Bliss in the Bijagos

I just returned from a week in the Bijagos Archipelago in Guinea-Bissau. Ever heard of it? Haha, that sounds cocky, but honestly, before I came to Africa, I don't know if I could have told you where to find Guinea-Bissau. Is it Guinea, Equatorial Guinea, Guinea-Bissau, French Guyana, or Papua New Guinea? They're spread out from South America to the Pacific Islands, and no one knows anyone who's been to any of these places.

Well, now you do.

But, after a week away with a friend who I've met on the road, I almost feel as if it never happened. As if the whole thing was a dream, and if I look back at my camera or my journals, I'll find them blank, the memories existing only in my mind.

It isn't so much that the place is so extraordinarily beautiful, which it is, or that it's so little-known and visited that it's difficult to find anyone else who's even heard of this dreamscape, which is also true. No, this particular dream seems unreal because of all the events that seemed to come together from outside our ken to give us an unbelievable experience. Everyone, I hope, has had a moment like this, where forces just seem to align in all the right ways to give you personally, you and only you, one week of true happiness. I fear even mentioning any specifics of this trip as it might mar or change the dream in some irreparable way. There are some things that we have to hold within ourselves to preserve them and keep them pure. If I were to write down all the complexities and adventures, I fear that they would leave me and never return. I can, however, say that the islands are a totally unique, amazing destination: white powder beaches washed by an azure sea, the people of the islands a community isolated by shallow waters littered with rocks and sandbars, dangerous currents, and extreme tides. A place where it's quite easy to spend the entire day on a completely isolated beach with nothing but your thoughts and a bottle of cana, a sweet, spiced liqueur reminiscent of a light Irish Cream. It's also possible to strike inland, as we did, and explore the villages, pick cashew apples under the watchful gaze of women roasting the nuts and making cashew wine, and meet people who are so unused to tourists that they never think of calling you toubab, obroni, annasara, opporto, yovo, or any other of the dozens of names for white people in West Africa.

I can't say enough about this place, but again, I'm conflicted because I feel by speaking it aloud, this gem might lose some of its luster. I can condense it though. We avoided a coup the day we arrived, found a boat that had already boarded all its passengers and took us along anyway, heard about a festival on a nearby island for the Easter weekend, and met the organizers and several of the musicians, one of whom is even a prince whose kingdom extends over 90 villages in eastern Guinea-Bissau. First prince I'd ever met, and truly, a fascinating guy. And perhaps the best thing about the entire trip is that now I share memories with someone who I barely knew before we traveled together. It may seem paradoxical, but I've found traveling with someone you barely know to be the best experience. After one week together,we have a bond that will forever link us in friendship, and a dream that we may never be sure actually occurred.