August 7, 2008

My foot has fallen asleep and now you’re sweating on me.

Getting from point A to point B never seemed so unpredictable before I came to Cameroon. Transportation is quite simple in the states, hop on your bike, get into a car, catch a bus, or take the subway. In Cameroon it’s quite the opposite. Each time I decide to travel its tends to turn into an adventure. Even the trip to the provincial capital, Bamenda isn’t a sure thing. Since I live 4 km off the paved road I have a few options. I can wait for a bush taxi, though this can mean a 10 min wait or up to an hour, depending on the day, weather, or what food is being harvested in the fields (really!). I normally opt out for a moto bike that carries me to the paved main road. There is definitely something about being on the back of a motorcycle passing palm trees on an early African morning.

Once the village road meets the main road I hop off and hail another bush taxi. This car is imported from some European country, most likely from Belgium and blaring an assortment of random tunes, Celine Dion always included. The average size car fits 5 passengers, yes? Not in this country, where every car is a clown car. At least 4 in the back and possibly 3 to 4 folks in the front. How is it possible? Just a bit of shifting, rearrangement of shoulders, and there you have it! It’s basically like that game sardines you played at summer camp. Time to get personal with your fellow travelers. The more passengers in the car, the more money the driver makes, so load em in. Add in a few goats and or pigs into the trunk and the car is off to its destination. Though every so often I get into the wrong car, either the car isn’t registered properly, license is out of date, the tank runs out of gas, or better yet the car breaks down completely. When you get kicked out of a bush taxi for any reason you just find another way. I normally luck out and am saved by some of the nuns or priests traveling up to my post in a private car. Sometimes it’s not such a bad thing living near a convent.

Extra Protein?

By my 11^th month in country I learned a very important lesson in the midst of making cookies. As I got to the bottom of my flour I found some black little bugs and decided to try and sift them out. I buy my flour from the “white man” store in Bamenda, which is a little shop that sells imported European foods so there has been no need to sift. Though as I looked into the bowl I found about 2 tablespoons of bugs and worms, all of which I’ve been consuming for about a year – ha! I reminded myself that everything is baked so no need to worry, though I’m the one always sneaking cookies dough. Needless to say, I’m looking forward to my medical check up.

Who wants to place their bet on how many amoebas I’ve racked up here?