Yesterday, I read through a Cameroon travel book. It was immediate obvious that the author has not been to Cameroon.
In the "Do & Don't" section, it said that it's obscene and dangerous to pee in public. People here pee on the street all the freakin' time. I've seen more penises here than a prostate cancer specialist sees in the course of a career. (As an aside, one of my biggest accomplishments here yet was to pee in public, standing up. I straddled the gutter and peed like a man! Retribution for the gutter cutting open my knee. It's the small things for me--some people get Nobel prizes; I celebrate peeing standing up.)
In regards to one specific bar, the book said, "Interestingly, the beer is served from behind a wire cage." The beer is always served from behind a cage here. It's the Cameroonian take on the bulletproof glass around the counter in liquor stores in bad neighborhoods in the U.S., because all the neighborhoods here are bad.
The moral of the story is that you shouldn't believe travel guides.
Last night I dreamed about pizza for the second night in a row. I dreamed that my family and I had about six pizzas on the balcony of our old house, and that after eating pizza, I was toasting a sandwich and all the cheese melted off of the sandwich and onto the tray of the toaster oven. I cried in frustration, and shouted something along the lines of, "Fucking fuck ass motherfucker! FUCK! I haven't had a sandwich with cheese in six months!" It was very sad. And I woke up craving pizza, which is hopeless in this city.
The radio in this cyber café is now playing "My Heart Will Go On," which is my cue to leave, so I'm off to play with orphans!
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Finally, the photos you have all been waiting for!
Me at the waterfall on the coast. After this some African guys rowed us around it in tradtional canoes. It was problematic and fun.
The view from my balcony, top to bottom being left to right. I feel like God would feel with the whole world in his hands, if he existed.
Me with the neighborhood kids. They love having their pictures taken, so I got to play with them all afternoon!
Here are the Wom-MYN, dedicated to David K. Seitz, Mothahfuckah. We took this picture on Women's Day, when we were bossed around by men at a creepy militaristic march.
Reasons that Cameroon doesn't make any sense
1. Yesterday the other blanches and I went to Yaoundé's only movie theater. The movies are, with rare African exception, bad American movies dubbed into French, and they are always shown in double feature.
Yesterday morning's double feature started at 10 a.m., which does not make sense, but the pairing made sense: a Samuel L. Jackson marathon, "The Boss" followed by "Snakes on a Plane." The afternoon pairing, though, was "The Exorcist" followed by "As Good As It Gets." That does not make sense.
(Unfortunately, I missed the "Motherfuckin' snakes on this motherfuckin' plane" line, but knowing French, I'm sure it was something along the lines of "Merde alors! Il y a des serpents sur cet avion-ci!")
2. Cameroonians are compulsive about cleaning certain things but ignore other aspects of hygiene.
My host family, for example, gets on their hands and knees to scrub the front porch three or four times a week, but leaves food (corn kernels, for example) uncovered, outside, for weeks at a time. Everyone scrubs the hell out of their shoes and washes their cars all the time. Bathrooms, however, when they exist, are always revoltingly disgusting, and no one seems to mind that everyone throws their trash everywhere. The city is an extended dump.
3. Cameroonian men ask us for our phone numbers all the time. Literally, before they ask our names. I usually say that I don't have a phone (a total lie), to which a number of people have asked if they can give me their numbers. You can give me your number, I say, but I'm not going to call it. They insist on giving me their numbers anyway.
4. Coffee is grown in Cameroon, but there are no coffee shops in this entire city and the only coffee available is instant Nescafé.
Yesterday morning's double feature started at 10 a.m., which does not make sense, but the pairing made sense: a Samuel L. Jackson marathon, "The Boss" followed by "Snakes on a Plane." The afternoon pairing, though, was "The Exorcist" followed by "As Good As It Gets." That does not make sense.
(Unfortunately, I missed the "Motherfuckin' snakes on this motherfuckin' plane" line, but knowing French, I'm sure it was something along the lines of "Merde alors! Il y a des serpents sur cet avion-ci!")
2. Cameroonians are compulsive about cleaning certain things but ignore other aspects of hygiene.
My host family, for example, gets on their hands and knees to scrub the front porch three or four times a week, but leaves food (corn kernels, for example) uncovered, outside, for weeks at a time. Everyone scrubs the hell out of their shoes and washes their cars all the time. Bathrooms, however, when they exist, are always revoltingly disgusting, and no one seems to mind that everyone throws their trash everywhere. The city is an extended dump.
3. Cameroonian men ask us for our phone numbers all the time. Literally, before they ask our names. I usually say that I don't have a phone (a total lie), to which a number of people have asked if they can give me their numbers. You can give me your number, I say, but I'm not going to call it. They insist on giving me their numbers anyway.
4. Coffee is grown in Cameroon, but there are no coffee shops in this entire city and the only coffee available is instant Nescafé.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Whenever I want fo-oo-oood, all I can do is dreee-eeam.
I'm sorry, dear readers, if you're sick of fielding my complaints about Cameroonian food. Really, it's not the Cameroonian food that's a problem so much as the lack of American food.
I thought I had adjusted because I stopped craving American food every waking minute, but since then, I've just been dreaming about American food every single night. I'm not kidding--every single night my dreams involve food. Last night it was Halloween candy and a meatloaf sandwich, but I also dreamed about Doritos, and my brain concocted an an all-you-care-to-eat chocolate buffet, which I may just have to patent someday.
So, I'm making a list of all the things I want my parents to stock before my return. For their shopping convenience, I've organized it by supermarket section.
Produce:
Baby spinach
Strawberries
Fuji apples
Granny Smith apples
Almonds
Dairy:
Organic 2% milk
Extra sharp cheddar
Provolone slices
Kozy Shak tapioca pudding
Shredded parmesan
Butter
Low fat cottage cheese
Moose tracks ice cream
Cookie dough ice cream
The Edy's ice cream that's part raspberry sorbet (I forget what it's called)
Deli:
Sliced sam'mich turkey and lots of it
Bakery:
Bagels, preferably from Einstein Bros., but Thomas's Everything bagels would suffice
Snacks:
Nacho cheese Doritos
Crunchy Cheetos
Bite size Tostitos
Newman's Own Peach salsa
White cheddar Cheez-Its
Snyder's Sourdough pretzel bites
Velveeta Shells n' Cheese
Annie's Naturals white cheddar macaroni
Drinks:
Newman's Own lemonade
Lime Diet Coke (or Diet Coke and fresh limes)
And, friends, I am completely goddam broke, so if you want me to love you forever--or, I'll be honest, I might even give sexual favors for this--take me on dates to the following restaurants:
Steak n' Shake
Waffle House
Crescent Moon...mmm
Chik-fil A
McDonald's (I don't normally like McDonald's, but in Cameroon, the burgers are the size of sausage patties, so they don't fill the bun. Most of the bites are bread and mayo. I just want a burger that fills the bun, so a processed fast food burger sounds SO good to me right now.)
Pizza (Mellow Mushroom? Hell, even Domino's sounds good right now.)
Mexican (I like El Toro and Taqueria Del Sol, Atlantans, and Minnesotans, my favorite place on Lake Street is Taqueria La Que Buena)
...and if you feel like springing for a more expensive date, brunch at Watershed
Shit. I thought that list would be therapeutic, and instead, I just feel really hungry right now.
EDIT: I forgot to include the two most important things: a jar of crunchy peanut butter and a big bag of bite-sized Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.
I thought I had adjusted because I stopped craving American food every waking minute, but since then, I've just been dreaming about American food every single night. I'm not kidding--every single night my dreams involve food. Last night it was Halloween candy and a meatloaf sandwich, but I also dreamed about Doritos, and my brain concocted an an all-you-care-to-eat chocolate buffet, which I may just have to patent someday.
So, I'm making a list of all the things I want my parents to stock before my return. For their shopping convenience, I've organized it by supermarket section.
Produce:
Baby spinach
Strawberries
Fuji apples
Granny Smith apples
Almonds
Dairy:
Organic 2% milk
Extra sharp cheddar
Provolone slices
Kozy Shak tapioca pudding
Shredded parmesan
Butter
Low fat cottage cheese
Moose tracks ice cream
Cookie dough ice cream
The Edy's ice cream that's part raspberry sorbet (I forget what it's called)
Deli:
Sliced sam'mich turkey and lots of it
Bakery:
Bagels, preferably from Einstein Bros., but Thomas's Everything bagels would suffice
Snacks:
Nacho cheese Doritos
Crunchy Cheetos
Bite size Tostitos
Newman's Own Peach salsa
White cheddar Cheez-Its
Snyder's Sourdough pretzel bites
Velveeta Shells n' Cheese
Annie's Naturals white cheddar macaroni
Drinks:
Newman's Own lemonade
Lime Diet Coke (or Diet Coke and fresh limes)
And, friends, I am completely goddam broke, so if you want me to love you forever--or, I'll be honest, I might even give sexual favors for this--take me on dates to the following restaurants:
Steak n' Shake
Waffle House
Crescent Moon...mmm
Chik-fil A
McDonald's (I don't normally like McDonald's, but in Cameroon, the burgers are the size of sausage patties, so they don't fill the bun. Most of the bites are bread and mayo. I just want a burger that fills the bun, so a processed fast food burger sounds SO good to me right now.)
Pizza (Mellow Mushroom? Hell, even Domino's sounds good right now.)
Mexican (I like El Toro and Taqueria Del Sol, Atlantans, and Minnesotans, my favorite place on Lake Street is Taqueria La Que Buena)
...and if you feel like springing for a more expensive date, brunch at Watershed
Shit. I thought that list would be therapeutic, and instead, I just feel really hungry right now.
EDIT: I forgot to include the two most important things: a jar of crunchy peanut butter and a big bag of bite-sized Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Emalaria Jones: Fighting Infectious Disease, One Mosquito at a Time
For those of you who read the WebMD page on malaria and were convinced that I would be sent home in a wooden box, I thought I'd give you a run down of what malaria is like.
Monday I felt fine. Great, even. Until nighttime. I spent the night at my program's center rather than with my host family, and around 10:30, I felt sleepy and began to get ready for bed.
Literally, in the time it took me to brush my teeth, I felt like I was dying. Worst body ache of my life, particularly in my hips and knees; headache; fever. I was exhausted, but I hardly slept because given the body ache, I couldn't get comfortable.
At about 4:45 in the morning, I felt like I had to poop. That's strange, I thought--I wake up to pee but never to poop. So I stagger to the bathroom only to diarrhea the most vile diarrhea of my life. It kept coming and coming and coming. I thought I would look down and see my organs in the toilet.
(Sorry if that crosses the TMI line. Living in Africa gives you a very frank relationship with your bowel movements.)
Went back to bed, pulled the trash can over because I thought I was going to puke up my remaining organs, and lay there thinking, "This is it. I'm dying. I'm never going to get out of this bed."
The next morning, I had to go to the American Embassy, which made me incredibly angry, but that's another story entirely. The whole time I was extremely exhausted and headachey.
Got my malaria test at a lab that afternoon, and then the program doctor text messaged me a prescription. I can't decide if that is more or less 21st century medical care than I would receive in the U.S.
Went home, lay in bed crying and writhing around in pain, diarrhead some more.
But, I took the meds and my worst symptoms were over within about 36 hours. Since Wednesday morning, I have been lying in bed, alternating between fever and chills and sleeping a lot, but not feeling like I'm dying anymore. I caught up on The Young & the Restless, courtesy of South African tv.
In Africa, malaria is like the flu. You get it all the time, you're sick for a few days, and then you're okay. Unless you're a baby, or geriatric, or an AIDS patient, it's not the crisis everyone imagines.
Monday I felt fine. Great, even. Until nighttime. I spent the night at my program's center rather than with my host family, and around 10:30, I felt sleepy and began to get ready for bed.
Literally, in the time it took me to brush my teeth, I felt like I was dying. Worst body ache of my life, particularly in my hips and knees; headache; fever. I was exhausted, but I hardly slept because given the body ache, I couldn't get comfortable.
At about 4:45 in the morning, I felt like I had to poop. That's strange, I thought--I wake up to pee but never to poop. So I stagger to the bathroom only to diarrhea the most vile diarrhea of my life. It kept coming and coming and coming. I thought I would look down and see my organs in the toilet.
(Sorry if that crosses the TMI line. Living in Africa gives you a very frank relationship with your bowel movements.)
Went back to bed, pulled the trash can over because I thought I was going to puke up my remaining organs, and lay there thinking, "This is it. I'm dying. I'm never going to get out of this bed."
The next morning, I had to go to the American Embassy, which made me incredibly angry, but that's another story entirely. The whole time I was extremely exhausted and headachey.
Got my malaria test at a lab that afternoon, and then the program doctor text messaged me a prescription. I can't decide if that is more or less 21st century medical care than I would receive in the U.S.
Went home, lay in bed crying and writhing around in pain, diarrhead some more.
But, I took the meds and my worst symptoms were over within about 36 hours. Since Wednesday morning, I have been lying in bed, alternating between fever and chills and sleeping a lot, but not feeling like I'm dying anymore. I caught up on The Young & the Restless, courtesy of South African tv.
In Africa, malaria is like the flu. You get it all the time, you're sick for a few days, and then you're okay. Unless you're a baby, or geriatric, or an AIDS patient, it's not the crisis everyone imagines.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Ditches were one thing, but parasites?! Thanks a lot, Africa.
So my 21st birthday was already going to be anticlimactic since I've spent the last two months in a country that has no drinking age, but now it looks as though I'll be spending the day in bed.
Not hungover from my first night of legal drunken revelry, but flat on my ass with malaria.
Yup. I've got malaria.
Not hungover from my first night of legal drunken revelry, but flat on my ass with malaria.
Yup. I've got malaria.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Never have I been so thankful for Cameroon's painfully slow internet.
Given that the tension has blown over for the most part, that the Embassy oh-so-kindly permits us to leave our houses, and that moving us would have been an academic nightmare, my program decided to let us stay here in Cameroon...for now, at least.
There's still a chance that the revolution will start right here in Yaoundé, in which case, I'm sure we helpless little white girls would be whisked to Embassy property in armored vehicles before we even had time to pack our bags, but that's unlikely. See, Cameroonians prefer stability in the short term to good governance in the long term, which is why the president gets away with whatever he wants. (Not to worry, though: they would have to drag me--kicking balls and screaming murder--if it were the Revolution.)
And of course, as I type this, the woman in the next stall is Googling information on how to get a green card in the United States. Oh, the irony. If only I could explain in French--without being a total asshole--that the U.S. isn't all it's cracked up to be. I'd give her my American citizenship if I could--I don't want to go home, and God knows I want an excuse not to vote in November. (Fuck Hilary, fuck Obama. I'm sick of it, and I'm watching the international news. I feel terribly sorry for all of you who are in the States right now.)
Throughout the four days of torturous limbo, I attempted to cheer myself up by making a list of the things of which I would thrilled, frankly, to have three fewer months. They include:
--Sweating
--Ice cold showers, which are painful no matter how hot it is outside
--An extremely uncomfortable mattress and even worse pillow
--Constant noise
--Humans smelling like humans and not deodorants like "Mystic Sunset"
--Shards of bone in every beef dish; bones and skin in every fish stew
--Jerky taxi drivers
--Jerky moto drivers who think it's funny to pretend to swerve into me
--Being ripped off because I'm white
--Men staring at me, shouting at me, and--all too often--touching me
--The smell of plastic burning
--Little variety of food, and total deprivation of a few of my staples, such as Cheerios, turkey sandwiches with cheddar, Diet Dr. Pepper, and PopTarts
--Emily pronounced the French way ("Amy-LEE")
--Dirt
--Living in a giant trash dump
--The only dark beer here is too hoppy for my taste, and the only hard liquor is rank-ass whiskey
--Bad service in restaurants (I could write a whole post on this one, and may just do so...)
--Rude shop owners
--European keyboards
--A whole slew of Cameroonian behaviors that are unacceptable by American standards, including but not limited to:
--calling before 9:00 a.m.
--calling 8-10 times in a row if the person doesn't pick up the first time
--finding someone at home if they still don't pick up
--stalking in general
--using chain saws before 8:00 a.m.
--asking for presents
--calling people by their race ("White girl! White girl!" Can you imagine the NAACP versus ACLU battle that would ensue if you shouted out "Black person! Black person!" in America? Throwdown!)
But of course, this list was nothing compared to the list of reasons I would have been devastated to leave. The tomatoes alone are worth dealing with the bad foods, and constant bad smells make the occassional good one sheer ecstasy. I am supposed to work in an orphanage and haven't even been there yet, and I may also be working with a woman who runs an AIDS organization. Plus, my parents are supposed to visit at the end of my program, and I can't wait to show them around--they won't believe how tough I've gotten!
So anyway, I'm thrilled that we don't have to leave.
There's still a chance that the revolution will start right here in Yaoundé, in which case, I'm sure we helpless little white girls would be whisked to Embassy property in armored vehicles before we even had time to pack our bags, but that's unlikely. See, Cameroonians prefer stability in the short term to good governance in the long term, which is why the president gets away with whatever he wants. (Not to worry, though: they would have to drag me--kicking balls and screaming murder--if it were the Revolution.)
And of course, as I type this, the woman in the next stall is Googling information on how to get a green card in the United States. Oh, the irony. If only I could explain in French--without being a total asshole--that the U.S. isn't all it's cracked up to be. I'd give her my American citizenship if I could--I don't want to go home, and God knows I want an excuse not to vote in November. (Fuck Hilary, fuck Obama. I'm sick of it, and I'm watching the international news. I feel terribly sorry for all of you who are in the States right now.)
Throughout the four days of torturous limbo, I attempted to cheer myself up by making a list of the things of which I would thrilled, frankly, to have three fewer months. They include:
--Sweating
--Ice cold showers, which are painful no matter how hot it is outside
--An extremely uncomfortable mattress and even worse pillow
--Constant noise
--Humans smelling like humans and not deodorants like "Mystic Sunset"
--Shards of bone in every beef dish; bones and skin in every fish stew
--Jerky taxi drivers
--Jerky moto drivers who think it's funny to pretend to swerve into me
--Being ripped off because I'm white
--Men staring at me, shouting at me, and--all too often--touching me
--The smell of plastic burning
--Little variety of food, and total deprivation of a few of my staples, such as Cheerios, turkey sandwiches with cheddar, Diet Dr. Pepper, and PopTarts
--Emily pronounced the French way ("Amy-LEE")
--Dirt
--Living in a giant trash dump
--The only dark beer here is too hoppy for my taste, and the only hard liquor is rank-ass whiskey
--Bad service in restaurants (I could write a whole post on this one, and may just do so...)
--Rude shop owners
--European keyboards
--A whole slew of Cameroonian behaviors that are unacceptable by American standards, including but not limited to:
--calling before 9:00 a.m.
--calling 8-10 times in a row if the person doesn't pick up the first time
--finding someone at home if they still don't pick up
--stalking in general
--using chain saws before 8:00 a.m.
--asking for presents
--calling people by their race ("White girl! White girl!" Can you imagine the NAACP versus ACLU battle that would ensue if you shouted out "Black person! Black person!" in America? Throwdown!)
But of course, this list was nothing compared to the list of reasons I would have been devastated to leave. The tomatoes alone are worth dealing with the bad foods, and constant bad smells make the occassional good one sheer ecstasy. I am supposed to work in an orphanage and haven't even been there yet, and I may also be working with a woman who runs an AIDS organization. Plus, my parents are supposed to visit at the end of my program, and I can't wait to show them around--they won't believe how tough I've gotten!
So anyway, I'm thrilled that we don't have to leave.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Thanks a fucking lot, Department of State.
Well, ladies and gentlemen, purse your lips in anticipation of kissing your favorite blog good bye.
Last night I received the most devastating news of my life: I may be coming home on Thursday.
Last week, taxi drivers went on strike, ostensibly over rising fuel prices, but really as a general protest against the president's intention to amend the constitution so that he can run again in 2011. (He's already been president 26 years.) The city shut down, and demonstrations turned to riots when the police intervened. (See emilyenafrique.blogspot.com for a longer explanation of the situation.)
The U.S. Embassy issued dire warnings that Americans should try to leave Cameroon as soon as possible, and the Department of State has since issued a travel warning. Dickinson College, which runs our program, booked tickets for us to return home on Thursday. They say it's merely a precaution, and that we will only leave if things get worse before then.
Meanwhile, the tension has blown over and life has returned to normal. But, shit could really hit the fan in mid-March, when the amendment will inevitably pass, since that's how the government works here.
The program has advised us to pack our bags; to be ready to leave if necessary. They won't say for sure until Wednesday night or Thursday morning, but I'm pretty sure they're going to make us leave.
Needless to say, I'm devastated, but honestly, I would rather know for sure that I'm leaving on Thurday than wonder until I go to sleep Wednesday night. This limbo is torture, and I'm an emotional wreck.
Last night I received the most devastating news of my life: I may be coming home on Thursday.
Last week, taxi drivers went on strike, ostensibly over rising fuel prices, but really as a general protest against the president's intention to amend the constitution so that he can run again in 2011. (He's already been president 26 years.) The city shut down, and demonstrations turned to riots when the police intervened. (See emilyenafrique.blogspot.com for a longer explanation of the situation.)
The U.S. Embassy issued dire warnings that Americans should try to leave Cameroon as soon as possible, and the Department of State has since issued a travel warning. Dickinson College, which runs our program, booked tickets for us to return home on Thursday. They say it's merely a precaution, and that we will only leave if things get worse before then.
Meanwhile, the tension has blown over and life has returned to normal. But, shit could really hit the fan in mid-March, when the amendment will inevitably pass, since that's how the government works here.
The program has advised us to pack our bags; to be ready to leave if necessary. They won't say for sure until Wednesday night or Thursday morning, but I'm pretty sure they're going to make us leave.
Needless to say, I'm devastated, but honestly, I would rather know for sure that I'm leaving on Thurday than wonder until I go to sleep Wednesday night. This limbo is torture, and I'm an emotional wreck.
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