*I tried to upload lots of pictures but...it's not cooperating. I'll try to add more later.*
Superbowl, S'morz, Spaghetti and "Suffering"
(written February 10, 2007) Last week, as all of you know, was the Superbowl. After last year’s unsuccessful search to watch the game, I'd given up all hopes of seeing it this year. But, thanks to three friends and the generous hospitality of some other Americans…I got to watch the game! The friends (affectionately called "the triplets" to many, will be referred to as "my entourage" in this blog because of the immense LACK of attention I received from Cameroonian males while traveling with three guys. But for reference sake, their names are Charlie, Wesley, and Tommy).
So, thanks to the world of missionary connections the entourage was able to travel to near Bamenda, to Mbingo, for a Superbowl party. Our generous hosts served us (and about 16 other ex-pats) great food, iced beverages and a big screen display of the game. The hardest part was the 16 hours leading up to the showing…since we were watching a recorded version; we had to avoid all contact with phones, Internet and Western looking people in case the score somehow slipped out. We made it, even though I had three unopened text messages on my phone (all day) with the score! The house in Mbingo was amazing, we were watching American football, eating great food, and were surrounded by Americans discussing football stats and past Superbowl weather conditions…for most of the evening I forgot where I was. (And Kappas, I'll be honest, I teared a little when, at the end of the game, I could hear "These are the Days" playing in the background of the trophy ceremony).
And despite our bumpy, dusty, crowded travel in an occasionally overheating van with seven other people and topped with a living rooms worth of cane furniture, it was worth it!! (Sorry there’s no picture for this one, we were all to enthralled with the game to get out cameras!)
For many of the Sunday nights since September, at least the ones when I'm in town, I've spent
the evening making spaghetti dinner with the entourage. I'd like to say that they have mastered the art of sauce making…it could be jarred and sold! Usually dinner is followed by an episode of the Office or a movie...but a week or so after I returned from my month-long excursion around
January in Ndu…mid dry season and this is the only thing that I can think of…probably because it determines everything I do, demands daily attention and is just everywhere. This isn't normal sandy American dust, this is supernatural, flour-like, pavement-lacking, air-clogging, sunset-altering, getting into every space…this is (dramatic pause) "Ndu Powder."
Every morning I wake up and my cement floor is covered, wall-to-wall, with a thin layer of red, which has seeped in overnight through the doorway, window gaps or fireplace. Outside my porch has inches, literally, over the entire area--it's like there was a small "dusting" (no pun intended) of snow but this is red and brown and everywhere. Regardless of my choice of footwear, it's understood that it will get in, through socks, shoes and probably rubber boots, if I chose to take that route. I choose sandals, mostly because that's all I own and wearing tennis shoes with skirts…that's a whole other story. By the time I get out of my house, up my path and to my chosen destination, there is a thick black line on my heel, my toenails (despite the red polish) are taking on a different reddish hue, and half way up my calves are spotted with what appears to be pantyhose. I mutter to myself "step lightly" over and over while I aim for what appears to be the least endangering spot. Sure enough one misstep and I’m ankle deep in power.
When I hear the hum of a motorcycle or car coming, I cautiously move aside, probably to a patch of dying grass, and close my eyes, hold my breath and brace myself for the cloud that will follow. Sure enough, seconds later I'm engulfed in a cloud of thick brown particles. My hair takes the brunt of this attack, sucking up as much dust as possible, like it was water. Soon it's sticky with the coating of dirt. So, sunglasses are wiped clear and I head out again, dreading the next passing vehicle.
We can soak, scrub, sweep, and use soap, bleach, and bucket after bucket of water but it makes no difference. We in Ndu press on, through sun, dust and lack of water. We dream of April when the roofs will regain their silvery glow, shoes and feet don't need to be pounded or cleaned multiple times a day and the powder will settle until it's so saturated with water that we won't be able walk without an umbrella turned walking stick. But at times like these when our skin, eyes, lungs, and especially the insides of noses are overflowing with a thin layer of brown we forget the other perils that come with the downpours in August. We simply endure and take comfort in the fact that, without fail, every conversation we have from now until that first rain, will at least mention (if not consist completely of) the dust.
So, until next time…I'll be out there, feet and hair a little darker than before, endlessly sweeping my house and dreaming of April--or at least running water!
February 21.2007
…A few incidents worth noting…
1. I locked myself IN my house recently while trying to change the locks on the front door. My mood went from greatly empowered bad-ass to embarrassed loser who would die alone in her house.
2. During a conversation with 2 Cameroonian men (and Wes & Charlie) we began discussing the "what men can do, women can do better" theme of last year's Women's Day…well I'm sure you can see where this is going. Not only was I argued with overthe fact that women can have babies better (as in give birth to them) then one boldly said…"But you couldn't climb that tree!" What?! Thankfully I had two quite supportive American males to back me up when I laughed out loud at this comment. We made no progress in women's ability to do things, like climb trees and have babies. Typical.
3. I STILL (almost 1 year later) do not have running water in my house.
4. Current book count: 64
