Tu es là? Oui, je suis là?

 (crater lake in Foumbot, West Region)

To only my father’s disappointment, I disappeared from posting since early June.  (Apologies, Papi.)  I’ve simply been nomad-ing, and like the earliest of Americans was having too many encounters with whitemen (PCVs) - desired and undesired.  Even now after being in Maroua for a couple of weeks, I have to give myself a daily reminder that I am here for good.  Oui, je suis là!*  That Cameroonian Limboland that I was living in is now just a not-so-distant memory.    

So much has happened -- so little has happened. And, I guess before I write another boring, opinionated, and judgy post on Cameroonian life and being caught in the middle of it (which there are a few brewing and coming soon to a blog near you), I’ll just give an ugly-formatted and equally dull update.

A few notable happenings as of late: a large used syringe was thrown at me through a bus window by a “crazy” – a leg stabbing with god knows what consequences evading me by mere centimeters (let me be dramatic!), was recalled to Yaounde for my training group’s Mid-Service Conference (our 1 year mark) and where we celebrated our own country’s Independence Day together in the most appropriate of ways – over a hot grill where greasy meat drippings coated the coals, a government official said “she’s Cameroonian” and begrudgingly gave me the fair price after I wore him down with my stubbornness in refusing to pay a “white man” price, was in a moto accident leaving the right side of my body with surface wounds and more sadly torn jeans – at least at the last moment, I remembered not to pay my at-fault driver, had the un-fun malaria, was given electro-shock tests on my arms during which the Cameroonian neurologist smiled a bit too much for my liking as my face flickered between normal and grimace, saw a freshly-caught five-footer river fish, helped train the new group of volunteers in the arts of such things as “Mountain Biking” and “Transitioning to Life at Post” (things I’m well-known for being an expert), took an overnight train where my top bunk-mates were 7.5 and 12 year-old sisters sharing a bed and traveling alone who strangely found me funny or more likely funny-looking, learned to use the train bathroom only while it was in motion unless I liked the idea of the onlookers, saw crater lakes and mountainous volcanic-plugs, met with a crab sorcerer who granted me one question and answer to help satisfy my cravings for the knowledge of my future self, saw Chad and walked to Nigeria, and celebrated my first End of Ramadan fete with Cameroonians.

First observances from my new home in the Extreme North Region: they have lots of donkeys! and horses, cow and goat husbandry is common so there’s way more beef for me to down and leather products to buy, there are way less greens and few fruits but fresh cheese and yogurt can be found - as well as tasty sesame seed delicacies, dates, and guinea fowl eggs, we’re currently in the three months of rainy season so I’m still inexperienced to the forewarned fear-bringing hot/ dry season, bus travel in the North is much more comfortable because Cameroonians are skinnier here – a mix of genetics and malnutrition, buses also stop during Muslim prayer time, there are about 50 ethnic groups in my region, the encompassing sand is cruelly deceiving as there is no water at any of its edges, most of my neighbors don’t speak French but rather Fulfulde, Muslims probably only account for maybe fifty percent of the population but their culture is dominant here, there are traditional chiefs called “Lamidos” who whenever traveling about have an entourage of men constantly announcing their arrival with long, loud horns, traditional stringed instruments are played to help move cattle, I have a growing obsession with the beautiful, shady and evergreen Neem Trees that grace Maroua and I want to do projects related to them, it’s a much calmer place, I feel uglier here because men are less frequently yelling “Ma Cherie” at me and asking if I want them to accompany me, even “La Blanche” or the local-tongue equivalent “Nassara” feels less nasty when yelled at me, and already, I am beginning to love my new home.

* « Tu es là? Oui, je suis là? »: a good n’ typical Cameroonian exchange/in-person greeting;  Are you here? Yes, (obviously) I’m here.

Thousands of Muslims dressed in their finest gathered at the Grand Mosque in Maroua to celebrate the end of Ramadan and the breaking of the fast, Eid-ul-Fitr

 Traditional Crab Sorcerer of Rhumsiki (Extreme North)