“Saint Patrick’s Day is not really celebrated in Cameroon. Quite a shame.
One year ago [2004], I was drinking a gigantic strawberry daiquiri in a to-go cup on Bourbon Street in New Orleans. Now I’m in Cameroon’s Southwest Province in a tiny village named Bangem. It has been one of the most amazing days of my life, without a doubt.
Thought I can’t help but wonder if it were such an incredible day, why is it that I still compare it (with a hint of longing in my tone) to the times like those I had in New Orleans being a drunken idiot at a karaoke bar? Oh well. Maybe it is the 10,000 kilometers between me and home, or the litre of Guinness and tallboy of Mützig that makes the difference.
I am head-over-heels in love with my Cameroonian mototaxi driver named Jude. He took me to the most beautiful place in the world – Man and Woman Lakes, set in the peak of a long-dead volcano – got me home before the rains set in, and gave me a delightful treat I never saw coming, all while maintaining his quiet mystique.
I may or may not have admitted to Bree how hard it was not to exoticize Africa while sitting on the rim of Man Lake staring out at the long horned cattle making their way across the caldera as the clouds rolled in.
[2015 here: please excuse the poor cinematography. 2005 was neither a personal artistic highpoint for video, nor one in point-and-shoot video technology.]
A significant, earned sunburn is cooking on my legs right now. It’s going to be a doozy, but I’m fine with that.
While walking in the fields in the caldera earlier today, we encountered a young boy who ended up being on his way to fish at Woman Lake. At a very far distance, I saw the glint of the sun off his shoulder. I said, “Do you think he has a spear with him? I hope he doesn’t use it against us.”
At a closer distance, I changed my mind. “Nope. It’s a bayonet.”
When we finally met him along the footpath, I saw that it was an umbrella. What a dumbass I am. That was one of the best/funniest/most idiotic moments I’ve had here yet.
When Jude showed up to take me home, I climbed on back his bike and once we began moving he said, “I have something” as he reached into his pocket. In his hand were two pieces of bright pink bubble gum, the labels printed in Arabic. I’m not sure if he understood when I told him that they were the first pieces of gum I’d had in months. He just kind of smiled. Jude then proceeded to tell me on our ride home that he is afraid of the cows “because of their horns.”
Something about the gesture of that gift of bubble gum, trying to beat a storm as it descended down the mountain, after such an untouchable day, I imagine will be hard to match… ever.
We raced the clouds and the rain back to town (and won) in time for me to grab my clean, dry jeans from the clothesline and put them on after the coldest shower I’ve ever had.
An amazing lightning storm took place this evening. We witnessed it from our hotel’s front porch after George – the town’s kindly innkeeper, where we are the only guests – asked Bree uncomfortable questions about love and marriage and getting to the USA after delivering us beer and candles (due to the ongoing power outage). It’s a terrible shame the axe finally had to fall on that issue. We really thought that George would be the exception to the Cameroonian male rule. Too bad.
kids fishing / “they gave us a pear!?” / cows bathing & shitting in our swimming water, i mean their water
the WWI sergeant wandering the village market in full vintage military stripe / buying fabric
transfer point to bangem in the middle of nowhere / load into the back of a pickup / ducking under a loose tarp in the truck bed with five cameroonians when it rained
strolling through a small coffee farm in the wild
middle schoolers (?) soccer match (tombel vs. bangem)
the one restaurant in town ceased to exist at some point years ago --> someone’s wife feeding us “cow” (beef lungs? never figured out what that was) the first night / having tea at the postmaster’s house, where the candy dish on the coffee table was full of cough drops
crazy anti-malarial dream about rock quarries and rowboats, christopher walken and kafka readings in a pit of water, soccer in colorful cloth with children, losing my & 300 people’s passports”
