**Warning: This post is long. And boring. And, like all of my posts, written for the sole benefit of my Papi.
Things are going slowly for me in Njombe. Very slowly. But, that’s what PC tells you that you’re supposed to expect when opening a new post (and unable to actually communicate much of anything with your new community). So currently, much of my time is spent walking around aimlessly (pretending it’s not aimless) in Njombe and hanging around in my house (in which the only furniture l possess is a bed - the carpenter is supposedly having difficulties buying wood) where I read, wash dishes and laundry outside under the sun, listen to music, and watch time disappear. I’m really good at the latter. It rains a lot, electricity goes in and out, and the internet key I bought for my home doesn’t get network. So, I have nothing to report in terms of actual work. I’m feeling mostly unproductive but definitely not without a few small victories – like finding a dish rack or getting a package from my siblings that has a flask of gin inside. It’s the little things. And they make life good.
A few unrequested little things from my life at the moment:
Traveling -
I think I’ve mentioned before how crazy Cameroonian travel is. It’s simply impressive. Almost all vehicles are Toyota made (with a decent number of Mercedes-Benz about). Most car taxis are Corollas – think though a Toyota Camry found in the U.S. from 1982. That’s been in 6 major accidents. Last week, I rode in one that had 9 grown adults and 2 children inside. Oh, and they are all stick shift. You don’t want to be the “petit chauffer.” The bigger bush taxis are mainly vans – not too much bigger than a standard American minivan. 22 people. Sure. To catch one of these vans, just stand by the side of the road and yell out the town you want to go to. If they happen to be headed that way, they’ll stop, and you’ll squeeze in. Somehow. Oh and there’s probably enough baggage/transportables to fill another van by themselves on top of your moving vehicle.
But so far – despite almost every time having to sit in another adult’s lap (practically), holding a child (not mine), or physically getting bruised because of how squished I am into a “seat” -- I haven’t gotten tired of traveling in Cameroon. Because it usually means I get to take in the Cameroonian countryside – which really is stunning and a good reminder of how lucky I was to end up here. It’s also another chance to really take in Cameroonians and life here. For instance, how do you go to the bathroom when traveling? Get out (possibly crawl out the window) and pop a squat. No, don’t go far. Convenient stores may not abound but who needs convenient stores when anytime you pass through a town dozens of children and “mamas” come to the van windows selling you their edibles. Grilled corn, peanuts, oranges, legumes, beignets, escargots on a stick…so many options. (It’s the kind of convenience that we Americans love.) If you’re by the window, help your neighbor who is stuck in the middle and make a purchase for them. It’s good karma. Traveling salesmen still exist, too. They’ll jump on your bus and loudly give their pitch for their goods. Nonstop – well, at least until the next town where they will descend in search of their next moving platform. It doesn't seem to bother anyone. (By the way, they’re not always unsuccessful in their peddling efforts.)
Last week, I was headed to the next town up. (Important side note –“Cameroonian time” is very different from “American time.” Starting something at 10 a.m. may actually mean starting at 12:00 p.m. A trip from Njombe to Bangante may take 3.5 hours or it might take 6 hours. It just depends. Although it can be extremely frustrating at times, you deal with it. What else can you do?) So there I am - pilled 20 people deep into a bush taxi van heading to Nkongsamba, and the “chauffer” is taking his time talking to a possible passenger on the side of the road. Another Cameroonian sitting in the back yells (yelling at one another is normal communication) at the driver to hurry up. He doesn’t have all day. Right after that, the possible passenger who the chauffer had been talking with gets in the van (and without seeing me) and says in French to the person in the back “What? Are you an American?!” Then he notices me. And we both smile. Who wouldn’t like traveling in Cameroon? It’s always an adventure.
And I didn’t even mention motos (motorcycles) – my favorite and most common mode of transportation.
Marbles and Tires -
Cameroonians like Shakira, Justin Beiber, and Chris Brown. They have billboards for the iPhone 4 along the highways. If a blaring TV isn’t on in a Cameroonian living room or bar, something’s wrong. And although they may not eat it (lack of cheese), most know what pizza is. The world is a tiny marketplace. And that’s why I can’t help smile when I (regularly) see, Cameroonian kids playing a fierce game of marbles or pushing (chasing) old tires down the middle of the road with sticks. Some things never get old.
Shopping -
Njombe is a small town so it’s difficult to find a lot of things here (including bananas – and I literally live next to what I think is the largest banana exporter/plantation in West Africa). I’ve been tired of waiting on the carpenter for chairs to be made and I’m tired of sitting on my bed. So two weeks ago, I head a couple hours north to a bigger town called Nknogsamba in search of plastic lawn chairs and other big city amenities – like metal scrubby brushes and foam pillows (and no, not like TempurPedic). I was successful in finding my chairs, but either the merchant was giving me “white man” prices or the plastic chairs really were that expensive (haggling prices is the norm), but either way, I didn’t want to pay that much for plastic lawn chairs. I was worn out. Shopping has that effect on me. So, I left Nkongsamba without buying anything I needed.
That is except for a bottle of whisky. I found that. Or it found me. And we haven’t minded sitting on the floor together…
Salt and Traps –
I’m a light sleeper and typically I hear what’s going on during the night. To put it simply, it sucks. But, I guess, on occasion, it comes in handy. The other night, around 4am, I heard my locks rattling on my backdoor (about 4 feet from my bedroom door). Shit. Someone was trying to break in. I laid there and willed this burglar to go away. But maybe after 10 minutes of that strategy proving ineffective and still hearing the locks being messed with, I got my phone out (which has a handy-dandy flashlight on it), put my house flops on, and stood up to go investigate (to do what exactly, not really sure). I turned the corner and pointed my phone’s light at the backdoor. I jumped a good 2 feet back (no screams, though). There my perpetrator stood. He ran at me. He was about 2.5 inches long and furry.
Mice are loud. And destructive. This one was chewing through my door. After a day of unsuccessfully chasing the invader out of my house with a broom, I’ve decided to take it to the next level – salt and traps – in that order. My friend Eriika, another PCV, told me that if you put salt around crevices and door entrances, mice will stay away. So I’ve done that – salt now lines the edges of everything. However, I’m not sure if she hasn’t confused mice with evil spirits and am wondering if the pentagram of salt in the middle of the kitchen was necessary. (Eriika also told me “Salt and Traps” could be the name of our girls’ R&B group…hmm.) I really want the salt to work. The realities of trap lying really don’t intrigue me. Not in this instance, anyway.
My kitchen. Working on getting a table...
