Observations:

7-11 January 2010

“Welcome” in Fulfulde is “Jabbama,” which rhymes with “Obama.” So, whenever anybody welcomes me here, I want to say “Yes, We, Can!”

Cameroonians are amazed when Americans play soccer. I’m not any good, I don’t really have the right shoes, and in all honesty I’d prefer basketball or football, but everyone loves seeing me out on the dirt fields at 6:30am on Saturday mornings: “Eet’s Mister ’Arleeeeeey!”

It’s the cold season and so far the hottest temperature I’ve recorded is 97.8 Fahrenheit. I drink roughly 3 or 4 liters of water a day. I probably sweat 80% of that out, yet because of the dryness and heat, it evaporates almost instantly so the only time I really see or feel it is when I’m exercising… or sweating profusely in a room with little ventilation. I also leave a bucket of water in my room at night and splash some water on the floor in the hopes that when it evaporates, it might keep my room from being so bone dry. The verdict’s still out on whether or not this works… I still wake up with chapped lips every morning.

People give Nescafe a bad rap. Sure it’s crappy, tastes like dog breath, and is ready in 30 seconds—but when you add condensed milk (which is really more like condensed sugar with milk flavoring) you can hardly tell the difference between that and a Vanilla Latte. And, hey, it’s ready in 30 seconds.

A bout of constipation following a bout with amoebic dysentery isn’t nearly as welcome as one might think. And vice versa.

They don’t say “what can you do?” in Cameroon. Instead, they say “On va faire comment?” which literally translates to “One will do how?” I can’t think of anything else that seems so inherently Cameroonian to me.

I just finished my seventh book since I’ve been here. One of those books (Home by Marilynne Robinson) I read twice, partially because it was so damn good and partially because it painted such a good portrait of Middle America and I guess I didn’t fully appreciate it until I’d lived here for a little while.

I feel kinda spoiled at my post. I have electricity, which a good number of the volunteers around me don’t have, and I can get just about anything I need at the market. Garoua is only 40 minutes away and while there’s not a terribly large number of things to do there, there is free internet at the Peace Corps office, and mini-pizzas at a boulangerie (bakery) downtown. Consequently, I’ve seen a good number of the office episodes from this season and am not craving cheese as much as I probably would be otherwise.

In Cameroon, we eat huge portions of food. Partly it’s because so much of each meal is just simple carbs, and partly it’s because your burn a lot more calories here walking everywhere and also just hanging out in the heat. If/when I ever come back to the states, prepare to see me put on some massive weight.

Even with the visor down on my moto helmet and both vents closed I still always return from Garoua coughing and with a sore throat. Never underestimate the power of dust and pollution on the old respiratory system.

P-Square just might be God’s gift to man. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, look up the song “No One Be Like You.” It’s Nigerian R&B/Rap and in pidgin. I can’t get enough.

I don’t like watching Anthony Bourdain here for the same reason I had reservations (heh heh) about watching it in the U.S.: it makes me hungry. Except here, I don’t really keep snacks in the house aside from fruit, and a sliced orange doesn’t really cut it when Tony’s chowing into a big bowl of spicy Pho in Vietnam.

One of my friend’s daughters died a couple days ago. I think it was malaria. She was only a few months and old woke up sick one day. They tried to take her to the local hospital that afternoon but since it was a Saturday, it was closed. She died en route to the regional hospital in Garoua. Sometimes, things just get incredibly real here. It will definitely give me some more sense of personal purpose when I start doing malaria programs.

I can feel my English declining by the day. Maybe after two years I really will earn that superlative I got at Thanksgiving: Least likely to be able to speak English at COS.