Jess does da ‘Roon

And where were you on this grand international event!?

Any excuse to party, I always say. There were quite a few fun concerts to behold around the Buea region. In Limbe, the brasseries (not where they make bras, but beer… oddly enough) sponsored the events and therefore got to hold inane games like “anyone with an unopened bottle of beer (all men only) gets to come up and sing”… would Americans sit through that?

I wanted to thank all the caring individuals who heard about my gutter fall and reacted with concern, even though I’m a big wimp. (Though really, a slight cut near decaying rot (redundant unnecessary) can be fatal!).

I cooked traditional food with my neighbors for the first time today. By cooked I mean, washed vegetables while they cut, cooked, stirred, and pounded everything. We made fufu and eru – similar to collard greens and… starchy paste (that is delicious with eru..) Turned out tasty. However, in the market buying the materials for the dish, I threw up in the meat section because I’m a weak white girl. (I was embarrassed, but no one paid any attention to the squatting girl near the corn field). Pasty cow hooves and layers of bloody meat were too much for me that day. Im usually stronger.

Next week I’m doing an HIV/AIDS training for the 2nd NGO that I’m working with, to bring everyone onto the same page. Basically doing the same games and activities that we’re doing at the summer camp so they can all be familiar with them. I’m excited about it, I really like trainings.

Hans called from NY to say that Americans “work all the time, not like Cameroonians”… so workaholics, take it easy.

…Do you think of me? – Carly Simon

Rainy season is a-comin’… and it’s no good time. Except for staying in bed and listening to the rain on the tin roof (I had a tin roof Sunday this week and it was spectacular… but I think I also had a tin roof Friday afternoon and many other days as well). The mice are suddenly appearing in my house (though both times they’ve been spotted, it’s been a friend who saw them… so have they always been there but I just never was observant enough to notice? Advantage of living alone or poor observation skills?) and the roaches and spiders are coming back. I’m trying to train my tiny kitten to be a real combat fighter, but she’s only curious about my oatmeal.
Although, just in time for the downpours, I’ve turned the cat out. For the 2nd time that she tried to climb out my window by busting my screens, I let her out during the day now to roam in the trash ditch, give fleas a free ride into my bed, and eat rotting discards.  The main problem? She’s a house cat and likes to take advantage of my neighbors’ hospitably open doors. My landlord said she hung out on the couch with him all day… Great.

This weekend at the beach, I met some French guys from… France… <ahem> And of course, being crazy brilliant Europeans, they speak a gazillion languages. So Spanish practice! Unfortunately his was impeccable while mine was.. spotty at best. I kept inserting French words. <sighs>

Brief moment: I hung out with Lillian’s family last week. She’s got 2 kids, who are 6 and 8. They are the most American Cameroonian kids I’ve met: they like to draw, show me their new clothes, and ask me questions about Elvis.  I brought them Pop Rocks (you remember the candy that would EXPLODE on your tongue?) and they were enamored – Masu accidentally licked Junior’s ear while trying to make him listen to the popping so he delightedly shrieked “My ear’s on fire!!!” while the candy stuck to his ear. Thanks mom for that gift.

Last week I was walking around the university, where I’m allowed to wear more… American clothes (tank tops and tight jeans, shorter skirts) since the university students are all about hip-hop culture and American fashion.  (Near my house, especially at women’s groups, I try to cover up to be respected). As I bought credit for my phone in an outfit from the market with tight jeans and a showy tank, a woman beside me exclaimed “Now what kinda fine white woman dis?” – My highest compliment in Cameroon so far.

Pidgin/Cameroonian English: “Pants” = Underwear.   “I like your pants” is inappropriate but I still slip up.
“My back dey hot” = I’m tired/exhausted
“Na 419 dat” = Someone/an organization out for profit or is shady

Africa Magic is the TV station that plays nearly everywhere (including in this net cafe right now). They just came out with Africa Magic Plus, which is stupendous, since the other one plays only Nigerian movies pretty much and now Kenya and South Africa are able to be represented too. (And I don’t have to be tortured by only films like “And the Kola Nut Said No! Part I and II” (p.s. a lot of films here are in 2 parts just so they can draw it out but usually part 2 is mostly flashbacks so my friend Lillian likes to just skip to part 2 and get all she missed)

Fictional story:
In a border town, arms dealings were happening. A military commander who disagreed with the happenings was killed. The government lied about it for a few days before whispering that he was killed but not releasing why.

Today I faux-pased severely. I stepped out of the taxi and giving my best “I may be white but I definitely know where I’m going” face, I continued to step promptly into a gutter.  The gutters in Buea are SERIOUS. Think concrete channel that’s up to 4 feet deep in some places. Everything from bloated rats to mango seeds and plastic bags can be found inside. …and my foot. So I managed to keep my whole leg out of the gutter by sprawling out on the sidewalk, cutting my foot and scraping up my elbow and knees in the process. About 5 guys were standing, speechless, very nearby. What else can you say other than “Take care!” which is the equivalent of “Cuidado!/Be careful!” although it’s a bit late when I’m on the ground.

Right now is the exam period for a lot of students here. You take the O or the A levels (do you make an “O face” while you take the O levels? I don’t know.) after high school – short for ordinary or advanced. Which tests you take determine which possibilities you have at the university level. This is a bit more rigorous than the US system where you can get to the university and… carefully decide your focus (or waste time, depending on your look on life). The tests last for 3 weeks – I don’t envy the people taking them at ALL.

Other than dreadlocks and crazy printed African dresses, I’m seeing small changes in myself.

In America, we might have the mentality with gifts that it’s “the thought that counts” but.. really… How many times have we called our best friend after some holiday and sarcastically joked about a gift we received? (A prime example of how far this has gone is when I receive, in Cameroon, “fancy French magnets” that have been re-gifted a gazillion times throughout the US… not that I didn’t think it was funny Mom)

Here I’m learning to really appreciate any gift. If someone goes to the store and brings me back a mango, I’m happy that they thought of me. If I get a package and there’s ANYTHING inside of it, I’m thrilled that someone thought of me enough to send it all the way over here. (Emails are like little baby gifts, and I appreciate them too).

This may mean that I’m learning to give bad gifts. You don’t have to strain yourself here to come up with something that the other person will REALLY love. You just give them what you want to give them, knowing they will accept it warmly. (I gave my neighbor tomatoes because I had them in the house and he’d taken care of my cat for me).

So, for all those times I wasn’t appreciative enough, thanks for everything.

Journal Entry: Mamfe, South West Province   June 3, 2008

Vous
Vous avez demande
Vous avez
Vous avez demande que
Vous avez demande que la musique
Vous avez demande
Vous avez demande que la musique ne quiter pas
Vous avez demande que
Vous avez demande que la musique ne quiter p-

It was night and we were bumbling through the bush in the pick-up. I kept dazing out and losing focus of where we were and where we were headed.  On the rough roads, the CD player was a taunt and made me wish desperately for an old school tape player.  Suddenly, the radio sprung to life, with this femenine voice clearly but haltingly coming from nowhere: “You’ve asked that the music not stop” or “Vous avez demande que la musique ne quiter pas”. Why, how did you know that, sexy lady voice? But what made it terrible was that after she said that, the music started.. and then stopped.  And we continued plunging through the darkness with only the crude croaks of frogs blistering and bubbling in the ditches.

Today I went with Robert to the “German Bridge”.  I expected something grand and modern: something really to remember the Germans by.  Whoa, no.  This was really a piece of history, built in 1904 and then rehabbed in 1934.  Over a beautiful river laced with thick, green branches dipping in each side.  I thought of Jungle Book when Mogli and Balu are floating down the river grabbing fruit off the trees.  The bridge was in process: as in, the rust was forming and the lizards were making a lifestyle while the bolts edged themselves out of the concrete.  This is the type of bridge that one MUST cross!  Judging the distance not overly far, and the most pertinent danger being some nasty river parasite or conking my head on the fall when the bridge broke, I started across.  Other than the frightening lean of the wooden boards suspended from the rusty cable, the bridge was quite pleasant.  My fears were mocked when a barefooted woman stepped quickly across the bridge under the weight of a huge sack of potatoes? cassava? from her farm.

I’ve always wondered what people think about when they travel.  If they aren’t going for some serious purpose, then where do most people let their mind drift?  And is there a point where everyone enters a base state?  Let’s say after 5 hours, does everyone go numb?  Or think about sex?  Or become like a child, grabbing details around him/her or randomly wondering about unnecessary questions (like how doorhandles are crafted or what people think about when they travel)?  Does it vary with the type of transport?  Even if they’re with someone, is there a saturation point of conversation where each person will naturally recede into their own heads?  What do old people think about?  What do monks think about?  (They probably just meditate and try to stop thinking…)  Do mechanics focus on sounds and what could be wrong with the vehicle?

Read the rest of this entry »