Seaside Reel – 50 Years After<\/b><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Staring out to sea from Ostania shores<\/span><\/p>\n Suddenly, distances I had never swum<\/span><\/p>\n Heaved, rewinding to a close goodbye –<\/span><\/p>\n A time out in Badagry that nearly<\/span><\/p>\n Timed out, terminally. Land folk<\/span><\/p>\n Should learn to read sea omens. My<\/span><\/p>\n Campagnola, hidden in a palm cluster<\/span><\/p>\n To deflect the curious – the Atlantic salt<\/span><\/p>\n Ate through its night eyes. a brand<\/span><\/p>\n Now obsolete, a seasoned forest raider,\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Many years of service, an alter ego.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Badagry\u2019s Point of No Return was<\/span><\/p>\n Nearly named for me. It\u2019s resurrected.<\/span><\/p>\n Restored\u00a0 to active service, dismal history.<\/span><\/p>\n A\u00a0 swollen staging post for a new\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Slave manifold \u2013 this time dead willing \u2013<\/span><\/p>\n A wish that\u2019s mostly granted. Their hopeful\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Eyes feed plankton, sharks. Their spirits<\/span><\/p>\n Roam the\u00a0 shores of Lampedusa, Ostania –<\/span><\/p>\n Seeking greener pastures in grey mists.<\/span><\/p>\n Sibling elements have corroded – deeper<\/span><\/p>\n Than headlamps, chassis, or steel fender –<\/span><\/p>\n Their ever eager flesh. The sea partners<\/span><\/p>\n Wind and salt, their mission reads- corrosion.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n And the mind parts the misted distance<\/span><\/p>\n To that sandfill memory, nineteen sixties.<\/span><\/p>\n The wasting age of migrants yet undreamt,<\/span><\/p>\n Unpredicted. Stowaways were rarities.<\/span><\/p>\n Heroes, Jason\u2019s black Argonauts, pursuing<\/span><\/p>\n The golden fleece. Fagunwa\u2019s Akara-ogun.<\/span><\/p>\n Braving monsters, reaping wealth and wisdom.<\/span><\/p>\n Dreamers in pursuit of the alchemical stone<\/span><\/p>\n Ulysses seeking knowledge, or simply<\/span><\/p>\n Adventurers. Romantics. The long sea<\/span><\/p>\n Voyage beckoned. They responded.<\/span><\/p>\n Stayed for ever, or re-visited, dispensed<\/span><\/p>\n Exotic airs and flair. Envied. Veterans<\/span><\/p>\n Of London, Paris, Manchester, Rome<\/span><\/p>\n Raconteurs of gold-lit paving stones,<\/span><\/p>\n Obliging genie from Aladdin\u2019s magic lamp\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n But still recall how sea mists ate through<\/span><\/p>\n The chrome of my Campagnola. I knew<\/span><\/p>\n The rivers, not the sea, an honoured denizen<\/span><\/p>\n Of\u00a0 forestries of Oke-iho, Oyo, Iseyin,\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Makurdi, Upper Ogun, stalking game\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Luxuriating in the land\u2019s diversity \u2013<\/span><\/p>\n Mambila, Bida, Mokwa. Fitfully, the sea<\/span><\/p>\n Partnered land as mood differential, offering<\/span><\/p>\n Sanctum but\u00a0 \u2013 tuned to a different liturgy –<\/span><\/p>\n Surf carols, wave recessionals, each<\/span><\/p>\n Ministering to that frequent need \u2013 Solitude.<\/span><\/p>\n Instinctive squatter, a beachhead chalet<\/span><\/p>\n Offered free tenancy for a while.\u00a0 Peace.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Locked in its lonely benefice,\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n An Olivetti typewriter my workhorse,<\/span><\/p>\n Slaved through pages night and day<\/span><\/p>\n Fashioning a new text for the stage, an idyll<\/span><\/p>\n Free of distraction. Alien sun-worshippers<\/span><\/p>\n Dallied with locals and returning<\/span><\/p>\n Fishermen, children dodged in and out\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Of hanging nets, astride sand castles, all\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Safely distanced. The wind alone linked us,\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Echoes, the smell of smoked fish, faint\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Hawking tunes the only conversation.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n But the salt wind, silently at work<\/span><\/p>\n Gouged its warning on the metal slate<\/span><\/p>\n Complacently in hiding. Bravely it endured<\/span><\/p>\n Teeth marks of spume borne piranhas<\/span><\/p>\n All five nights and days facing the wind.<\/span><\/p>\n Sea salt and metal do not dialogue peace.<\/span><\/p>\n The chrome turned rust and curled tinsel peel.<\/span><\/p>\n A warning lay parked in a Campagnola \u2013 as<\/span><\/p>\n The scribbler labored, so did salt and wind.<\/span><\/p>\n The sea patiently nursed its turn.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n The drudge deserved his hour of rest – a pause<\/span><\/p>\n From hard labour.\u00a0 The salt sea beckoned,<\/span><\/p>\n I waded in shallow waters, splashed,<\/span><\/p>\n Yielded to the sea caress and lay backwards.<\/span><\/p>\n The mind drifted. As did encasing flesh.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n The tug was sudden.\u00a0 A force malignant<\/span><\/p>\n Seized the offering by the legs, jerked it\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Thereunder. Thunder roared about his ears.<\/span><\/p>\n Spun him upside down, slammed a gasping<\/span><\/p>\n Rag against invisible wrecks, coral stings.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n No wonder, that portion of the beach<\/span><\/p>\n Was deserted.\u00a0 It lacked signposting –\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Home of undertows. No one had thought<\/span><\/p>\n Of inland scribblers sneaking on the sea<\/span><\/p>\n To craft dialogues in abandoned huts.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Legs wrapped in water whorls, head\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Hurled against seabed \u2013 never was sand<\/span><\/p>\n So hard, so relentless, an unequal fight to break<\/span><\/p>\n To surface \u2013 still, it ended in my favour.<\/span><\/p>\n Only a brief victory lap remained, shore bound\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Reunion with Olivetti , Campagnola,<\/span><\/p>\n Reminiscences of how I lived to tell the tale.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n It proved\u00a0 the longest journey ever. Why<\/span><\/p>\n Was the land receding? And now, time<\/span><\/p>\n Also vanished, taking the faded land with it?\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The sea mist parted, the puzzle ended –<\/span><\/p>\n The sun was poised over sea, not land. A mind<\/span><\/p>\n Concussed had misread the sun suspended\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Over nets of safety. Sea waves swallowed<\/span><\/p>\n The swimmer\u2019s loneliest sigh of heart\u2019s depletion.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n A glimpse of\u00a0 sharks on the horizon and –<\/span><\/p>\n Desperate strength returned to leaden arms.<\/span><\/p>\n Turning, in mocking distance, he saw\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The weekend picnickers. They seemed\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Mere homunculi\u00a0 through misted glass\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n As, despairing, he reordered compass points.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The shoal of sharks was magic. It worked<\/span><\/p>\n Faster than the fastest energy drink.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n An outboard motor, amphibian<\/span><\/p>\n Campagnola,\u00a0 propulsion rocket<\/span><\/p>\n Yet unpatented. Fear demolished distance<\/span><\/p>\n As arm strokes, reinvigorated, drove<\/span><\/p>\n The drifter nearer land, swallowing brine.<\/span><\/p>\n Time to risk hoarded strength, seek help<\/span><\/p>\n For that final safety stretch. He raised<\/span><\/p>\n One arm, alternated, waved the other\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Relaying a frantic SOS to the living world.<\/span><\/p>\n Sublime the sight of arms responding \u2013 help<\/span><\/p>\n Would come breasting for the final surge!<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n The heart returned to stone. They resumed<\/span><\/p>\n Weekender end of day motions – folding mats<\/span><\/p>\n Herding children, draining final dregs<\/span><\/p>\n