Monday June 27th, 2011

Mr. Djame and I were back at it again on Monday. He told me he’d be there at 9 AM, so stupidly I was showered and dressed by that time. I forgot about the whole African time thing. At 10 AM, he called and informed me that he hadn’t slept well and to wait for him that he would be there soon. Wait for you? Well Duh, I don’t know where the hell I am, what else am I gonna do!?

In the meantime, I decided to see what all worked in my new residence. I found another fan in one of the extra bedrooms. It wasn’t plugged in, but was right next to an outlet. Two birds, one stone. Except that this bird was on Death Row. When I plugged the fan in, I heard a loud pop and sparks shot out of the fan. It’s always good to keep the close calls to a minimum in a developing country. Needless to say, that fan got put outside with the rest of the garbage, which magically disappeared within a day or two of being set out. I guess they think this American is throwing away perfectly good trash, ala Frank and Charlie.

I also discovered, after plugging my fridge in, that it was quite the opposite. An oven fridge seems to be an oxymoron, but that is exactly what my fridge appears to do. It actually makes things hotter. I left it plugged in all night to try and cool it off before I put some bottled water in there. Not happening. It was a little mini-sauna in there. I decided to leave it plugged in to see if maybe it just needed to cool down for a longer period of time.

While waiting for Mr. Djame, my neighbor Becky came over to introduce herself. For those of you going, Becky doesn’t sound like a very Cameroonian name. Well Becky is an Anglophone! I have someone I can actually speak English with at post! Do the exclamations convey my excitement enough? Becky was very kind and told me if I ever needed anything at all don’t hesitate to come over. She also offered her daughter to help me clean up if I needed any extra help. She was very welcoming and said she told Greg, the PCV before me, that she promised to help the next volunteer up because of all that he did for her and her family. I hope after two years, she will feel the same way towards me.

Mr. Djame finally arrived sometime after 11 AM. I was pretty hungry by this point and asked Mr. Djame if we could get some food or water soon, since I was lacking both at the moment. He responded with something like, “I’m not sure. It depends on how our program (schedule) goes today.” If he wasn’t so old, I might have taken a swing at him. 

I grabbed a bandanna, since I was already sweating profusely, and went to wipe my face off before leaving. Just before wiping my face I looked down to see a small spider on it. It was dead and I brushed it off. I watched in amazement as it floated gracefully back in through my front door on a small breeze. If you’ve ever seen the plastic bag scene from American Beauty, this is EXACTLY what it was like. I can’t say it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, but it did seem kind of elegant the way it danced in the wind. Could also be a sign that I’m losing my mind over here? 

Our first order of business was to head to the bank at my post, Bicec, and try to set up my bank account. Before entering the bank, however, Mr. Djame seemed to know each and every person that was also going to the bank that day. I was introduced to one woman that was a head of one of the local primary schools in Edea. She had some serious beard action going on around and under her chin. She also had leg hair that rivaled the thickness of my own. I’m not judging this is part of the cultural exchange people. I just found it interesting because she had on makeup, her hair done, a nice pink skirt and blouse. She seemed to be very concerned about the rest of her appearance, except the hair protruding from places other than her head. Again I’m not judging, it just made the cut of things I thought I needed to share with those reading.

We finally made it inside the bank after the 20 minute greeting session. There appeared to be a line, but Mr. Djame went to one of the smaller offices and we were sitting down within minutes. This guy must pull some serious strings in Edea. The paper that Peace Corps had given us to set up our account told us what we would need to have to get our account started. As you probably saw coming, this was not all I needed. I also needed a copy of my passport, which was not with me in Edea, and more pictures than the two it said were required. Guess we’ll be headed back to the land of handshakes and bearded ladies the following day.

After that I finally saw the place where I’d be teaching the next two years. It’s called ENIEG d’Edea and it is a teacher training college. I think I’ll be training primary school teachers (elementary school), but your guess is as good as mine at this point. I met the director of my school and he seemed happy to be getting another Peace Corps Volunteer to teach at his school. I tried asking some questions like how many hours I’d be teaching, class sizes, number of computers etc. They kept telling me I had to talk to the boss of services, who didn’t happen to be around of course. The only figures I could confirm were that I would have “2 or 3” computers at my disposal and that I would be teaching around 12 hours a week. Never did see a classroom or “computer lab”. Guess I’ll get the grand tour in August.

Finally, I was told we would be going to lunch. Again, we went to the small restaurant from the first night. I’m pretty sure we both ordered poulet (chicken). The only note I have about lunch is the comment that Mr. Djame made. As we are eating, he starts going to town on the chicken bones. I have witnessed this in my own homestay family as well. The bones are fair game. Just as I notice the sounds of the crunching from the seat next to me Mr. Djame goes, “This chicken was old.” I don’t know if this strikes you as weird as it did me, but I had a hard time stifling laughter. I’m not sure if it was the crunch factor or the calcium level, but somehow Mr. Djame could tell how old that chicken was from the bones. I haven’t started devouring the bones as well if you’re wondering. I made another note that Mr. Djame had not paid attention during the time management session during the community host workshop, but I will dwell on that later.

We went back to Mr. Djame’s office after brunch. On the way there we passed an older woman and younger girl on the path to the school. Mr. Djame asked, “Tu faires es caca?” Now, my French isn’t good by any means, but I am fairly certain he just asked this girl if she was going to take a dump. I grimaced and swore to myself I would always watch where I was walking on that path in the future. In Mr. Djame’s office we did a whole lot of nothing. It was basically a two hour long map drawing session complete with a straight edge. I was twiddling my thumbs for most of said journey. At one point, he was on the phone with his daughter, whom I hadn’t met. He decided that I should say hello and introduce myself. I went with my basic introductory phrases and was pretty soon left to dwell in awkward silence with this unknown daughter. Did I mention I start teaching in French next week?

After the office, we grabbed some soya and headed to a bar to meet Emmanuel. I was also introduced to one of Mr. Djame’s brothers, whose name escapes me considering the fact I met like 30 people on this trip. I should have just started writing their name down when we were introduced. Mr. Djame’s bro was an interesting cat. We had some political talks about Africa and America. He said Africa has one problem, management/leadership. I will say that they have way more than one problem, but that is a discussion for another day. He also made an interesting point, after we talked about how much of a moron Bush was, that Bush had given way more money to Africa than Obama has. I haven’t seen any figures so I don’t know how valid it is, but I just thought it was interesting food for thought considering the amount of Obama paraphernalia I have seen already.

After said bar we decided to trek to another bar for the nightcap. Before going to the bar, we stopped at a little shack and got omelets. Now, not only did they deliver the omelets across the street when they were complete, but this thing was like an omelet sub! I’d put it up against Subway anyday, fresh veggies be damned. It had some onions, salt, and pepper and I devoured it. I also realized at this late point in the night that Mr. Djame kind of resembled an old, skinny Denzel Washington. I will get a pic with him at some point and you guys can be the judge. The last notes I have for the night are that Emmanuel and Mr. Djame kept passing out sitting at the table so I had to wake them up and tell them it was time to go. On the drive home, we hit so many potholes their heads looked like bobbleheads in the front seat. They are very protective, and therefore walked me to my front door to make sure I was safe. I also wrote that Mr. Djame kept apologizing for speaking in the “mother tongue” and “you will discover” this, that, etc. Well, I can’t discover if you won’t take the training wheels off, but I appreciated the hospitality nonetheless. Another day in the books…