FYI Part 1

I realized that I have not been succeeding in all of the stated ambitions of this blog. Passing on suitable information to other people who are going to follow in this post is really important to me so therefore, a bullet list of things you need to know.

·         Fine the Peace Corps Volunteers (PCV) in your town. They have a ten week orientation in Cameroon compared to the one we got, which was only three days. They know more than you do.

·         If you are going to be in Bertoua make sure you purchase a helmet for the moto rides you will inevitably be taking.

·         Buy a water filter. Bring duct tape.

·         Buy a voltage converter for things that are important to you, like your computer. The voltage is really jumpy here, mine is a small plastic one but the PCVs have a really large metal contraption.

·         Moontiger takes care of bugs, but make sure you don’t take care of yourself at the same time.

·         In Bertoua the moto prices are set (but of course unless someone tells you what they are you don’t know) so make sure you ask a local what they should be. No one hesitates to take your money if you offer too much. Also the price goes up at night. At the time of this writing it seems to be (during the day) 100cfa for up to a 1.5 miles, 150 cfa for up to 2 miles and from one end of town to the other 200 cfa.

·         Do not assume that what you consider to be polite is actually polite here. You could actually be impolite by trying to be polite American-style. (I’m still working on this one, it’s difficult to do things you think are rude.)

·         Shake hands with important people. As a guest and a stranger you are expected to either know, or figure out, the hierarchy and act accordingly. This is something that I have been learning by trial and error. It’s not easy.

·         It is best for me, in Bertoua, to get a bank account at the SGBC (since there are branches all over the country). All it should take is a passport photo, copy of your passport, the slight hint that you will be depositing some money from your bourse into their bank, and an imposing yet friendly Cameroonian priest. (Micro-finance organizations like MC2 aren’t everywhere and are not very organized—other than that they do cool work!)

·         You can either follow the proscription of one tablespoon of 10% bleach to 2 gallons of water or you can use Dettol and water to wash your vegetables. Dettol is the funny bottle that tells you it can clean off the HIV. Awkward (not to mention improbable).

·         Make an effort to learn the names of the quartiers and carrefours. That’s how you tell the motos where you want to go. I’ll try to put them up as I figure them out. So far the ones I know are Enia, Mere Poule, Italie, and CAMilitare. It’s not enough.

·         It should not be difficult to get the USB drives/keys for the internet. You can get internet keys from CAMtel, MTN, and Orange. I’m using Orange, it works okay. I went for Orange because the lady at MTN wanted way too much information.

·         All yogurt here is sweet yogurt. I like Wako and Dolait Ninou the best.

·         Don’t be afraid to purchase a large amount of water, moto drivers can balance amazing things—including you.

·         Unless you find yourself severely needing the toilet, try to walk off stomach problems. You really will feel a little better.

·         The medication you’ll want on hand for Malaria is Coartem. You can get it in any pharmacy. It is in pill form. The PCVs told me that shots should be a last resort.

Cholera is not a laughing matter.

Today I saw a guy on a moto with a pink Daniel Boone-style skunk hat. Complete with the striped-tail flowing down his back. It was epic.

This led to an ‘you won’t believe what I’ve seen in Cameroon/Rwanda’ competition with my dear friend Natalia, until I had to excuse myself to go take care of business.

You see this morning Grace and I both ate croissants, which I am now convinced were made (as Grace put it) with cholera-water and salmonella-eggs. Gross, perhaps, but that certainly would explain the rumbley-feelings in my stomach which are as far from the Hundred-Acre Wood as one can get. (For those of you who did not read the Winne-the-Pooh books as a child and therefore missed that AWESOME reference, shame on your mother.)

Speaking of mothers, I feel very sorry for Patty for having to put up with someone like Grace who comes up with such a disgusting thought. I mean, how gross is it to imagine cholera water being purposefully put into someone’s food. It’s just dégelas Grace. It’s a good thing I have entered Patty’s life seeing as I am a complete angel.

I really need my own kitchen so I stop eating things like the C.S. croissants (cholera-salmonella croissants, just in case you missed it). Happily, yesterday I braved the archbishop’s office to ask for his blessing to switch from one posh abode to a more humble one. He said yes, it was far easier than it had been in my head, AND his secretary and I now have a date to go see her tailor! (You don’t understand, her clothes are so loose and flowy and seeing as I am trying to walk everywhere to minimize moto rides I take without a helmet I’m a sweaty mass of flesh during most of the day. Please, reflect on that image. Now once more, gooood.)

Basically all I am waiting for now is to hear back from my future land-lady Catherine that the apartment is ready to go. We were supposed to go see her today, but in true Cameroonian style (after asking what time we would show up) was at the market during our appointed meeting time. Luckily it didn’t really matter, because the whole ‘time doesn’t exist here’ thing isn’t very dérange -ing anymore. Well I mean it is a little, but it wasn’t like it was class. Of course I know that none of my students will ever show up late for class…right?

After the failed meeting attempt, I showed Patty and Grace around the University. We walked down the street to the Cave of Wine and Liquor where the lady told us we were all very pretty. Patty then escorted me to the market, showed me where the gare is and where she buys vegetables.

Okay, hilarious side note. Currently trying to update my Norton so I don’t get any nasty viruses (it’s incredibly difficult to put a condom on a USB drive, after all…) but the internet is so slow that it cannot complete the process. I clicked on tech support which also couldn’t load, and it gave me numbers to contact in different countries. Unhappily Cameroon was not on the list. Rats in a barrel. I’ll try it again, it got three definition updates last time and it only has three more to go! Come on interweb, I know you can do it!

The other thing I learned today is that my Christmas break is from the 16^th or the 18^th of December until the 3^rd of January. How is that for planning Nina? I think that it makes things a bit difficult, because I feel like those times could change….at any moment. There’s not even a secure date for starting/finishing. Also since my class is starting later than other classes (I start on the 25^th) I am not sure if I will have to stay later as well. Hmm…

Tomorrow I’m going to Patty’s for breakfast and we’re going to make banana pancakes! Maybe we’ll go to church (by we, I mean Grace and myself, Patty has demurred) and then mayhaps I’ll make my way over to Catherine’s house to see the progress of my apartment? It’s not really a great idea to make plans that you have no control over, the best thing for me to do is to say that by tomorrow I will have compiled a complete list of things I will need to have an independent apartment in Cameroon. Sweet. I love accomplishable goals.

It also appears that I can update everything except the IPS and Virus definitions. Thanks internet. I’ll have to try this again soon.

Additionally, my final response to the post-title. Other things which are not funny: wife-beating, going faster on the moto when the rider tells you to slow down, and Cameroonian calls at 5:30 am, 5:32 am, 5:33 am, 5:35 am… You get the picture.

I'm on a horse.

Today was the day after the day that Simone came back. (The only person who really understands this is Sarah—gods I miss you woman.) Simone was the nickname that I gave to my “stomach parasite” (which has not yet been proven to actually exist) and gives me someone to blame by name, which is highly satisfactory.

I basically stayed in yesterday, pitied myself, and ranger’ed my chambre. It wasn’t horrible, but it did give me a hot second to sit down and think about where I am and what I want to do with this experience. (I hear that most people become reflective when approaching their doom. [Doom is the name of my toilet, in case you were wondering]). First things first, I am more convinced than ever that I do want to move.

I haven’t fully described my living situation, I don’t think, at this point. I live in a beautiful secret-garden-like keep with walls and a guardian and a dog. I have no neighbors and no one is expected to be here until the 25^th, I have no one to ask stupid questions to like “what do I do with my trash?” or “what is the best kind of detergent to get when I want to wash my clothes” or "how much do I pay for [insert item here]?" Quite frankly people, I need women friends and I need another ‘mother’ who can help me out. (Mary is very far away right now.)

Having been convinced of this I am now ready to take the steps to get out of my political situation, which is at its base driven by where I live. I really need to go speak with the Mgr. and get his blessing for my removal from the highly prestigious and frankly lovely, but lonely place, which is intended to be the housing for transient journalists and my students. I kind of came to that realization yesterday, so with that decision under my belt I am ready to move forward! Really! (ok, I’m a little nervous about it, but I’m sure it will be fine.)

On the upside, my classes do not start until the 25^th so I have some time to mosey around town and really get my bearings. The Peace Corps people have been amazing—having me over, answering my questions, telling me things that they learned in their training. It’s not just Grace and Patricia, there are also others who have been through Bertoua: Jackie, Janelle, Jessica, Nick and Marie. They’re all brilliant and kind and generous with the information that they have learned from their four months to over a year of time in Cameroon. Grace even let me read her COSMO today, man is that magazine getting raunchier and raunchier.

It’s stuff like that that makes me miss America, just the ridiculousness of it all. On the bright side it sparked the remembrance of the “Old Spice Man”, gods that commercial is hilarious, “Look at your man, now look at me, look back at him and now at me….”  Grace and I loaded the youtube video (it took ten gazillion hours) and watched its entire 30 seconds laughing hysterically.

Then I got to meet up with Marie, Jackie (I’d met her here the other day for fish in the Latin Quarter—the name of a bar that used to be there? I think?) and Nick. It was fun, we went back to the Latin Quarter and I got the lady to break my 5 thou! For those of you in the United States you don’t realize how difficult it is to make change, it’s a game you’re constantly playing; the winner is the one who has the most small coins. (Granted you want to have, ideally, lots of 50 and 100 cfa pieces, 500 is okay in a pinch, but 5 cfa pieces and anything larger than 5 thousand are next to useless. You’re welcome.)

When I got back to my fantasy garden land tonight, there were/are still workers out. The deadline for finishing all their projects is October 25 (that’s one week) and they’re cutting it close. Now let's set the stage: it's dark, there is very little lighting and it's me and like 8 men. I have just gotten into the compound and have started walking, determinedly, towards my room trying not to make eye contact with anyone.

One guy comes up to me, all authoritative-like (I HATE that, for the record) and goes (in French):

Him: so you’re the stranger, I haven’t met you yet. That doesn’t seem right.

(In my head, ‘Dude, I’ve been around’)

Him: my name is Bienvenue.

Me: *giggle—wondering if that’s true* Nice to meet you.

*awkward pause—where I wonder if I can leave now*

Him: what is your name?

Me: (In my head ‘oh, the pause was for me to tell him who I am, of course it was….silly Cameroon, I can’t read your mind.’) Meera

Him: Mireille?

Me: no, Meera, it sounds different than Mireille. Meera/ Mireille. (I’ve been doing this all week. I also get Miriam a lot—it’s my Jewish roots Jem.)

Him: You don’t speak French like an American. That’s good.

Me: Good luck on your construction.

Then I just wandered off to my room thinking; ‘I really love having a courtyard full of strangers when I sleep.’

That’s all folks, re-enactments of this play can be seen at the Bourbon Theatre in Lincoln immediately following Pecha Kucha.

P.S. Also, I wrote a long blog entry yesterday that magically was lost in my computer along with a letter to Gerise about Calixthe Beyala. It’s really frustrating (but perhaps explanatory) that the only websites I can access at home are blogspot, gmail the html version, and with a lot of luck and inchallah-ing: facebook (the reason this blog posts on facebook was because I was smart enough to set that up before I left the country). I’m going to have to recreate both, though I will skip out on most of the illuminating aspects of yesterday. You’re welcome in advance.

OMGS never drink with Catholic priests (or Icelandic people or my cousin Jaitra)

But seriously, don’t do it. I like to think I have a pretty firm grasp on what I can and cannot drink, where my limit is, but apparently Catholic priests are even sneakier about keeping your glass full than my cousin Jaitra. I’ve even perfected the art of drinking as slowly as possible, yet I still got no credit.

For the record, today ended on a high (if slightly intoxicated?) note, but you should know that I found out that I had accidentally run into a little political imbroglio here in Bertoua. One really ought to remember that there is one thing more hierarchical than normal Cameroonian society and that, my dear readers, is the Catholic Church. Don’t mess with it, even ignorantly.

For those of you coming here next year, I have some thoughts. Contact me. Seriously.

Also, I think I may be Grace’s favorite drunk dial ever. “I can’t come out tonight, my priests got me drunk.”

On the way back to my house, my priests and I listened to Boys II Men "I'll make love to you." It's hard for me to remember that this is real life sometimes.

It's Raining, It's Pouring

I, sometimes, absolutely detest being stubborn. It is pouring down rain, I KNOW no one will show up for school on time and yet I feel like I need to leave my warm bower so I can arrive at school a l'heure. Silly American, this is Cameroon.

I think I'm going to roll my pants--and try to forget all the mental preparation I put into my 'first day of school outfit.' Because I'm going to be soaked! Yeahhhhhhh.

"Les nuages sont là pour toi"

Ahh it’s 10-10-10. Hilarious. I’ve had a very full day, roadtripping with Mgr. Krynski and Raoul. We drove north at 7 am and got back at 8 pm. I’ve officially seen the savannah, however, and we got as far as Garoua with multiple stops.

The title of this post is what Mgr. Krynski told me after I talked about how much I love the clouds (they literally change every ten minutes, you can't get tired of looking at them--love the rainy season!) for the gazillionth time.

Also found out that the Garoua, Maroua and Bertoua-s (the OOO-AHHs, Marine style) of the country are named after leaders of the village. Teaser to look forward to, I got my picture taken with a king. You should be totally jealous.