It was with great delight that I returned to my small chateau here in Ngaoundere, and I quickly set out to reacquaint myself with familiar haunts. Thus I was quickly seated in Mommy Shah's filling my new horn cup with her delicious drink and partaking heartily in her djamba djamba. I headed down to Genesis' and admired the huge amount of work he had done on his wife's shah place. But mostly I sat in my house and read and read and read. For I had gotten quite behind my schedule whilst on my trip. I had all this free time because this week has been the last week of Easter break. Then on Good Friday, holy week began and I went to a service at 8.30 in the morning at the very loud Bethel church, where there were eight choirs that sang in increasingly unpleasant ways. Most singing is pretty good here, so I was shocked to be suffering so much at the keening noises that the loudspeakers distortions probably only made more tolerable. But the strangest part was the pageant of the crucifixion. You'll recall from Christmas, that pageants are a bit different here. Well. In the midst of church, three men came forth clad only in loincloths and placards down there neck. The two on the sides each read "brigand" with the other said Jesus Christ. He even had a crown, but it was of mangoe leaves, not of thornes. And then a choir sang a long mournful song about the crucification and the Christ figure slowly turned his head to one brigand and looked mournfully at him, then ot the next. This switching continued for a good five minutes. During which time these strong boys never let fall their outstretched arms.
Then I was excited to go to the Easter sunrise service but on Saturday I began feeling very strange. I would take great deep breaths and be in huge amounts of pain. My legs hurt and I hat sudden onset narcolepsy. I went to figure out what was wrong and was diagnosed with walking pneumonia. I was still determined to go to the Easter sunrise service because it was at the top of Mt. Ngaoundere and I like the idea of a dawn hike. Accordingly, I went to bed at seven thirty thinking I'd wake up for sure in time because I had already slept the majority of the day. But unfortunately I did not wake up until eight this morning. And while I am still in pain, my fever is still at 102, and I have hot and cold flashes, it is not as bad as yesterday. Well this post will be my record short post because I am in pain and it hurts my eyes to look at the screen of my iPad. By the way, I am on antibiotics and should be getting better quickly.
(late addition) I have just heard that the sunrise was not even on top of the mountain, but was rather at the foot of a much smaller mountain. So nothing lost there.
Alright, second wind...
So the Mangoes are ripening, and because of my former terrorizing of children who attacked my trees, they now most respectfully knock on my door an request permission to gather mangoes. This I give them, but only in return for the provision of two mangoes. This means that I have a steady supply of delicious mango. And they are ripe. Even though the major of the mangoes are not yet ripe, these young ones can tell, even though to me they look and feel the same--ripe and unripe.
Also, the rains have begun a small bit. Two enormous storms we had at the beginning of the week and one small one yesterday. This means that the entire earth gasps heartily and already small patched of green have arisen.
About food, at the bar the other day, a man interposed himself between me and the sunset, after I tried convincing him that it is okay to look at nature rather than always wagging the tongue, he conceded the point only if I talked to him. So that was frustrating, but he nought me a beer and I decided I could chat a bit. One of the things he asked is, like all, how I like it here. I said it was great, nothing really horrible and the nature was beautiful and the people kind, and the normal platitudes one offers to a native stranger. But once I told him that my favorite foods are djamba djamba and bread with beans, he reared back in shock. he exclaimed that those were poor people's foods, and the way he said this made it clear that the poor, to him, are lesser people. Instead, I should be eating spaghetti or fish or even better steak. Now why did this interest me? Because the healthiest foods in Cameroon are the poor people's foods, while in America the healthiest foods are the most expensive and thus for the middle to upper classes. So I told this man that my digestive tract receives no wages other than the food it processes and I'd rather it be happy in its poverty than not moving in its wealth. The strangest part of this conversation though came when the man confided in me that he was worried about getting into heaven because he only had four children. I responded that I'd be worried because I had so many children and was hurting poor mother earth. He laughed at that, thinking it a might joke.
I decided to play a game the other day, where I said I would take five hundred francs and have a huge meal that was interesting and that I had not had before. I accordingly headed out to the street. The firs thing I bought was two hundred francs worth of goat belly. With this and the free pepe and onions (score) I kept moving. I bought a hundred francs of carrots, and then a baguette and a hard boiled egg (and I took the scoop of free mayonnaise). So I had a huge meal that caused everyone watching me buy it and later hear of it to be rather perplexed. But I think, for a moment of self reflection, that this is precisely the reason I do these things, so I have something to talk about.
Alright, I just got back from M'baya and am feeling loads better though still exhausted, but while there I was honored with a dance and cheers and painful high-fives. So that was pretty swell
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