Would you believe it, there wasn’t a single banana on all of Banana Islands. A textbook example of a sad misnomer, the whole three-island chain, as far as I could tell, boasted one lame Banana tree that even Charlie Brown would’ve written off. But, did this tragedy ruin my three day visit to the islands? Did the lack of crescent fruit spoil my fun? Did I spend my time listlessly staring up at the island’s Banana-less canopy? No. Because that place is overall fabulous.
An obvious destination after the In-Service-Training that brought all the Peace Corps Volunteers back together in the southern city of Bo, a few handfuls of us spent our Christmas holiday surrounded by the blue of the Atlantic ocean several miles off Sierra Leone’s mountainous coast. I’ve never really been to an island before, and I was surprised to find myself gingerly walking on the trail from the harbor to Dalton’s Guest House, unsure of the ground. What, did I think the island was a big soggy sponge? Anyway, by the time we gained the guest house where we would spend the next two nights I had stopped walking all weird and the ground had proven itself sufficiently tough. The dinosaur trees on the island could’ve proven this by inspection…but then again, maybe the cacophony of vines weaving the jungle together were holding them up.
Dalton’s Guest House is one of a few on the island. Getting there was a good bit of fun, Dalton himself picked us up from Kent beach on the mainland in an appealingly orange boat. Of course, like all transportation in Africa, everything managed to barely fit. If there had been ten of us instead of fifteen we would’ve barely fit, and if there had been fifty instead we would’ve barely fit. Magic.
I see no reason not to shamelessly promote this place- everything was great. The big ‘ol beds very comfortably slept the two people that we assigned to them and in lieu of the soon-to-be-completed showers, the jovial staff supplied us with buckets of hot water to wash with. Our dinners of Texan proportion were served underneath a deck built up through the trees, both levels having a happy view of the small, sheltered beach which in turn had a view of the azul shifting carpet that rolled out till it defined the horizon. It was out of the ocean that ‘Gregory’ pulled the underwater mammoths that constituted our tuck. Simply fish and onions boiled in water from Dalton’s would make crusty Pirate Lords tear up a bit, and the three or four more dishes wee were attacked with brought our taste buds to their little, slippery knees.
But we didn’t just sit around feasting. Dalton’s also offers several expeditions for various prices- everything from sitting in a boat big-game fishing, to taking a three –day scuba diving course to look at some of the many sunken ships around the island. Our main host during our stay was Gregory. He was from Greece, probably my favorite of his stories was about the backpacking trip he had gone on through the depth of Africa- “I planned to do it in dee one year, but… it took three year.” Anyway, he’s a dive master and, after seeing him walk out of the water in slow motion, spear gun in hand, I begged him to teach me to free dive and become an underwater hunter. He agreed, and I think I’ll be heading back in April during spring break. Fierce.
So having seen an exotic aquarium’s worth of fish simply snorkeling off the beach, myself and some others set off to explore the length of the islands on foot. We went at our own paces, the walk was reportedly three hours one-way, and I was soon happily humming through the jungle by myself, vines and branches encroaching on my vague trail. I took the monkeys I saw just a ways down the trail as a good omen. I’m sure my resemblance to them is what made them reveal themselves to myself alone amongst the adventurers that day. The islands are narrow, and the trail often has picture-framed views of coves, boulders, and trees forming private beaches for the mermaids that could be seen sunning on the rocks.
Just after the bridge between the two largest islands, my super powers fully activated. I was still glancing over my shoulder at the narrow rock isthmus that delicately threaded the two islands together when I heard a sinister sound I had suspected would assault my senses- a snake. I turned just in time to see the entire 20 foot length of its body coil before launching through the air at me, its body motionless as my mind all but stopped time. Almost with regret I firmly planted my feet as I backhanded its barrel sized head against a tree. There was a new king on the island today and he loved kicking snake tail. As I finished securing its body around the rock on the peak of the island’s highest mountain, I remember saying something menacing over my shoulder like, “Do that again and I’ll give you another snake hole.” Except I accidentally put the emphasis on “give” so it sounded like I was literally going to dig him another home.
But seriously people, I saw a black Mamba. It was laying in the trail but slithered off a ways when I chucked a seashell at it. How cool is that?
After reaching the end of the island, I asked myself, “What would Huckleberry Finn do?” then I stripped down and took a great swim before walking the entirely uneventful way back. News reports from Brazil say they saw a glow on the horizon from my nakedness, but it’s Brazil so they just chuckled and kept salsa dancing while deforesting the Amazon.
As we puttered our way back to the mainland the next day, the merpeople sang goodbye in chorus on the rocks as schools of fish described shimmering semicircles out of the waves and a rainbow framed the strengthening sun that silhouetted a herd of winged pegasi. It was a good vacation.
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