June 5, 2008

#17: Coco, the Alchemist of Birnin-Kebbi

On lazy afternoons once in a while, I would put out my handwoven blood-red Muslim mat (it doubles as a lush bathroom mat) out on the veranda, slather some sunscreen on, pop on the shades, suck on delicious ripe Nigerian oranges and immerse myself in the classic, The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho.

I had plucked that book out of the Chapters bookstore large print shelf, ecstatic that I had found this specific book in text size I could read easily. I had gotten so many positive raves from my friends, notably several from Seattle (ode to you true bookworms) and saw several omens along the path to the book that told me I HAD to get it. Before buying the book, I had seen this book in the oddest places: on a woman’s lap on the tube in New York City; discarded advertisement from a bookstore for The Alchemist blowing its way down the street in Seattle; on bookshelves and displays here and there. I kept seeing the book on my friends’ nightstands and in their backpacks. These omens told me that the book had a special message for me, so it came into my possession in January when I bought a stock of books for my African journey.

I will confess, to the most surprised readers, that I am not as literate as you think I am. I don’t like to read books much. Not because they’re not invaluable or educational, but because of my short term memory, my tight pockets, too much reading in college that it wore out my eyes and sometimes the literature I bought didn’t interest me. I could find more excuses – let’s sum it up by saying I get easily distracted and don’t ever finish a book. In high school, I was quite the bookworm but that all changed when I moved to college and packed up my Nancy Drew, Fear Street and Judy Blume books so I could have shelf space for dull textbooks. Especially these huge, thick History books. Bleh.

With The Alchemist, it is a different story. The covers of the book are cracked, bent and rustic-looking, as if someone read the hell out of these books. Which is just what I did. Mainly because it is the only literature in large print I have (one large box full of books/resources had to be left behind in March because of a hefty $1,000 fee for transporting two more on the plane), and because the book is simply the definition of me. Truly, madly, deeply the epitome of what I am going through, the eerie resemblance of the background being the desert – a place I also call home.

I don’t want to spoil too much, but I can say this – the book is a truly captivating read, from beginning to end. It is a fictional story of a young boy who leaves behind his sheep flock in quest of the unknown, a treasure called the Personal Legend. He experiences detours, barriers, tough decisions and pessimism along the way to finding his life’s treasure. The meaning is explained in the beginning of the newest edition of the book, so you can understand the morale of the journey the boy takes across the Sahara Desert.

Coelho says there are four things that stop someone from achieving their Personal Legends (life dreams) – and they are simply: money, love/family, pessimistic people who disencourage, and lastly, when the person is finally at their treasure (the dream has come true) he or she tells themselves that they aren’t good enough or don’t deserve to have the dream.

I have given up so much in order to pursue my own Personal Legend. I have left my family back home when they need me the most; I have left a secure community I called home in Seattle; I am sacrificing the chance to have love; and the guarantee that I would have equal access to everything. Life has become tougher, because of my blindness, and living in the desert has brought me upon the brink of insanity sometimes. But the book reminds me that I am the boy in pursuit of his treasure, going across the desert in order to find true meaning to his life and he will be rewarded when he finishes his journey. Will my journey end when I leave Africa? Or is my Personal Legend not yet complete? Will I ever have true love even if it means he has to wait for me to complete my Personal Legend?

When I return home this summer, I will sweep off the dust of my box, take out the other Coelho book, The Witch Of Portobello. It’s supposed to be a book about a reviled but admired woman in the center of the city, the book has different voices from people who have their own opinion of her. Paulo Coelho is from Brazil, and it was in several dreams that I and my true love are sitting in a banana boat, paddling down the Amazon under the hot Brazilian sun. An omen, perhaps?

Trust the omens, follow them towards your life’s dreams and die fulfilled.

Tactile love,

Coco

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