The Hayride

But first, a Christmas story. Christmas was far less of an extravaganza than was thanksgiving with reference to the number of persons gathered around a table, but it did, despite that, attempt to be something greater. As you know preparation for the season begins at the beginning of the month. After Col Pro's concert, other groups around town hold concerts and there are various forms of entertainment to be had, from shopping for new clothes to buying dolls (disturbingly, in this valley of the dolls as well, they are all white) to stumbling upon a small selection of toy helicopters next to the onions in the market. But most of all are the children's pageants. In America, we love the animals. Ahhh, look at the cute cow, listen to the darling sheep (baaaah, where's the baaaaaby) and comment wryly upon whatever other animals might have showed up. But here in Cameroon, it is a different story. Here king Herod rules and does so despotically. He yells at the wise men, to be expected, but then he yells at the shepherds, more of a surprise, and then he just sort of hangs out until, whilst having his fingernails files by nubile slaves and his face fanned by the same and his feet rubbed as well, he offhandedly declares the slaughter of the innocents. In a twelve minute pageant, he'll probably be on stage for between five and seven of those minutes. Also, the shepherds are always dressed as Muslims and made the comic relief of the story. I probably saw four different versions of this and they varied to a similar extent as if you were to see four different churches do th well known story. Of course there is a major difference in the songs sung, including the absolute shocker "we love being present at Mary's birthing pains" despite the title it is really a hip rolling tune.

Christmas eve was the best part, I went with Alfred to cross and crown, the English speaking church, and we were two of fifteen total. I went because I wanted to holler out some Christmas songs in English and I was not disappointed because somehow someone had sent the church a set of ELCA bulletins for the candlelight service. Excellent. Lots of good songs and so there was good singing. Then, since it is a huge holiday for friends and less for families, indeed presents are given a few days earlier, I went with Alfred for a beer and then we went to drink some shah with Oliver and Meno, a teacher of Mathematics whom we encountered on the way. Asa result of the special occasion, I bought two bottles of guinness and mixed them into the shah, normally I don't like to drink it adulterated, but figured it was a small way to give a gift to the others. When I got back, Val and jack had prepared a small selection of appetizers and some drinks so with Mia we all had a nice time. I discovered that I really like deviled eggs when they have a dill pickle sticking out of them. Otherwise I don't really like them. Also, there was some cheese

Christmas began with the news that Jack wasn't feeling so hot, but we went on out to church, which except for some Christmas tunes was normal and crazy long because of a baptism. But there was a really fine Zulu men's a cappella group that ws hoppity. Unfortunately, like most times when there is a synthesizer and a man behind it, I was forced to hear banged out notes that cut brutally through the music. Adding to the length was a very strange presentation by the Sunday school wherein individually they would stand in the front, bow or curtsy and say "I would like to present a memory verse" which basically means a recitation, only they had only begun to learn them that morning so even the best was rather woeful.

Alright but the big event is that I finally left Ngaoundere. Boarding Jack's truck at eight twenty-ish we buckled in and drove down the highway and drove some more. It is fun to drive past dozens of different small villages because they each do their roofs differently and it is nice to think of differentiating oneself architecturally. When we came to a large cotton field, we turned off onto a tortured gravel road And drove and drove and drove. Then we stopped and had tasty egg salad and avocado sandwiches and took a bathroom break in the bush. And as we continued on Jack said to start looking for animals. A half hour later I was about to say something but it took so long to register in my mind that it wasn't until a half hour and ten secnds that I began screaming to stop. Since jack is rather deaf, it took lots of work. Everyone kept asking why, why why, but it was so simple to me that I just kept saying to the right.I completely elided the fact that I had spotted an enormous giraffe perfectly framed betwixt two trees. We stared and clicked our cameras for a while and marveled at its serenity before it slowly turned and with the slight twitch of a tail disappeared into the bush. A regal wise councilor of an animal, I think. It was not much longer when we took a left and passed und a wrought iron fence: Boubanjida African Safari. Yep, for my Christmas vacation I trucked around a safari. But you can too, and I don't mean by following a blog, or looking at pictured (really it's too bad I don't have my computer to upload some of them now). Nope, instead you can drive a few miles outside Mission Hill in late crisp November and pull in at Garrity's, because an African Safari I'd just like a hayride.

The sit where we were is a small compound of six boukarous (the peaked huts) a long table for communal meals, and a nice lounge space for drinking and chatting in the evening. The whole thing overlooks a dry riverbed, though in the rainy season this river rages, or so I've been told. Well, to go on a safari, one needs: a car, a guide who will tell you what you are seeing and point things out, and several pairs of eyes. But basically we drive around on paths looking for animals. It is like sitting on a wagon scratching itchilly and plucking various apples down. Only instead of a crisp Macintosh, I admire the ruddy bottoms of the baboon. Instead of the mouth tightening granny smith, I hearken to the mocking laughter of the Ibis (and following this sighting I launch into an explanation of the genre of vituperative poetry we have from Callimachus and Ovid in their poems of the same name, and contrary to other mentions of classical authors, i was asked some questions about Ovid's Metamorphoses given the apropos nature of our environment). Adding to the hayride effect is the fact that the landscape is the burnt autumnals of a late SD November, complete with crackling leaves, bare trees. The differences are in touch and smell, for everywhere reeks of smoke since they are burning the bush right now, and it is near thirty three Celsius in the afternoon. Though the morn is a brisk fourteen. That first day's excursion I also saw warthogs, my preferred spotting, and dozens of various types of antelopes. As we were returning, we stopped behind a truck who quickly motioned us to look and after fruitlessly searching I was able to spot a tawny movement in the back and a flick of a black tip. It was a far distant lion. By then it was dark so we returned to the camp and found Phil and June had come in for the day as well. We all sat around until supper, an elaborate three course meal opening with an onion soup, a main dish of cous cous with mouton in acream sauce and a dessert of a roll stuffed with chocolate mousse or a couple slices of papaya and lime. As we received our desserts first, a French woman leaped up with her eyes blazing and the baby on her hip burbling and demnded the children be fed right away. She proceeded to accost the head waiter for several minutes and grabbed the dishes from his hand to give to her children. It was rather unpleasant, but spiced the dessert in the end. And then it was into bed and up at five thirty the next day to break our fast on coffee, or tea or coco and bread and butter and jams. I soon gained a reputation for my prodigious ability to consume butter and was to be seen eating the little packets plain to the delighted consternation of my fellow voyagers. That morning I went out with Phil and June and we saw many antelopes, some warthogs (yeah) and good tall elephant grass. When we had been driving through the grass and not seeing anything for a while, I got up on the roof of the car and bounced merrily along for an hour. Lunch was a small salad followed by frog legs in a cream sauce over potatoes and a fruit cup. Really all this European fare with the heavy sauces was clogging me up, I who have body by corn fou fou djamba djamba, so I was craving some greens. Though it would be long till I received them, not until I returned actually. Vegetables were not highly prized here. In the afternoon, after a short but very heavy siesta overlooking the baboons frolicking in the riverbed, I headed out with Jack and Val and had a great few hours as their translator. We had gotten a hundred yards out from the camp when we spotted a large herd of antelope species and s hundred yards later an enormous bull elephant. Our guide screamed at us to back up declaring it to be terribly dangerous since it was alone and flapping its ears. The rest of our hayride proceeded calmly with lots of good spotting. Val is funny to drive with because she really likes birds and is constantly bemoaning the fact that she missed a picture of one or another is Ill placed. That night's supper was squash soup, noodles and antelope in a brown sauce followed by rum baked bananas. So still nerry a sign of a vegetable. The next day I came back with Val and Jack, Mia stuck around to return with Phil and June, and we arrived home dusty and tired and at once I headed out for some greens, only to find my lady not at home. So after a cup of shah I returned home and cooked up a heaping plate of petit pois.