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My cousin David is young, fed up and restless. He told me that I’d have enough after 2 months in Seychelles. I’m nearing that amount of time here and although it has been trying on all fronts, I could never get fed up of being with my family and learning more about my roots, history and culture. Day by day I grow to understand why my mum and the family that emigrated abroad will always feel like fish out of water outside of their home, why the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow can never make up for being away from what makes up the essence of your being.
The mosquito surveys are going ok, although I’ve become a bit worried about the research that I’m conducting, mostly because it has dawned on me that I’m not entirely sure what the hell my main aims are. I have a wealth of information, it’s just knowing what to do with it. To top things off, my tutor at Kings has declined my request for an extension until November. When I read this news in my email today I almost lost the will to carry on, but after a pep talk from Danny, the Director, and his offer of a Smirnoff ice coupled with a data gathering exercise, I was motivated to carry on.

Davinia has been here over a week now and although we are having a great time, her arrival signifies the end of my time here and the thought of leaving does make me feel a bit sad. My family have taken her in and have simply amazed me at how wonderful they really are at making her feel welcomed. They simply want her to have a great time and are already looking forward to her return. I don’t get to see them often and this time spent with them has been ‘pli bon’ as we say in creole or simply lovely.

Davinias’ easy going nature works for me during this time of immense stress with the project. Today my friend come tour guide Terence took us to a beach at North east point after work and we sat on the rocks watching the waves crash and sun go down while teasing each other. By day we count mosquito eggs, by night we visit and chat (or on occasion dance) with various family members and friends, ending up with dinner at Drinas and drinks at Cocos. Tomorrow Davinia will be going jet skiing and I’ll be doing the mosquito survey thing (one more survey to go, woohoo!).

Her birthday is on Monday, and from her scrappy knowledge of GCSE French, my family giving her daily creole lessons, and my cousin Jimmys crap secret keeping skills, she managed to decipher our surprise birthday plans for her. What we’ve organised is a party on my cousin Coco’s verandah this coming Sunday.

There’ll be a barbecue and we’ve managed to get the best musicians on the island to attend including the famous Kevin Rat. Apparently he was the most famous singer this island ever turned out, but after much womanising and 30 kids later, alcohol got the better of him. I simply cannot imagine him as a heart-throb, I even think he takes after his name and has a rattish look to him. Kevin Rat a lothario?! -but that’s how everyone describes how he was back in the day. He’s a thin wisp of a man with wild shoulder length hair and an unruly beard who can just about walk straight. Although I do wonder how much of it is an act for sympathy (one day I saw him on crutches, the next day he was walking fine along the mountainous terrain). He still does a few impromptu performances on demand (providing the drinks are flowing of course). Titante smacks her lips whenever she talks about his voice and considering she doesn’t dish out compliments too easily he must be very good indeed. I can’t wait to hear him perform. I’ve also convinced my uncle Lewis (the best bassist on the island wouldn’t you know) to find a guitar and play for me, he laid down his guitar 38 years ago so I feel quite honoured.

We’ve also got a well known musician Joel performing and I think we are going to have a sega dancing competition, Davinias learned the hip swaying quite quick, but I’m still going to take the title. It should be pretty damn great (

My little dog Bush is doing well. He walked me to the shops today and tried to follow Davinia and I to town. I’m a bit paranoid about him running around so free as my Uncle Gabbys dog ‘Tiny’ died recently. Tiny had eaten poison left out for stray dogs a couple of weeks ago. Another family dog Rocky also nearly died, but after being force fed milk and some tender loving care from my aunty Marlene, he survived. As you can imagine everyone was pretty sad at Tinys demise. When I first met Tiny, I had to sit through the whole story of when he was born and how cute he was etc. For me there is-or was should I say a line of demarcation between humans and animals.

I gave platitudes while rolling my eyes at the time but now I’m understanding where all that animal love is coming from. My cousin Ruth told me that it was there deep inside, in my blood as all my family are obsessed (she’s a vet) and I just needed to tap into it somehow. Now I think I’ve found my dog mojo. I don’t think I’d ever have one in the UK though. Compared to over here, dogs are babied and treated like silly creatures and it seems to reflect in their behaviour so it just wouldn’t be the same. I can’t even walk myself, let alone a dog, anyhow.

My great uncle Ro-Ro had the most amazing dog ever, Kristoff. From birth he trained Kristoff well. Uncle Ro-Ro used to put money in Kristoffs mouth and send him to the shop for beer, he’d have the money in his mouth, the shop keeper would exchange it for beer and that’s how it was.

Uncle Ro-Ro was locked up in jail once (for hijacking a police dog show and making Kristoff wow the crowds with his amazing tricks thus embarrassing the police). Kristoff came home, and from his erratic behaviour, my grandma knew something was was wrong and she followed Kristoff who led her to the jail where uncle Ro-Ro was. After a lot of talk and the police being scared of Kristoff uncle Ro-Ro was released. I was pretty impressed with that story, and there are many more like that. The day after Uncle Ro-Ro died, so did Kristoff. I’m not quite at that level of canine love yet, but I’d be devastated if anything happened to Bush. Even Davinia-who’s reflex is to run when she hears anything resembling a bark, loves that little cutie.

While I should be figuring out how to set up a BG sentinel (mosquito) trap, I’m writing this blog. I find it quite cathartic. I should really focus on my work but it’s my last weekend, and I think I’m going to enjoy it to the max damn it – if I muck up this project, maybe I can write my memoirs. Anyway Praslin and La Digue await me…. mon pe vini!!!