I was supposed to be ready at 10 AM again on Tuesday.I was. Mr. Djame (who will henceforth be called Mr.D because I am tired of typing out his name) called at 10:30 AM and said he was on his way. Cameroonian time is way worse than Max time for all my buddies back home. I decided to kick it with the neighbor kids until Mr. D showed up. The oldest daughter was doing a younger sibling’s hair and offered me her chair. I refused and went with the small stool as a seat instead. They thought this was hilarious.
Once Mr. D finally showed up, we headed to the bank for round two. Yesterday, I forgot to mention that I had to go get some more photos taken for the bank to have. Not really sure what the reason was, but again I just did what he said. The ladies at the bank were a trip. They asked me if I was married. When I said that I was single they replied, “We can find you a wife in Cameroon!” I politely declined to their disappointment. It wasn’t my first offer and I’m sure it won’t be my last. They also asked what my height was in meters, my weight in kilograms, and the amount I would be getting paid each month by Peace Corps. Like I freakin’ know the answer to any of these questions. We aren’t on the metric system in the states people. And if I really knew what I was getting paid by PC I would probably have ET’d already. Any number Mr. D threw out I pretty much just nodded at. For all I know, the bank has me at the height of a pygmy and the weight of a sumo wrestler. During this fiasco, Mr. D was nodding off to sleep and the bank ladies were laughing at my horrible French. Not exactly the ideal situation when you are setting up the account that your paycheck will be deposited into for the next two years, but I think everything got set up correctly. If not, guess I’ll work for some of that delicious pineapple I’ve been eatin’.
After the banking fun, we went to MTN, my cell phone service provider in Cameroon. I had gotten a message the day before saying that I needed to drop off a copy of my ID card at the nearest MTN store or my phone service would be suspended. I thought this was pretty weird, but Mr. D acted like I was common practice. All I know is if Verizon calls you up asking for a copy of your driver’s license, start asking questions because I can’t seem to do that over here.
Following this strangeness, Mr. D needed to make a copy of some paperwork for ENIEG. We stopped at a photocopy storage shed. This was literally a photocopier and computer stuffed into a storage shed that someone would have stashed an old loveseat or two in the states, maybe some old crates of Rolling Rock. Multiple people came up to make a copy while we were waiting. Doesn’t seem so weird now but, at the time I thought it was noteworthy. After two years here, who knows what the hell I’ll think is awkward. Close to nothing I presume.
We headed to our usual spot for lunch after it was determined the computer was malfunctioning and could not produce the copy Mr. D needed. The only note I made about lunch was that a chicken strolled onto the patio, looked right at me, and dropped a deuce right on the floor. His gaze seemed to say, “Yeah, that’s how I roll.” Oh Cameroon. This could also be why all of us carry around hand sanitizer with us.
We left our diner and Mr. D kept talking to me, except that I was behind him and he kept talking forward like I could actually here what he was talking about. I usually just gave him an mmmhmmm, regardless if I knew what he said or not. We went to another photocopying place, not in a storage shed this time, and Mr. D proceeded to fall asleep multiple times while the lady prepared his document. She caught my eye a few times and we both laughed at him nodding off. She finally nudged him so she could get his verification on the document and make the long awaited copy.
With document in hand, we trekked back to ENIEG. This time we took some crazy jungle path that I was unfamiliar with. As we’re descending down a steep hill he says, “Don’t fall.” The words of wisdom just keep coming. I made it to the school with only a few slips and soon met another of his daughters and possible grand-child or else his youngest daughter, not sure which. She was adorable, but it seemed like she might be having some dental problems because her two front teeth were a grey/blackish color. Hopefully, they were baby teeth and going to fall out soon, she had just eaten something dark, or some other easily correctable problem and not that she would soon be missing her front teeth permanently. The older daughter had made us some delicious cake that Mr. D decided we would take back to his place because he was not feeling well. I gave the two girls money for a moto because Mr. D didn’t have any small money. Change is a major problem not only in Edea, but Bafia as well if you don’t have small bills or coins.
Before heading back, I saw the prefet’s house, kind of like the mayor of the city but not exactly because there is also a mayor. To be honest, not really sure what all of these higher-ups do. Homeboy is living the life of luxury though, it seems. I also met with a delegate from the ministry of education. He was welcoming and seemed pleased to meet me, couldn’t ask for much more. When leaving I saw a bumper sticker on a car that read, I <3 Schroot. I don’t think it’s spelled the same, but it instantly reminded me of Dwight Schrute from The Office and made me chuckle. It probably means something completely different, but let me have my moment. I also saw a kid wearing a YALE tank top. He’s got about the same chance of going to YALE as I do becoming an African American Cameroonian citizen. You can call me harsh, I’d call it being a realist.
During our trip to a bar for our pre-beer dinner I saw two things. The first was a hearse with the Mercedez-Benz symbol attached to the front and back. Last I checked, MB didn’t make hearses, dump trucks, or any of the other random vehicles I have seen with chrome MB symbols attached. Maybe it’s the cool thing to do here, IDK. The second thing was albinos. Someone told me that this is a result of incest and two people producing offspring that were too closely genetically related. I don’t really think this is a true and just think it is a pigment mutation. If I could Google it I would, but that has sadly been stolen via Wi-fi availability. The only reason I shared it is because of the amount of false information that can be easily spread by word of mouth. Think next time you are going to speak, just some friendly advice from a guy taking bucket baths.
At the bar a guy was hustling trying to sell some CDs. When I say hustling, I just mean that he was selling items, but it was probably how he made his primary income. 50 Cent and most other rappers wouldn’t survive a month in Africa if they actually had to hustle to survive. Sorry Curtis. Some of the choice cuts from the selection: James Brown, The Beatles, Don Williams (for some reason they love this old cracker around here), Jimmy Cliff, Abba, Celine Dion, James Blunt, and a ton of knockoff compilations. We are supposed to start clubs at model school (which is basically like summer school for kids in Bafia and the first attempts for most of us at actually leading a classroom) in the following weeks. Maybe exposing younger Cameroonians to a broader range of music than what can be heard via CD’s in country is more necessary than a Math Club. Yeah, not like I’d be a member of Math Club regardless. As some of you have mentioned, I inherited my mother’s writing skills AND her math skills. Love ya Mamacita ;).
After our pit stop at the bar we headed to Mr. D’s for dinner. It was some kind of weird cream of corn type dish. He brought out a bag of sugar and a bag of salt. He said some prefer sugar, like the PCV before me, but he was a salt man himself. Since I’m just so damned sweet, I went with the sugar. The corn dish had a bit of a hot pepper kick to it so the sugar gave it a nice blend of hot and sweet. I have since forgotten any more details about the dinner exchange. We grabbed some motos so we could head home except that it started raining on the way. During my research of Cameroon after receiving my invitation, and by research I mean reading the entire Wikipedia article on Cameroon, I read that when it rains Cameroonians won’t do anything and stay inside to avoid having to go out in the rain. I have heard both agreement and disagreement depending on the region on this topic, but our motos definitely fell into the first category. We pulled over and grabbed some shelter outside of a local store. If it was pouring I could see the reasoning. Nobody wants to be riding a motorcycle when it’s coming down, but this was a light rain. Grandma Ellie would have driven a moto in that stuff. Speaking of which, Aunt Patti texted me recently and said she had lunch with you and a few others at the Moose. I will greatly miss those midday lunches over the next two years so don’t get sick of your usual cheeseburger and French fries before I get back. We’ll have much to catch up on.
Also, I was going to wait until I typed up my entire week at Edea before congratulating my cousin Lara and her husband Joe, but now is as good as time as any. CONGRATS ON A HEALTHY EVE VICTORIA! Haven’t seen any pics and doubt I will with a lack of pic-messaging phone and your lack of facebook, but I can’t wait to get a chance to hold her. Although, in two years she might not be down with her smelly, scruffy cousin freshly returned from Africa getting too close, but I’ll try my best.
Back to the story. I returned home from Mr. D’s to a very interesting situation. My neighbors were sitting outside and I decided to join them to show that I was interested in building a friendship with the people I would be living beside for the next 24 months. Things were going swell, I was bonding with the mother and the kids, telling them about life in the states and asking questions about Edea. And then things got weird.
Next thing I know the father has come home. I think I caught his name as Nassari? I learned that he was a gendarme, or military man in Cameroon. The look on his face conveyed that he had had a pretty good day of boozin’. He quickly decided that I should have a beer or glass of wine with him. I requested the beer because I’ve had some pretty nasty wine in Cameroon already and he sent the daughter that couldn’t be over 14 to get it. He ended up pouring the both of us a glass of wine as well. We actually both had two glasses each, but I only accepted the second one because the oldest daughter gave me a look like, “You need to drink this or else he will.” She had been very kind to me so far and I felt like it was my duty to do whatever I could for her and drinking an extra glass of wine is never a monumental task in my book.
He let me know he wasn’t a beer drinker. Becky, the wife, let me know he had been drinking since the morning. He was friendly, creepy, I got many different vibes from him. Maybe it was cause he was drunk, maybe it was because he was speaking a hybrid of French/English/Pidgin (which is like very grammatically incorrect English), but I just couldn’t get a good read on the guy. I also didn’t like getting asked the question by Becky, “Max what is your opinion on Cameroonian men going to the bars all day while their children are at home starving?” Don’t put me on the spot or anything. I was honest, though. I said I like to party as much as the next guy, but you have to have your priorities in the right order and drinking before feeding your family is not unjustifiable. The dad had glassy eyes so I’m not really sure if he caught all of our conversation. We also discussed how some Africans think that white people are the devil and lead to all the sicknesses and deaths on this continent. She “informed” me that I would be paying more for goods and services than other Cameroonians would. I knew that before I even came lady. To end this paragraph and day on a positive note, I will cite the good things now from our conversation. Becky told me how those of us in Peace Corps, and even Americans in general, are good people for trying to come and be development agents. She said she learned from the PCV before me that she could believe in herself and to stop worrying about what others in the village think. The husband let me know if I ever have a problem to beep him, will discuss the beeping technique down the road, and he would be there. Always good to make friends with the military of your new country. It doesn’t sound as weird now as I felt after departing from the neighbor’s porch, but it was definitely a surreal moment and I hope I could paint you a vague picture of my thoughts and emotions. I’m no Bob Ross, but hey maybe I can put a happy little tree beside this babbling brook.
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