A Saturday in Cameroon

Contrary to the suspicions of some, I am here at CBTS, teaching with Wes and Shep. There’s much to write about my past month in Cameroon (a month already—incredibly), but I’m hoping a glimpse into a day here will be more enjoyable.

Usually, I wake up between four and five, but being Saturday, I slept in until six. After finally resolving to leave the warmth of my bed, I slipped on my iPod, made my usual morning cup of tea, and returned to my room to read. A bit later, I slipped on my tennis shoes and crept out the door for a run. It was drizzling outside—almost an enveloping mist—and the sky was gray. I’ve found that the farther I run from the campus, the wider the eyes of the village’s children as I run through. Some smile and return my wave, some stare blankly, and some laugh while running away, as if from a foreign monster.

On my way back home, I stopped to help three young boys, around ten years old. They were pushing a cart loaded with sacks of beans to the weekly “big market.” The path was muddy, rocky, and at a significant decline, and the cart probably weighed more than the three of them combined. I helped them down the hill and helped them the rest of the way to market. I had no idea it would become the town’s morning spectacle. I might as well have been nude: when we dropped a couple bags off with one of the boy’s aunt, the porch was immediately filled with the woman’s family and friends, watching the white man lug the fifty-pound sacks in and out of the house. As they joked and laughed at me while I hauled the cart away with the boys, I tried to join the comedic circle by saying, “I’m Cameroonian with white skin!” They laughed, but who knows if it’s because they understood. (The language difficulties have been all too apparent in the classroom.) Then, when we entered the market, the embankment above the path filled with people hooting and hollering. I was a little embarrassed but also enjoyed stepping out of the American stereotype. Maybe it was culturally inappropriate…I saw one of my students on the way to the market, and he seemed to appreciate it!

As I walked back to campus, I passed by the village health center and saw one of my students. He was there with his cousin, also a student of mine. I entered the ward, which well-deserved the cold, sterile title "ward." It was a small, depressing room that looked of the 1950's. Ten beds altogether, I think, each separated by only a couple feet. When I entered, there was an old, fragile looking man on my left being fed by a sister, daughter, or friend. The student was lying in bed, suffering from gastro-intestinal problems. He had been there since Thursday, and may be able to leave on Monday. I spoke briefly with him and his supporters (the other student, his cousin, and his sister, another student of mine). As I left, a classmate of his was entering to encourage him. It all was sobering yet encouraging--the conditions were bleak, but the body of Christ was bearing and supporting a weaker member. A room of sickness, an ambience of hopelessness, yet a remnant filled with hope that reaches beyond death.

I better shorten this post: it’s 9:30pm, past my bedtime.

-After the health center visit, I returned home for breakfast. Hardboiled eggs, bananas, and cinnamon toast. It was our third or fourth breakfast with hardboiled eggs, and today was the first in which I ate the yolks. They were gross, but I was hungry.

-The shower water was lukewarm. I’m not sure why. It wasn’t bad—better than cold.

-For lunch, we went to a “restaurant” at the health center. By “restaurant,” I mean a small room with one table, a stove two-feet beside the table where the food is cooked, and a maternity ward located next door. We ate with two children of a professor (Sam and Anna Yong) and our American friend who works for the peace corps, Ally. Rice with stew over it and fish. Charlie gave me a fish head that found its best use at the end of the meal when it, Fred the fish, had a conversation with the fish head found on Charlie’s plate. There’s just not much meat in the fish head, and, as Anna said, it’s gross to push on the eyeball.

-Charlie and I went to big market in the afternoon. We bought a radio and clock for our cook in the kitchen; 30-40 guavas, later discovered to be far from ripe; fabric for pants (here called trousers) for Wes and two shirts for Charlie; some mambo chocolate bars; and kerosene for our fireplace. Our Cameroonian friend who accompanies us to the market informed me at one point that some people were gleefully identifying me as the white man they saw earlier. It’s nice to have a reputation.

-Late evening, Charlie, Wes, and Ally watched the movie Garden State while I read in my room. For dinner, we had a pasta dish similar to ziti. Wes did the dishes while Charlie and I worked on the fire. To conclude the night, Charlie and Wes read by the fire while I worked on this post.

Saturdays are a warmly welcomed relief from the busy week of school. Much of tomorrow will be spent in preparation for the week’s classes. Thank you all for your prayers—hearing that you are interceding for us is noticeable encouragement and comfort. I’ll try to write again in the next couple days about how teaching has been. Post any questions you have for us. Oh, and we have a rooster living with us. He’s staying in a back room for a week until he’s slaughtered by our cook, an event for which we’ve already made reservations.