for a month.  In a lot of ways, I didn’t want to go.  My life in Cocobeach is too sweet to warrant a vacation.   But the tickets were already bought, and the check was in the mail.  Which leads me to my favorite part of the story.

Part 2