You'll have to be brave for this post o my three readers who are left perusing these laconic narratives of mine, for what follows is perhaps best meant for those who are not about to begin eating. The week began with great potential but by Sunday was boring. Saturday Night I went out with Alfred and Oliver to Behind Mandela, one of the best dive bars where one drinks the shah, and I saw a small pile of tasty treats. I usually eat peanuts at these moments but decided it was time to experience something new. After all, the opportunity is short. Right now people have begun to burn the tall grasses since the dry season is well and truly arrived. Well, from burning fires flee many things: criminals, rats, bugs. In the later. Category we include grasshoppers. Not your ordinary green grasshopper, but great finger sized brown grasshoppers, which, well fried up and legs detached accompany shah perfectly. The person who had prepared these particular specimens had filled the inside with spicy powders, so the experience goes like this. Crunch. Whoosh. (the crunch is biting down onto e head with it's beady eyes frozen in terror and the whoosh is of opening the mouth and grabbing air to try and cool off).
A new secretary general of the ELCS was installed on Sunday and the idea of the best way to do this is to hold a five hour church service without a single mention of the fact that it was the first Sunday of Advent. The vestments were all red, as well, since we were celebrating so one could not even know through basic symbolism. One of the parts included a hate speech against the part of ELCA that broke off from the main branch after certain basic human rights were recognized a few years ago by ELCA in America. Another part included s half hour gift giving session where the new secretary general stood in front of the congregation and people lined up to give him brightly wrapped presents and to drape him in fancy bubus. Another part was various choirs that sang and sang and sang and only some of which were really good. The neatest thing about the choirs is that they came from different regions and so whenever they sang in a new dialect different groups would stand up and walk by the choirs to give them coins and small bills to show their village pride. That was neat.
After this we emerged into the steamy afternoon (!) and I had only a brief break before I joined Alfred to visit a family meeting of his, this time for his village, Ya-bi. Unfortunately this was steadily boring because it lasted three hours and was all conducted in dialect. Alfred saw I was bored and I came back to the compound only to find an hour later that as soon as I left they began to dance and sing--the reason I had accepted the invitation in the first place. So that was frustrating. Then that night we went to the special party for teachers by the secretary general and listened to some funny speeches and saw a very funny skit that I did not understand but seemed to follow well-know skit tropes for the Cameroonians. Then we ate generous portions of cold food and drank warm beer. Smetimes things are a bit upside down here in Cameroon.
The students lamented their grades on Monday, but I figured it was just disappointment and after we went over the exams they seemed to accept that I was right, although we had a lot of drama because I was not consistent in taking off half points. Sometimes I used a decimal and sometimes a fraction and boy they could not wrap their heads around that phenomenon, so I had is row of students come up to me and make me count to twenty with them. A bit frustrating.
Wednesday I went out with Phil to the CoffeShop for a farewell supper, he's on his way to Yaounde to pick up his wife who is finally arriving. Wow he is excited. When we got back, he asked me to share a piece of cake that Val had made and shared with him. Well I eagerly joined in and as it was still warm found myself taking great delight in it. Then I headed home. I saw a shadow on my door handle and began grin. Val had decided to send me a portion to, and since I was not home she put it on my door. I hurried my step up the hill and began to sense something was wrong. There was a smell in the air. I slowed and began to shake. There is no mistaking the fact that the smell coming from the bag was not squash and peanut pie, it was the rank smell of fresh, very fresh, caca. How I stumbled back in shock at this. Half my mind reeled thinking it was hugely offensive and a bitter attack against my person while a small portion wondered if it was just an innocent prank. I cut the bag from the door and threw it aside before sprinting down to Phil and we set out to see if anyone had seen anything, well none had. I then returned home and wallowed in self pity.
Today started with a great potential, Alfred and I headed out to the bush to drink some Rafia wine. This is tapped directly from the Rafia bush and can be quite good when it is fresh since it is sweet and not to strong. It strenghtens through e day. Unfortunately, by the time we arrived at this adorable camp in the bush, there were a dozen or so there already who were quite drunk and loud, thus I was uncomfortable from the start but all the more do because there were several there with a type of personality I dislike a great deal, namely those who say we have just met and we are friend and brother. I automatically reel away from these people, but it is hard to reel away from drunk men bigger than me. Luckily, after Alfred and I left, we took a wonderful ramble through the countryside and I calmed a bit and then ended the morning with some shah, peanut butter, and large helpings of corn fou fou djambe djambe (my favorite food). And now to conclude this rather wretched week, I will tell you that raffia wine leaves me with horrid flatuance.
No comments:
Post a Comment