Fire on the mountain
…Or at least tear gas on the mountain.
So the big news this week has been the strike. A strike of what you might wonder. Of basically the general situation in the country. The gas prices just got jacked, so the taxi drivers are on strike. But then there were issues of the president making a constitutional ammendment, and so it just seems as if they whole country got a bit of a fire in their britches. (Those of you in Cameroon: don’t analyze that really simple explanation I just gave)
So anyway, I went jogging on Monday morning only to find a bunch of people in the streets, not letting taxis go up the main road. Seems that it’s been heating up in different pockets all over the country. In Douala, people are being shot. Now people are putting road blocks with huge rocks, cars, wooden booths being thrown into the street. Riot police and the gendarmes (army/police mix?) are trying to keep things clear so they’re firing off tear gas. Monday afternoon I was locked in the office (although the riot cops came and yelled -in French of course even though we’re in an anglophone province dammit-since someone from the office took a picture and the flash pissed them off) until about 6:30. Tuesday afternoon I gave a health presentation and then as I was walking back up (there are no taxis, everyone is walking everywhere) I walked into some tear gas. I’d advise you not to ever do so. It was crappy. So I got to Bill’s house and just stayed there for the night.
Since cars aren’t really running, most stores don’t have a lot of food or they’re closed because they can’t make it to work. So far we still have lights and water, so it’s cool. It reminds me of after hurricanes in NC when everyone stumbles out onto the street, and there’s suddenly a softening between people who never talk because there’s this easy topic that you can talk to anyone about: did you see that roadblock? did you see the police running by yesterday?
Today I’m in the internet joint, locked in, peeping out the windows. I saw another guy watching out a window, with his foot propped on the window sill as he hurriedly tied his shoe. It reminded me of the Dane Cook skit when he talks about when there’s a car accident and everyone waits to hear the crash and then rushes to find their shoes and hurry outside.
I feel safe for the most part. I can always ask people as I’m walking if it’s safe to walk up that way (people running is a sure sign that it might not be). I just really don’t want Peace Corps to take me out of Cameroon!! So I’m hoping things calm down soon.
Love, Youth, and Sweat
Ok… So much going on in Buea these days
I regret to inform you that the Indominable Lions were dominated. What’s that? You had no idea that the entire continent of Africa was fiercly competing in futbol? The Africa Cup of Nations came to a finale on Sunday when Cameroon played Egypt. Much to the entire nation’s dismay, Cameroon lost 1-0, while Egypt kissed the grass in praise of Allah. (P.S. Cameroonians think it’s outrageous that most of my friends back home have no idea that the Cup of Nations was happening)
Happy Youth Day! February 11th was quite the festival here. Meaning.. marches. Tons of every education program lined up to march about a block. It took from 10-3pm here. I really enjoyed all the ice cream and roasted plantains.
Happy Valentine’s! Yes they celebrate it here. I started to bake cookies when 3 little girls from my compound asked if they could come in. Of course!!! So they helped me make “PMS Cookies” with chocolate chunks. It made me think happy thoughts of being with my mom in the kitchen, and I let the girls taste the chocolate to tell me if it was fresh. (Funny, I think when I was little, I really thought mom needed me to tell her if the chocolate chips were fresh or not) They came out OK, and when I went to give them the cookies the next day, the girls had bought me a gift and made me an adorable card (“Let the light of God into your life. We love you!” – I won’t take it as a conversion message).
I’ve been having some neighborhood bonding time. I finally fashioned a curtain for my door (meaning that I don’t shut the world out behind my metal door) so people know they can come over. My neighbor brought me cabbage (cooked with ground peanuts) and corn fufu. So delicious (She even left the pepe out since she knows I can’t handle it). The single mom in my compound brought her little boy into the house, who’s just a toddler. Immediately he reached for the “magic chalk” (If you’re in Cameroon, you know this isn’t anything unusual. But let’s take a second to appreciate that this is a stick of chalk that magically kills cockroaches that cross it. Black magic? Or just super-scary chemicals?), then the “Rambo” powder that I humorously try to kill ants with, and then the “Moon Tiger” bug spray… basically every poison I have in the house, he sought out within 30 seconds. Damn kids are good.
Happy Mountain Race!
I missed most of the race and didn’t come out until noon (they start at about 530 and come down around 10 or so) but it’s awesome. People are lined up and down the main road where they run. The runners are wearing skimpy clothes, but they’ve run up to the summit where it’s freezing (and then you have a few wearing crazy ski suits… and that’s outrageous too). Most are ripped like whoa, dripping sweat. Luckily there are people passing out water (shocking for Cameroon!) Sara, the queen of the mountain, didn’t win this year. But she did run (she’s …like 50 with 7 kids and she’s won the race 7 times). On the night before, there was a huge concert in the stadium with Petit Pays (from the Littoral province here). He did a little parade around town earlier in the afternoon, when everyone from my office had to run out and wave to him. But the concert was supposed to start at 7, but at midnight, he hadn’t started singing. (Um.. there’s some interesting converstions to be had about him, since he’s pretty openly gay… )
And on a less festive note, work’s been busy as all-get-out (who says that?). We have a new American volunteer (not Peace Corps) who provides a really interesting reflection of my experience here. I’m super insecure about how I’m adapting. Am I learning enough pidgin? No. Am I close enough with my neighbors? No. Am I eating enough spicy foods or drinking beer? No. But mostly I’m patient with myself. I went to a French-speaking women’s group here on Valentine’s Day. Interesting to try and speak French again, they were very patient with my attempt.
Random: My new favorite names for Cameroon: Alarm Desire and Demestick (say it out loud)
I’ve been having some market time recently. I went to buy myself some birthday/Valentine’s nice (/skanky) clothes. I ended up with 3 dresses. One was new and pricey but I fell in love with it. On the way out, I left my Nalgene at a stand and found out much later, was quite upset. So then I had to go back to get matching shoes for the dresses (Chacos go with everything, it’s true.. but let’s not push it). Turns out the woman saved my Nalgene for me (wow). AND! I made a dress connection friend. One of the women I had told I wanted a sexy dress to wear to the club. So I bought one from her, and then with her next shipment, she saved one especially for me. She even sewed it to fit me since it was too big. …This dress… is nothing less than unbelievable. Above the knee, stretchy and skin tight, it’s bling-blinging shiny blue and purple fabric. How she knew that I was the perfect white girl for this dress, I don’t know. All I could do was laugh.
And Bill’s back! Buea’s not the same with him gone and I’m ecstatic to have him back.
Yao!
Let’s begin with the fantastic-ness of this week (and end with the …fantastic-ness of this week since it’s still this week)
I took off a day from work last week to go down to Limbe to meet up with other volunteers for swimming and drinking with some delicious food mixed in. Sweet.
I went down to Limbe again on Saturday for our provincial meeting… with some delightful calamari (no seriously, you have no idea the glory that is this treat).
On Sunday I went to Simon’s family’s house. His mom made a really good dinner. I sat, simply elated, in this sunny courtyard in his compound (that’s what you call the little groups of houses here) under a huge avacado tree. For a volunteer organization that sends volunteers to Reach Out (where I work), I needed to translate Bakwerian phrases (the dialect they speak where I live) so that volunteers could have some idea of the phrases before they come. So his family helped me. But Bakweri is a language that mostly is just spoken, so volunteers wouldn’t need to write it. I wanted to write the language phoenetically… so basically I was creating the language. It was a really powerful experience, with 5 or 6 people collaborating to help me hear the words and get the best phrase down.
And then! Since I’m so broke, I had to come to Yaounde to get money out of my savings account. Which means hanging out with other Americans, watching movies, buying stuff at the “white man store” and using fast internet. Broke never was this fun. I got here by riding with Esther and a government employee woman. We rode in her plush SUV for the 6 hours. Sweeeet (doux!). On the way we stopped at a popular truck stop (picture a crossroads with tons of stands, dusty, dirty, and mean francophone people) with bush meat. I avoid bush meat most of the time. But apparently Esther was pretty gung-ho this time. soooo… I ate porcupine (and turned down crocodile). I’d like to give the porcupine a big thumbs up. Salty and tastes like chicken – yes sir! But I’m on a pretty strict policy of politely crossing my legs and in the least Southern accent possible, saying “I just don’t eat much meat” so that Cameroonians don’t bring me 3 dead cows and 2 pigs – the meat here is out of control. But then the government lady said she had grilled chicken in the car from dinner the night before (I slurped up the drool) – GRILLED CHICKEN!? It was aaaammazzzing. Anyways, back to the point of me coming to Yao -
But unfortunately the ATM ate my debit card (it was expired) so my plan to continue to live the glamorous life will have to be modified. Plan Empty Pockets: no couch. no fridge. buy bed for volunteers. less taxis, more walking. <shrugs> Ok.
Tonight we made baked pene pasta and drank wine with gelatto for dessert (whatttt??).
I got henna done by a gorgeous woman who a bunch of volunteers called to meet us at a bar where she did it back in this ally-way for $1. It’s black though, and I’ve never seen black henna. It makes me do funny things with my hands in order to flourish the designs.
I should say that the Biz (as I like to call him.. I’m not sure he knows I call him that) or Bill Zimmerman, my postmate, (and a god to those who know him) should be coming back to Buea this week. All of Buea is buzzing about his return, constantly asking me when he’s coming back. He’s been gone since mid-December, with the sudden passing of his mother (who seems to have been quite a wonderful person) and Buea’s not the same without him.
Ok. It’s 12:30 in the morning. People just brought more beer back. I’m going to go hang out for awhile before I go to bed (maybe take another hot shower? who knows?) and then tomorrow try to get paid. ‘Nother day, ‘nother dolla.
