I' ve been on the Atkins diet (a protein diet) off and on throughout my time in the Caribbean and it s worked quite well. Occasionally I cheat and pay for it in more ways than one. One day, I found out Astaphan s, the local grocery store, finally had bags of chocolate chips. I had used them nearly a year ago to make chocolate bakes but they d been unavailable since. Chocolate is an extremely rare commodity here at a decent price so I took advantage of the situation and bought all ten bags, thinking who knows when they ll get more. I brought them home and popped them in my freezer for safe keeping until they were ready to be used in more chocolate PB bakes or added to banana bread.

I was thinking of having the Operation Youth Quake children learn a few skills by selling food and making their own money, so I needed to determine the cost of each chocolate bake. Each bag was 7 42. Being the meticulous person I was, I decided to count each chocolate chip in one bag to determine how many bags I could make and divide up the cost. I had nothing else to do with my time that night but watch T.V. so, while watching, I diligently started counting. 200, 400, 600 - I got to 666 at the bottom of the bag and decided to pop a few in my mouth.  That was my second mistake; The first was opening the bag.

Next thing I new, the chocolate was gone and my hand was in an empty bowl, the effects of which I wouldn t feel till much later. Early morning, I had a dream. A nightmare actually, of the world being invaded by giant pink jellyfish. I suppose that was more appropriate than pink elephants for the Caribbean. So I m laying in bed, in both my dreams and reality, being stung and paralyzed by jellies. My heart was beating fast to burn all those calories and yet I could not move. My mind is racing until I got a phone call.

I woke up from my paralysis to answer my wake-up call from Mr. Abraham because I had double-booked for 10am and wanted to ensure I met with Norma at the Social Center early. With the strangest after-effects of last night s errors, I jumped out of bed and into the shower. My brain felt strangely intoxified in a quasi-dream state hangover. My muscles were so sore but I had the energy to run all the way to Roseau or punch through a wall. The bus ride was an adventure in itself. Every stop, go, and sway was a roller-coaster ride, exaggerated as if on a Rum buzz.

Talking with Norma was a marathon of a million words per minute. It was, by far, the most concise and thorough discussion I had in a long time, leaving plenty for my next adventure - Kickball with the OPY kids; A physical high just waiting to crash. After a quick cappuccino at Chateau Noir, owned by the PCMO s daughter, to '' flush myself out " , I made my way to the Botanical Gardens to play my first game of kickball with the kids.

Being pumped up on caffeine, I was reminded of yesterday s adventures trying to control a gang of kids that all seemed to have HADD. In an attempt to let them all take part in painting the newly made chicken coop, they ganged up on me to grab for the few paint brushes. In addition to juggling over-eager kids, 100 chickens being tortured and ready to escape out a carelessly open door, and paint being flung everywhere, I had to physically pull away the young artists to allow others to take their turn painting apartment numbers for each coop.

The kickball game went a little better with more staff to control about 30 anxious children on a dreary, wet day. Holding the ball from a swarm of hands while trying to arrange make-shift bases out of large rocks took considerable effort. Getting and keeping the children s attention to form teams and explain the game took even more. As the game progressed, the kids got accustomed to the rules and coordination became easier although, by that time, my voice was already horse from shouting through the energy of rampant kids.

I lost track of the innings, but after about five, it started to rain again, cuing an end to the event with the girls winning 12 to 10. It was good timing due in part to the fact that my self-induced chocolate & caffeine high had worn off. So I returned to my abode, remembering the events of the day and looking forward to my next adventure in wonderland called Dominica.

The jungle intervenes both subtle and gross. It is entwined with life in so many ways. The dark depths send its legions to remind me every night. In this decayed abode, I pray to St. Jude to expedite my transition. It is one stop along the way to a restful nights sleep, but a nine week voyage to be endured never the less. My sleepless nights keep me awake as the floor moves and crunches beneath my feet. Pipes drip a familiar brown that crawls in every crack and crevice. Even a toothbrush is not left sacred when darkness falls.

The flicker of a diminished flashlight reveals the nightmare incarnate. To fight this invasion is a never-ending battle that cannot be won. The infestation is rooted decades strong in the filth of poor construction and a lifetime of neglect revealed in the mold and slime decorating the shower tiles. With clean dishes in the freezer, I lay still uneager for my next humble meal. With every step I take, the scamper of an invincible demon across my foot broadens my concept of tolerance. Even a welcome gecko cannot satisfy my dreams of sanity.

I can hear drunken passers-by close to my bedroom window next to the street as I make my way to the bathroom. My new toothbrush is safely in place in a sealed sandwich bag. As I pass by the shower, the roaches manage to squeeze under the shampoo bottle placed over the drain to pointlessly prevent their intrusion. At least I now have a towel covering the window above the toilet directly overlooking my neighbor s balcony. The chapped plastic toilet seat gives no comfort, but that is the least of my worries since the repair of the cracked sewer pipe oozing raw sewage on my bathroom floor. At least it flushed on the third attempt.

I learned quickly not to dare walk barefoot since the squirmy popping puss after accidentally stepping on the inevitable. Once back in bed, I reassured myself of security by surrounding my bedposts with boric acid for the second time that week. As I lay there, I cannot help but let my mind wander. The cloudy eyes of my landlady cannot see what awaits for her. The recurring nightmare of a vile stench from a rotting old woman s corps covered with the very legion that has infested my lair echoes in my brain with each crawling reminder, yet somehow I fall asleep and await the safety of another sun lit day.

I woke at midnight to the sound of a swarm of dozens of mosquitoes that were buzzing in my ears. I swung at them but they just kept coming so I stumbled to my feet and turned the light on to reveal dozens more in a haphazard pattern poised for the attack. Smashing any number of them was futile since I soon discovered gaping holes in the rusty window's mosquito screen; I reconciled that problem with an Engineer's ingenuity by stuffing two dirty socks in the holes but it was much too late. I had to go to the outside of the front door to stuff one sock and thus fumbled with the key to get out. The door would not unlock and so I was forced to go around through the back door and bathroom hallway to get the job done.  

I checked my watch to discover an hour had gone by. I'm sitting, attempting to divide my time writing this log after trying to roam the grounds outside. The piercingly annoying sound of the nuns' tiny dog was going to wake everyone so I braved another attempt at returning to my room to write. For a while, I heard someone coughing or sneezing but ultimately it turned out to be strange sounds from my squeaky old bed and I was unfortunately awake and alone to this nightmare. Of course, as the saying goes, misery loves company. No one informed us to bring anything but three days changes of clothes... Our mosquito nets and medical kits would be well used here for obvious reasons. One buzzing vulture after another slowly falls prey to my clapping hands but I fear the collective swarm is winning as I watch one sting me while five more distract. A well planned plot on the part of the enemy.

The buzzing sound is now engraved into my brain and I find myself swinging and slapping aimlessly. I look forward to my morning shower but check my watch to discover only 15 minutes have passed. It seems emergent behavior is protecting the swarm as they fly away from my deadly hand and disappear into the background camouflage to regroup seconds later. I find it amazing how such small parasites can hone in despite my now open curtains allowing occasional gusts of air. Their stingers penetrate the scant clothing I dare wear in such a hot climate yet they tend to prefer bare ankles. I suppose they are attempting to get a location far from an easy reach. I've heard once that only the female of the species bites and must wonder if there is another gender after a night like tonight.

As I continue writing, I glance at the screen to find yet more holes, all-be-it small ones, but nothing to plug them with. The attack continues but the remaining swarm rarely lands to feed off me. Perhaps the breeze and sock filled holes has had an effect after all. That is a good sign. Suddenly, there are dogs barking loudly nearby. I wonder if they were awakened by another resident; I would enjoy the company but the barking subsides as quickly as it started and my attention is redrawn to my writing.

I contemplated an effort to sleep as the swarm has subsided but debate the wisdom of creating a false hope. A door slams but I see no one walk by my windows. Perhaps it was the wind closing the bathroom door hanging from large squeaky hinges. I have decided to brave another attempt at a long awaited sleep as the wind picks up outside and my eyes hang heavy from anxiety and desperation. I noticed a spider on the wall sucking the remains of one of my kills and so my despair quickly dissipates as I dozed off into a slumber trance.

It's 2:15 AM. Little time has passed. A new wave of despair has overcame me as feared. The swarm is more desperate now since I have emerged from under the drape of sweat laden sheets. They are landing directly on me and I managed to kill a few with the lights on. The draped sheet method of cloak was barely effective and the stench alone probably would've kept me awake. My feet hung over the end of the small folding cot and I was forced to lay motionless while holding the sheet off my face. At least the cool breeze is a welcome change as I sit writing again.

Smack! Smack! Smack! One after another drone falls prey to my hands during their rapid aerial assault. The enemy body count gives me some reprise but my itching skin reminds me I am still losing the war. It's going to be a long night. I'm thinking of starting yesterday's log which I had forgotten and continue to whittle away my hours pealing off flaking skin. These elusive mosquitoes are intelligent as they regroup around me but I manage to kill a few from time to time. There is no reasoning with the swarm... They must all die! It is an endless task with little reward, especially at this late hour.

A casualty lands on my paper and leaves its bloody remains after my new battle tactic; Earlier, I had bug-sprayed my shirt sleeves and neck, with the grateful donation from a friend, and have now put the shirt back on in an attempt to lure the bastards in front of me. I will use their instinctive blood thirsts against them! One, two, three! Smack! They lie motionless and mangled after I smash them on the sheet in front of me. Another image of concern clouds my mind as their striped fat bodies remind me of malaria mosquitoes from the postings and the unpurified tap water drunk all day that may still prove to make us all ill.

As I write yesterday's log, I feel the need to shift my weight off my unsupported back. I grabbed the folding chair and positioned it in front of the window but my legs were now unstrategically exposed for an easy kill. The swarm was quick to take advantage of the opportunity. The mortality of the enemy is high; I can see bodies everywhere. The sprayed shirt method was working! I just saw someone walk by to use the bathroom. There was a glance in my direction but no words exchanged. The buzzing in my ears has been temporarily displaced by the spots before my eyes when I instinctively smacked myself trying to kill the buzzard perched on my nose. I can hear a rooster crowing in the distance and can't help but wonder if my delirious state was playing tricks on my mind.

It's 3:20 AM and I have gotten up to stretch and take a very brief tour of my room. Emergent behavior has been noticed as the swarm has found a new route to my exposed skin. They are concentrating their efforts on my face and coming at my legs from below so not to be seen easily. I just noticed a strange mark on my foot; It doesn't itch but a weird lightened round area with a red dot center has appeared. A new stinging sensation has overcome me since I carelessly smacked a mosquito on my crotch. I won't make that mistake again. I turned back to writing and periodically watched my feet. There were three vampires sucking on my same big toe. They dispersed quickly when discovered. I'll have to deal with them later.

The unfamiliar itch of unbathed skin in day old clothes has begun. It is now 3:45 AM and I have taken my second brief stretch-tour as I scratched my remaining sun burnt skin. The ever-evading buzzards have distracted me from my writing too often so I have moved back to sitting on the bed. It will be at least another hour and a half before sunrise. My breath reeks with a rancid taste in my mouth. I'm contemplating a mouthwash gargle to pass the time. It's unusual for someone to smell his own bad breath so it must be bad.

It's 4:10 AM now. I tried laying on my bed but it was little comfort for my aching body. My drowsy eyes could not close due to the irritable persistence of these damn unrelentless drones! They attacked my exposed face from beyond my peripheral vision. I returned to my writing and found myself scratching more feverishly. Aaaagh! I hate those bastards! I'll use my frustration as fuel to get me through the night. I can see my stuffed socks through the rusty grating of the window and wish I were so eternally complacent to staying in one place. I find myself fidgeting more as I become more irritated and aware of passing time that seems to move ever so slowly. My vulnerability is increasing for a variety of reasons and so I question again when it will all end.

It's 4:45 AM. Yesterday's log is finished and I'm having a difficult time keeping my attention focused. My mind is wandering as I sit here and often daze into empty space. I've smacked an occasional mosquito but they either have retreated or are full from the blood sucked in my deliriously numb condition. My back pain has forced me into my third stretch-tour and I took the opportunity to freshen my overpowering breath.

Is it my imagination or are the roosters crowing louder? Perhaps I'm hearing things! It's 6 AM. I've survived the on-slot of the swarm! The past hour or so has been fairly bug free and I managed to lay in bed reading my packet information. I laughed at some of the slang list and made up some spicy nonsense sentences out of them to pass time. The sun rose about a half hour ago and I barely noticed. I'm exhausted from the war and have plenty of battle wounds to boot. I'll be sure to demand an adequate room today as this is intolerable! I passed a six inch black centipede on my way to take a dribbling ice cold shower and returned to my room to change. It was a refreshing relief from a long night of endless battles. Naked and still irritable, I grabbed a clean shirt on my hanger. A black cloud rapidly emerged from within and I realized in a flash of exposure that the war had just begun!

Another day had begun

I awoke late in the tropical sun

With dreams of paradise won

A mission fulfilled and fun

Without the prior feeling to run

A cold shower before my ride

Aboard a crowded rocking tide

Of people cramped side by side

But I must abide and cannot hide

My destiny to make and keep my pride

Behind the shores of beauty war had unfold

Parables of French atrocities and British being bold

Fruit and sugar cane sold

Resulted in slavery revolt unfold

Surviving Caribs stayed hidden for centuries old

It was in a normal way as every day

Two large coins here I must pay

Save a few for the rest of the day

To buy my fruit I jokingly say

Don t cheat me now in the tourist way

Walking down the crowded street

For every native that I meet

Good day with smile repeat I greet

And sweat profusely again beat

By the ever blazing torrential heat

Once in office it s comfortably cold

As I type my work I worry of scold

For I have been blackmailed by cold

Government incompetence foretold

Who wish to protect their own gold

On a balcony above I can see

Below me moving a turbulent tree

Of colourful craftsman bartering in glee

And a conch shell blowing across a knee

To announce his catch from the sea

For my meal it s hard to be

On a protein diet custom made for me

To withstand the Taiwanese delicacy

And avoid starchy Carib foods practically free

So now I eat but must soon flee

I reminisce of carnival colours and family unified

A festive celebration rainbow island wide

Neither age, gender, nor tourist divide

When sliding through the crowd they collide

A spirit of togetherness has become mummified

Caribbean music noise is a sonic boom

Calypso steel drum bands roam and loom

While I photograph with my camera zoom

Tribal rhythms emanate from heart and womb

And I avoid devils who spell an ancient doom

Of a fruity concoction I begin to sip

From a street vendor I leave a tip

To a pool with children I must take a dip

And beg to differ when told I nip and whip

Them into shape before their swimming trip

It s no dispute the children here are all so cute

A sin that some will grow to loot

Grenada s prejudice is all but mute that can t dilute

But Dominicans play and craft the flute

Still tourists and Peace Corps avoid aggressive brute

Again I travel homeward bound

A night so still with little sound

But crashing waves a rolling pound

I feel at last a peace I ve found

My search for paradise all around

Bug invasions may never slow

Hummingbirds drink from flowers yellow

Choral reefs harbour life as they grow

On a ship I stow not far bellow

To watch dolphins play and whales blow

The sun hangs low on heaven s set

A time like that when first I met

A peaceful envy without a fret

Watching colours melt on fishermen s last net

Then to my abode I scamper from rain so wet

Now I rest on my bamboo seat

A ball of fur purrs and rubs at my feet

Awaits impatient for a treat

A can of tuna so petite

For I have eaten most the meat

A chorus of roosters and dogs ring in my ears

As I try to sleep through a stream of tears

For I have beaten many my fears

Appeased my family and peers worries and jeers

And will remember these days for all my years

- Another day in paradise