#24: Back In America: Tactile Love

Portland - Seattle - DC - NYC

Every day that passed, dusk til dawn, I often thought about those who I missed dearly. My father, my rebellious brother, my ailing mother. My devoted friends, friends who came and went, those who tactiled with me in the darkness. Strangers that passed by with a glance, those who cared enough to stop by and ask how I was doing. All of those presences were in America, either 5,000 or 8,000 miles away from where I was sitting, by the foot of the Sahara Desert. I longed for tactile, in the form of hugs, sign language or love. It was hard to come by, even as the people of Kebbi struggled to provide me even the tiniest bit. My intervenor, Marufat, only understood an inkling of how I desired full-on tactile in sign language, for she spelt everything she translated into my hands. I told her every day how I wished I could communicate so freely with someone who inhibited my first language: American Sign Language. There also was something I long desired: tactile in the form of true love. I thought I would find that in America. Sort of.

Admittedly, there was someone who kept on lingering in my mind. Every morning as I woke up, I would think of his touch, how he would wake me up. During the day, I remembered how he would go about his business, doing what he loved doing the most. In the evenings as I sat by the candlelight, I would look back at this American fellow and think about the incredible connection we both had. Eventually, in my dreams, it cast stories of how we would re-connect, once I got back to America. Some nights, I would opt to dream of those who I held dear, my family – or my friends who readily offered tactile love back in Seattle. But my dreams were occupied mostly of this guy, whom I can really confess to you, is the best crush I’ve ever had in my life.

So, when I bumped into him in the path of my American journey, my heart beat so irregularly, I thought perhaps I would pass out. There he was, as suave and charming, walking toward me. His hugs were like infinite for me, I thought I would stay there forever. His eyes twinkled happiness, his smile beamed excitement. There was the possibility, the tiniest, that I could meet ‘the one’. I saw him in a period of several days,  but with each day passing, nothing happened. My mind filled with more and more questions than answers, and as much as I wanted to shout out that I loved him, voices told me to wait. On the last day, it seemed, we would part to other avenues in our daily life: him to his career, mine to my adventures, I decided to tell him exactly how I felt.

To this day, we remain friends. He told me he loved me very much, but it wasn’t to the extent I had desired.  He was gentle, unlike the other men that had let me down so harshly. For the first time, I felt, that I could really move on so easily, because I understood where he stood, and how much he cared for me. For that instant moment my dreams of us together ended, a whole another started. No regrets. He gave me the most important lesson: forgive those who betrayed me; remember those who love me.

Onto my journey into the western shores of America I continued, in search of more and more tactile love. I found that when I landed in Portland, Oregon, in the arms of Zach Wineman. As you might recall, he was the interpreter that accompanied me to Africa, the tall, handsome blonde guy that reeked charisma. He was ecstatic to see me, and took me home – his home instead of ours in Kebbi – and nursed after my wounds. I was still healing from the surgery, feeling useless. While Zach was at work, I futilely attempted to do Yoga, my favorite activity, and it hurt so much. I missed being active, but let my body rest yet my mind running as if a mouse was doing the mill wildly. I met up with an acquaintance, Boots – not the rubber soles that everyone wears during rainy seasons in the Northwest – but an actual person named Boots. I met her during one of my wild nights out in Seattle on my birthday last January, and we clicked. Even if it was for an hour last time, we knew we wanted more time to connect – so here we were. She arranged my presentation to be held at a fab coffeehouse (oh, how Northwest), and 25 people showed up. Despite no air conditioning and everyone sweating it up, it was a success. The whole week went by in a blur, but forever thankful for the hospitality of Zach and Boots. One day, one day, Portland will experience the wrath of Coco.

Off it was to my favorite city in the whole world. I first set foot there in 2005, when Gallaudet sent me there for an internship at the Lighthouse for the Blind, Inc.. When I landed, I knew this would be the city I would call home. Not only would the 300+ Deaf Blind population win me over, it was the extraordinary scenery – the mountains by the far range, the ocean by my foot, and the smell of fresh pine and saltwater. I just knew. Oodles of tactile love followed my first and second days of touching base with my Seattle folks, they were excited to see their dear Coco back in their hometown. This had been what I had missed the most: being normal. Growing up Deaf but “blind” in the closet, I had never felt normal. Even as I never knew there was a large Deaf Blind community, I just knew that the Deaf community wasn’t entirely “me”. So indulging in days and days of beautiful tactile love really overwhelmed me, I kept reminding myself that this feeling was better than loneliness back in the desert. I gave two wonderful presentations to the community, then when I embarked onto the Seabeck Camp for the Deaf Blind, I provided two more entertaining presentations. When I set foot at Seabeck, a wonderful but intense feeling swept over me. I took all the wonderful scents of the mountains in my lungs, saw extraordinary sea life with my eyes, and placed my hand on hundreds of hands, sharing so much tactile love. I was “famous” by now, for my journal postings on the world wide web, and for my courage to survive the challenges of a Deaf Blind batura living in the remote desert of Nigeria. Many new faces, although their names familiar thoroughout the Deaf Blind world grapevine, vied to talk to me, touch my hand, proclaim that they’d talked to Coco. It was such a wonderful time getting to know the people that I’d touched throughout my writings, but it was immensely overwhelming. This year’s camp had recruited double the number of attendees due to its 30th anniversary, meaning I had very slim chance of sitting down with my oldest friends and letting out what I’d had experienced in Africa. A few tears and a lot of laughter ensued. I got to see Erin Griffin, the other half of my interpreting team, and all was well with her. She was going through big life changes, and in the small, precious moments we had together, I cherished her company. She had seen me through the most toughest challenge of my life, as Zach did.

Leaving Seattle for Washington, DC, was not what I wanted. I wanted to remain at “home”, but I knew what lay ahead. I had more presentations to give, more money to raise, and people to see. DC was somewhat a stroll down collegiate memory lane, but an reassurance that I had indeed graduated from Gallaudet. Old friends filled my available days, and during the nights I lay awake, thinking about the tactile love I’d had experienced throughout my journey in America. Never had I taken it for granted, but even more so I had cherished the availablility of communication. In Nigeria, I had to contend with a sign language that I had known when I was small but disliked, (Signed English Exact), communicating with hearing people on a daily basis through marker and paper proved to be an upscale challenge, and the lack of close friendships had made me more appreciative of what I had back “home”.

My trip in Washington, DC was extended because of hurricanes Hanna and Ike, but before I knew it, I was walking through the Helen Keller Center in Long Island, NY on my last days in America, my last chances to be fully toxicated with tactile love, then when I woke up, I was on a plane enroute to Frankurt, Germany. Then by next wink, I found myself snuggling on the most uncomfortable seat enroute to Abuja, Nigeria, West Africa.

My next chapter starts now. My work, my social life, my way of thinking. All start anew. I’m looking forward to it, especially when I know my heart lies with Africa, and less with that man I once thought would be the love of my life. I can finally move on, with new challenges, a community of Deaf people and VSO volunteers ready to welcome me into their arms. A new brand of tactile love. I can only hope that, this time, it will really be rewarding, and I can stick in it longer than I thought I could up in the desert. Working with people infected with HIV is a truly emotional avenue anyone could take, and I am humbly honored and surprised to take it on. With these people, regardless of their deadly, transferrable disease, I am ready for a whole new brand of tactile love.

Tactile love those who you hold dear, even those who inspire but instil fear in you. Fear is meant to teach you the lessons in which you learn how to love yourself, and those who embrace you in the most toughest of times.

Thank you everybody back home in America and Canada, for helping me raise $3,851.00, and for providing so much tactile love that I could stock up for the next one year and half as I remain in West Africa.

Tactile love,
Coco
--------------------