What a number of surprising things have happened this week ranging from the traumatic, to the humorous, to the just plain swell.
Things began last Friday with our last meal at the coffeeshop with Mia, for she left this week and thus we filled the week with last times. After sitting there and reading some comics that my mama sent to us, as always wonderfully and uniquely apropos to the quotidian out here in Ngaoundere, although we sometimes spend much more time on the backs of the comics trying to decipher an advertisement or figure out what a crossword clue might have been, or piece together a certain horoscope, at times I feel we need Rex Stout to be across from us in order to give us a hint, and some recondite anecdote about an exotic food ingredient or the color tinge of a lily. But we do our best. Sunday we went to the Plaza for Ngaoundere's most expensive meal, a Buffet that confuses me a great deal because there is always the same amount of food, but sometimes there is no one there and sometimes there are a dozen tables full, I have yet to get out my graphing calculator and figure it out, preferring instead to be awash in puzzlement. Mia, though, was one happy camper all weekend because she had finally gotten her package in the mail for Christmas, and it was full of ingredients. She is allergic to wheat, so various baking mixes were desires by her. (notice the beautiful passive constructive with agent introduced by preposition 'by'--could you pass my English tests?). The reason for this long explanation is that I manipulated a breakfast out of her. After listening to her regale us with tales of pancakes and Minnesota maple syrup (also in the package) I asked if she'd not like to use more of her ingredients before departing and then brazenly invited myself over for a breakfast on Monday and then I found myself transported to America! It is amazing what some dough cakes flipped around in a pan and then soaked in the syrups tapped from tall trees can do for the memory. If I were in a more scholastic mood, and feeling wearisomely derivative, I would direct you all to Proust's Madeline's but we've all internalized his observation by now, so there is no need, is there. (notice the question tag that elicits the expected response from my interlocutor). I keep detailing the days because I am trying to hold off coming to Tuesday but sadly I am out of anecdotes and so must enter my classroom of 5C at 11:40. By noon I was sitting and shaking on a bench, but how did I get there with my hands still chalky from eagerness giving of knowledge?
I entered with my usual briskness and called out my clarion request for the date, then I moved on to ask a whole range of students this week's question "how did you come to school today" (nota bene, if anyone ever comes here to interview Cameroonian youth on their lifestyles my classes will seriously skew the results because the majority "flew in an airplane" although some "rode a horse" and still others "took a spaceship" it sure is exciting to come to ColPro, isn't it (notice the different question tag following a sentence lacking a negation). But I am still delaying. You see I called on a young man whom I only rarely call on because he is rather shy.upon getting the correct answer, though, I lavished praise and turned to the board to introduce the present perfect tense. And then chaos erupted. I turned around and the by I had complimented had another wrestled to a table and in addition to beating him was stabbing him in the neck with a pen. Luckily the pen was capped. I wish I could say that I leaped into action, but as I moved forward shouting to them to stop, my students, never very docile to begin with, walled the fight off and prevented me from getting through. And here the fact of my not being an Cameroonian teacher really shows, because I refuse to lay a hand on a student, and so was one in a bind. So I ran outside and squealed for help. Since no one came running, I ran to the next class over and hustled the teacher out. By now several other teachers had come and managed to beat their way to the fighters and parted them and took them out, meanwhile all the corridors were packed with students who had evacuated their respective halls at the noise of the erupted chaos. Once order was restored, though, I though I'd better return to class, after all we have an exam approaching and I want everyone to do well, in fact I am rather spoon feeding their preparation. But upon walking in I witnessed a pastiche of the fight my three most reserved young girls had each other locked in headlocks and were pretending to stab and best each other, others were encouraging them and shouting and cheering. I went to the front, but was unable to restore order, and so gathered my things and went to sit out in the teachers lounge until my next class. And so I lost half a class period, the very first class I voluntarily missed.
Well none of this would be so bad if not for the that after the fight the teachers were laughing about it saying "no one understands the Cameroonians. They like to joke, they're all jokesters." I started lecturing everyone about how violence is never a joke and about sovereignty of the body, but they only wanted to laugh at the event. It turns out to have been begun because the Cameroonian had named the Chadian whom I had complimented "Mr. Mayor." a reference no one has been able to explain to me why it would cause offense.
Still upset, I left school and went to take a cup of shah in the comforting little shop of Mommie Shah, and once there I told her and her husband of my experience (an upside, moments like this really allow me to exercise my French and realize where I have vocabulary holes) and her tiny little daughter came over and rubbed my arm and then she gave me a heaping plate of Djamba Djamba with lots of hot pepper to wash away the bummer of a morning.
Well things only improved from there, for that night the Fredericks, the Nelsons, Mia and I went out for finger fish. This was my great coup. I had requested to Phi, that we do so since Val has talked it up ever since they arrived and it is one major experience that some of us have never had. So I secretly arranged it all and we headed out deep into the Muslim quarter. There we climbed some steps and pointed to various fish in a barrel. The lady proprietor then grasped them and plopped them on a spitting grill. We were then led into a room inside a warren-like building where very group had their own room with full easy chairs and couches around a table. It is like a cross between a private room in a Chinese tea garden and a booth at the Fryin' Pan. And after twenty minutes or so the fish comes out with some fried plantains and various condiments. I soon discover my inability to each fish until Phil showed me how to remove the spine. But one thing I was very good at was sucking the eyeballs out of the skull, so I did that and was pleased at the taste.
And then the week proceeded accordingly. My students were well behaved and even eager to know certain things, and now the English Club is busy preparing for Bilingual week at the end of the month.
Ahhh, but then I almost forgot, it turns out that the post office has been holding out on me, and this week's grand prize winner I'd my aunt Peggy who sent me a heaping box of chocolate Pfeffernusse which I wolfed down with my morning coffee, not all of them, though, for I am eager to share. But they are awesomely delicious, so chances are good that I'll be devilishly selfish. Also, I received letters from First Lutheran, a darling card from St. Mark's (I say darling because a bunch of kids signed it and it is strange to see American children signatures because they are scrawls, the children here, regardless of their normal handwriting, cultivate a unique signature that is a bunch of jagged lines or curly cues, but none have the roundedness of the American pen. I got great card from Norma Stene, who over an inspired Christmas time dinner had all the guests write something to me! And a really fun card from Dick and Marlys Stensaas which included the Christmas letter (I have a sort of fascination with the genre of the Christmas letter and so was very happy to get that) and finally came in a card from First Lutheran, so a very merry Christmas in January, indeed.
No comments:
Post a Comment