Sleeping with Miss Havisham

After bidding farewell to my sister and mother beneath the austere gaze of Joe Foss in the sacred apse of FSD, I strode quickly through the security checkpoint and waited for my flight to Chicago. There I quickly worked my way around to catch my flight to Brussels. Unfortunately for me on this flight I sat next to an astonishingly beautiful Spaniard. She had these dainty hands which while she slept she kept folded over her lap belt as though terrified one might release her during free fall. And when she was awake the two of us would read beside one another and soon entered into a common agreement that we would turn our pages at the same time and eat our meals at the same time and fall asleep at the same time and never once speak. and suddenly we were sharing our last meal and disembarking in Belgium. A lovely airport they have in Brussels and it makes for a most enjoyable run to try to get to terminal T-that terminal specializing in flights to Africa. But the flight was delayed by two hours on account of a lighting storm. What, you remark wishing to pun in French, I had un coupe de foudre on the plane only to be delayed by literal foudre in the airport. What a way I live my life, what with literalizing metaphors at every turn. Of note on this flight were, strangely, the number of Asians traveling along, the number of celebrity look alikes, and the predominance of mixed race couples...of which the husband was white and the woman black.

Entrance was easy, very easy in fact. I never even showed anyone that I had a passport until such time as I rolled out of the plane and even then my first step was to prove that I had a yellow fever vaccine. My actual visa was simply glanced at and the checkpoint never even checked to see if I had a picture. I suppose this is a good thing as my picture makes me look like a radical troublemaker.

And then the baggage claim. Here is where I realized I was in a new country. The clothes were stunning in their agonizing agon against the rainbows and the air was redolent of unwashed flesh, not in a bad way at all simply in a dominating manner. It is very humid and the sky darkens liketylsplit. One moment the flight was descending in the day, the next I left the airport in the dark. The marvelously kind Willy picked me up and we boarded the elca mobile which is much like the Pope mobile with respect to the amount of attention we received, although it lacks a domed throne, it does have a child seat in the back. The drive through the darkness was phenomenal on account the the aural nature of Cameroon. At this point I could see nothing but once my ears tuned out the sounds of the engine and the occasional buzz of electricity through the wires looping wildly from lamp post to lamp post I was able to eavesdrop on the oldest battle in nature: the bugs versus the bats. Great whooshings and snippings cut through the air around us rose noises of the audience booing for one gladiator and cheering for the next. At the end the emperor frog croaked one long croak and the victory was announced on the side of the bats, but up in protest arose the bugs and the battle began once again. Soon we neared the city limits and s whole new experience invaded my senses; this was the way in which the young live their lives outside on show for the masses who travel pass. It is like a reverse diorama. The gestures are universal of a man flirting; a woman scolding; a man breaking a heart; a woman breaking a head; a fellow begging his friend to spot him a bit of cash because said friend is feeling lucky tonight, too many people drinking to fast, dozens begging for rides. This all happens against the backdrop of shanty bars and is accompanied by the sounds of Rihanna's dance hit of the umbrella-Ella-Ella warding off the wet season as it pumps statically through the night. Soon Willy and I arrived at his beautiful home and he introduced me to his lovely family including the rambunctiously disobedient Micah aged 3. A short meal of beef bits in tomato sauce, rice, and super spicy burning the mouth straight to hades sauce and then a lovely green tangerine for dessert . This concluded my first night in Yaounde Cameroon. Except for the fact that I slept with Miss. Havisham. Some of you may already have figured out what I mean by this, for in Africa one sleeps under a mosquito net and that net is a perfect gauze that is reminscent of the opening description of Pip's first encounter with the matriarch of Satis house. And what with tucking it into the sides of the bed and watching it billow in the breeze, I decided for the aged erotic metaphor rather than the nautical--after all everyone has seen a sail billow but no one has slept with Miss. H.

This morning I awoke easily but with a blazing headache on account of dehydration and quickly worked to rectify the situation. However it did take a while. In the interim I helped take Micah to school, an adventure that meant driving through the streets of Yaounde during rush hour, an hour when streets barely large enough for one car suddenly gain three and three quarters lanes it is quite a surreal stretch. I kept glancing at the trees to see if watches were melting off of them. Speaking of trees. I was finally able to see the garden behind which I am sleeping since it was light this morning. There are lofty mango trees and stunty banana. Quite a fecund jardin.