Monday, February 14, 2005

Happy F*@$#king Valentines!

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

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!

Eternally yours,