Insomnia

Today was just such a bizarre day that I have to write about it. Firstly (a word that my students love to overuse) I have only four days of my amoeba and typhoid medication left! Yay for no more cipro (as much as I love the stuff). Everything seems to be getting back to normal. Well, I guess, define normal.

Last night I had my first experience ever with insomnia. I doubt it’s real insomnia, but I was awake—knowing I should be asleep but I didn’t feel tired. I kept trying to adjust myself into a better position, but I wasn’t able to fall asleep. There was no heavy-eyes, no amount of keeping my eyes open staring into the dark would make me want to close them. So I gave up and started doing work.

It feels like today is the first day of being better, even considering that I’ve been teaching classes and doing stuff and things while sick. I just felt like I was actually facing the day rather than forcing my way through it. Um, I’m also counting my accidental all-nighter of lesson planning and club planning and travel planning and scheduling as today. I figure that I’m allowed to since it’s 9:30ish pm and I’m running on three hours of sleep (I DID fall asleep around 5!!).

Insomnia seems to be a common complaint among my friends here in Cameroon. Grace and Patti have had their own experiences with it, Ma Sophie has told me about having problems sleeping (I love it—in Cameroon if you ask someone if they slept well they tell you the TRUTH), Agnes has had some trouble, so it seems like it is my turn.

I think I’m going to just take you on a run-through of the day. I got up and left the house around 10 am. Philo (my neighbor, the phys ed teacher) was just coming back from teaching and held her moto for me. She also made sure that I knew the price to my destination—she’s thoughtful like that and doesn’t want me paying the white-people price (la prix blanche). I haven’t mentioned this before since I’ve been so terrible at the blagging business, but I really REALLY love my neighbors. Philo and Catherine (also my landlady) shift back and forth from being pseudo-mothers and friends. (Catherine is planning on bringing me with her sometime to her gym—1000 cfa/2 bucks a session.)

I went to Ewa’s house and dropped off my empty Tangui bottles (I learned recently that her name is spelled with a ‘w’ and while I probably won’t go back and correct previous errors I’ll be doing it correctly from now on). I’m being super serious about drinking lots of bottled water (to avoid more typhoid and amoebas) while I’m taking ridiculous medications, the one positive is that Ewa recycles everything so even though I’m being quite terrible to the environment I know that the bottles are being used for charity projects (the big bottles go to the prison, the small ones go to the orphans). I talked to Isabelle (Ewa’s house help) to ask her about prices for repairing my backpack’s zipper (ALYSSA I broke my MEC green backpack, who knew that was possible?) and the little metal connector thingy that attaches to my gas bottle. That along with actual pans to sauté and boil food, some containers to hold silverware, and clothes hangers is all I really need (you know, besides furniture) to make my house inhabitable.  Double bonus points: I spent less money than the university allocated for me so I get to give money back to them. How Indian am I today, right? White people prices my foot. (I'll be posting what I paid for what on a later blag post.)

I went to see my tailor, Aissatou, because I wanted to get a good price on repairing the backpack. She took me to one of her friends. Hopefully he’ll do a good job on it, I need it intact so I can travel for Thanksgiving. We talked awhile, she was mad at me for not calling and told me I lost weight so I got to explain my fun diseases! She’s a great tailor, she makes good clothes quickly and does what you want. She made both of the dresses I ordered from her exactly to my specifications so I’m bringing her some more business in the form of Grace, Patti and Agnes. I told her about my awesome deal on a gas bottle (Catherine and I found one for 28 thou the other day—the only gas available in town is AfriGas and because they’re the only ones in business they’ve been selling it for 36 thou) and we gossiped about the fact there isn’t any gas in Yaounde and Douala and that there is not going to be any more gas until December. Trust—this is a big deal. Cooking with wood and/or charcoal isn’t like a cookout every day.

Then I headed back to Ewa’s house for lunch, we had delicious Polish food in the form of cabbage soup, cabbage and some meat and Polish rice. I’m really loving Polish food cooked by Isabelle. Excellent. Then I was planning on leaving with Ewa after lunch, but she held me off and said I needed to stay and talk to the priest who was coming. His name is similar-ish to my name, Miralek (sp?) he speaks English and is missing the forefinger on his right hand. He was coming from a village 50 km away from Bertoua, and bringing a new student for Ewa’s school. Ewa runs a school for the deaf and dumb (Grace asked if that was politically correct and I’m not sure—anyone know?), there are only two schools of its kind in Cameroon and this is the only one for the whole East Province. After talking with Agnes and Miralek about an exorcism he had recently witnessed (the story was complete with the possessed girl’s devil voice—awesome.) and the problems that married Catholic priests face, I asked Miralek to drop me off downtown. I was feeling like I was on a roll and I wanted to head to the Business School and ask them when I was to be teaching—there are a number of questions in my travel plans for next semester are up in the air until I know when I’m working, you know? I’ve taken it to heart that if I want things done and I want any order and structure in my life I’m going to have to create it myself.

But I digress back to the fact that I was hitching a ride with the Catholic priest I just met—he said he needed to stop by Ewa’s school really quick. It was my first time there. It is a small space, three ‘rooms’ that are separated by cloth. There is a constant clamor, but the close proximity of the other classes seems to make little difference. “Bonjour” in French or Cameroonian sign language (I’m not sure, I’ll ask) looks like “Thank you” in American sign language. Right hand open with the tip of the fingers touching the mouth that falls down into the open left hand. Then you finish with a typical, Cameroonian handshake. After the second part of the transaction happened I stopped touching my fingers to my lips. Yeah. And to think when I first entered the room I thought they were all blowing kisses at each other. Good one Meera.

It was incredible, seeing what Ewa does and seeing how happy the children look. They were all looking at the new student Miralek had just brought and we went out to his truck to get this kids stuff. His baggage consisted of a live chicken, a branch of bananas, a bunch of sugar cane, and some plantains. His reaction to his new classmates coming to help him unload his stuff suddenly made me realize EXACTLY what he was doing, and why he was so worried about his new classmates stealing his things. He was leaving his village, 50 km away, leaving his family to move to Bertoua to come to this school and because he doesn’t communicate in sign language yet no one could explain anything to him yet. No one could tell him that Ewa is looking for a host family for him to live with. No one could tell him that his classmates weren’t going to steal from him. No one could tell him to make sure to move because Miralek was about to back the car out. He was so brave—thinking about it just gives me the chills.

(Shameless plug at this juncture—if any of you know any organizations that would be interesting in donating to Ewa’s organizations, she’s always looking for more money to build medical dispensaries and schools. Also if any GSL people read this, if you wanted to come to Cameroon Ewa could find things for you to do even though I wouldn’t be there for the entire time you’d be there. Sara, Kir, Ninz, how would you like to volunteer with the deaf when you come visit me?)

Then I went to the business school, arranged a meeting for tomorrow, cleaned my house surrounded by my neighbors children, and had a surprise furniture delivery by Catherine. I am now the owner of a cabinet for my kitchen stuff and an armoire for my clothes! I’m excited by the prospect of tomorrow and I feel at peace in Bertoua. I am totes a member of this community.

Now if I could just get some sleep tonight life would be perfect….

Bonne fête du mouton!

How To Clean Your Computer, Cameroonian-Style.
Step 1: Leave your computer on the floor.
Step 2: Allow ants to enter your computer at their leisure during the day as you go about your business.
Step 3: Sit back and marvel later that evening as the small creatures exit your computer as it slowly heats up to unbearable temperatures for humans (not to mention ants)  and watch as they bring out food from under your keys that had been long forgotten.
Step 4: Rinse and repeat as necessary or purchase furniture so that you don't end up sharing your bed with the hired help.

Na Zdrowie!!!!!!

Well, for those of you who can’t see the word document where I diligently sit down to draft my blag before posting it on the interweb, you would see a number of dates where I sat down to write and nothing came out. I find it very difficult to write the things I’m doing when I’m doing lots of things (i.e. my lame excuse for not writing must be that I’ve been having ridiculous amounts of fun and/or work) and now I find myself with the time to sit down and reflect on the past few weeks.

For the record: the one thing that seemed to slow me down is that I, Meera B______(sorry internet, last names don’t happen), have managed to catch malaria, typhoid, aaaaand amoebas. Oh my?!

First of all, I would like it to be known that no one should be worried and/or concerned about the fact stated above. I’m fine. Really, truly. I have lots of people taking care of me, I get calls several times a day to make sure I’m alive, I’m allowed to eat as much sugar as I want (something about helping the medicine work…I don’t know, I’m not complaining though) and I have discovered that having multiple diseases is a way to get things to happen much faster in Cameroon. To be perfectly honest, I’m kind of enjoying my predicament with the daily pity party for the poor sick girl.

The only bummer is really that the medicine I’m taking makes me feel like crap (it was better before I realized it was malaria…uh…minus the stomach problems—Karen if you want a more graphic description I would be HAPPY to provide it for you) AND I can’t drink any alcohol because of the way the medicines and the malaria react with the ole liver. This REALLY sucks because of the people who I just met, whom—Mary—will get full credit for being like “um…maybe you should go get tested just in case.”

Their names are Eva and Agnes, and they are both Polish. How can you hang out with Polish people and NOT DRINK? Seriously. They are very serious about their vodka, they pointed out to me last night that there is a significant difference between vodka and zubrowka (which translates into English as Bison Grass Vodka). Agnes, who is sitting to me right now, explains further that the flavor is better because it is believed in the forests of Poland the Bison have peed on the grass before they do the whole distillation process. The alcohol content is the same between the two though.

Also the best mixer with zubrowkaapple juice and a little water I learned this from Stanislauss (a Franciscan priest who looks like Santa Claus!).

Eva has lived in Cameroon for 22 years, Stanislauss has lived in Cameroon for 32 years (and 11 years in Zambia before that), and Agnes has been here since September. Angnes and I are the same age, she’s like 2 months older or something, so we have a lot of fun listening to Eva and Stan sit around and talk about what they’ve done, the schools they’ve built and how generally wonderful and awesome they are. I’m also picking up some Polish.

Basically this is the day that I was found by Eva and Agnes (three days ago and the day of my first class). I received a call from my friend Nadege (who you haven’t heard about yet because I’ve been a naughty naughtyblagger) telling me that a white woman had come looking for me and that I should come to school right away. Considering at the time I was just starting to have some…stomach troubles…I had to decline. I told Nadege I would call them later.

(I was concerned enough about my digestive problems that I called Grace and Patti too—just in case you know. Grace was going to come bring me water and bread, but she ended up having a surprise five-hour hair-braiding session. Only in Africa.)

When I got to the university for my class I was stopped by the guardian who was like—‘these are the numbers that Nadege wants you to call—you should call them now. OR we can go to her house, I’ll take you.’ This surprised me because the guardian is this really laid back guy, and the fact that he was eager for me to get to know this people was intriguing. He left the gate, took an immediate left and walked over to a house. I was walking slowly behind him because I felt like, well, shit. He ran back and said they weren’t at home, but I should call that number right away. I, on the other hand, went straight to Ma Sophie and told her point blank—I need something that would help me make it through my class without having to take bathroom breaks every ten minutes. She made me some tisane with guava leaves, which actually really helped and let me get through the class.

Quick segue: my first class on Monday went really, surprisingly well. I laid out class rules, we went over them. I was able to get a lot of group work in and people were trying hard and participating in class. I was pleasantly surprised, considering all the horror stories I’d been told by people to keep from getting my hopes up. I have my next class tomorrow with the same group—the second years—and I’ve got some fun things prepared for them. Yay teaching!

Anyway, I called Agnes before I went to class, was surprised that she answered the phone speaking English and made plans to meet her after my class. Right after my class, she came and picked me up at the university and we went to Eva’s house. They fed me dinner and we had the usual conversation (in French and English—because Eva doesn’t speak English (yet!) and Agnes doesn’t speak French) about life in Bertoua, how we like it and what we do. And then, of course, the usual conversation about ‘how do you feel.’

Eva is a nurse so I basically laid out my symptoms and they were both of the opinion that I should go get myself tested (just in case). The next day I met up with Agnes and she took me to her ‘sisters’ (she ‘has’ sisters the way that I ‘have’ priests), let me cut the line and I had a physical examination and donated…fluids.

The donation process involved a needle and a plastic sandwhich bag. Yeahhhhhh. It was nice that I got the bag though, most people just use leaves. That was an interesting image: in the laboratory before they tested my ‘samples’ seeing my plastic bag on a petri dish among petri dishes containing other peoples’ leaves. Wish I could have taken a picture except that would have probably been gross. (Karen, I know you are loving this too much right now.)

During the waiting process Grace shows up sporting a new head of hair and Agnes comes right after teaching her English class just in time to hear my diagnosis: typhoid, malaria and amoebas! They were both very impressed with me. Then I spent 6,500 cfa (13 bucks) on medicines that will kill everything over the next two weeks. Hurrah!

Other updates: I have officially moved into my new house, it only has a bed in it so I’ve started spending more and more time at Eva’s house (mainly to use her dining room table as a desk—this makes it much easier to type blog posts. After my diagnosis of malaria I petitioned the Secretary-General to seriously get a move on getting me kitchen stuff (i.e. a fridge, stove and water filter) so that I can, you know, not get amoebas and typhoid.

I have some super awesome Cameroonian friends (Nadege—a master’s student at UCAB who invited me to join her choir, Anatole and Erique her ‘brothers’) who hang out with me and we do things like going to clubs and watching Cameroonians Lindy Hop really well to music from the ‘50s while we pretend to do the same. They also never let me pay—which I feel bad about. Every time I tell her I feel bad about it Nadege tells me to stop being so American. To quote Nikki—le sigh.

So the moral of this blag post is that in lieu of illness I am still having a blast, I feel wonderfully taken care of and I really, really like Polish cookies.

Love, M