526,000 minutes

525,600 minutes
525,000 moments so dear
525,600 minutes – how do you measure, measure a year?

I’m sure you’ve all heard it before. The opening lines to a song made famous by Broadway’s cast of RENT. I myself have seen it played out in action at the Wharton, have sang along to it a thousand times, often reflect mid-song on how that year has been playing out for me, and this year I find it means something entirely different. I’ve told myself to start this post everyday during the past few weeks and each time I’ve put it off because I didn’t know where to start. For example, I just spent the past thirty minutes looking through old pictures from my stage’s time in training and thinking (well a. how clean we all were and b. how much our hair has changed!) but mostly how glad I am that this year simply happened. Right now as I’m writing this I’m spending yet another night in, without electricity since 7:00pm although luckily after just having prepared another dinner of a plate of rice and tomats, and dealing with a sore head because I finally took the plunge and put that Rasta in my hair that I’ve been talking about doing for a year. Another typical night in Cameroon and after doing it for a year, I'm really glad I understand what it’s like to live it. Two weeks ago I taught two days worth of HIV/GYD sessions to the new stagiers (aka me 13 months ago). It was crazy seeing how clean and refined they all looked, funny hearing them ask the exact same questions I too was wondering last year, having them so up-to-date on American pop culture (weird), and realizing they had no idea where they’d be living for the next two years, Hah! (although they have since found out by now). I tried to answer as many of their questions as I could but for the most part I kept thinking “you’ll figure it out soon enough for yourself”.
As I've mentioned several times before, each passing day here brings about at least one random event; which is always fun. In this past year I've certainly spent a lot more time doing everyday tasks around the house because they take so much longer to do. I’ve practically become immune to becoming frustrated or angry over some sort of system not working efficiently, sometimes I can’t really believe I spend my whole day communicating in French, and I often think of how peculiar it will be readjusting in America. The stories are endless and better told in person thus I’ll keep to writing in my journal so as not to forget them before I get back! Looking really forward to the year to come but that’s not to say I won’t feel that in a year it's time to go home. A few paragraphs below on random stuff that I thought worth mentioning. Off to Europe in three weeks time!!!! See ya soon Mom/Joe/Rach!!!


Something that came to mind when writing this post: all the posts I didn’t get around to posting. A few things I could have written entire blogs about but instead you’ll be getting the short and sweet version. Curious to know...have they ever happened to you???

Feeling really homesick. It hit me when I was about eight months in but it was a feeling I’d never really felt before. I was past the point where everything around me was new and exciting, I was used to the lack of technology and modern day conveniences, I finally started to feel somewhat at home at my post but the daily stuff we have to deal with (harassment because you look different, constantly being asked for either money, a relationship, or both, not being able to understand 100% of what was said in a conversation, nothing ever going as planned, the slow pace of life, etc.) was really getting to me. I really missed having more than two hours a week of internet, making an actual phone call rather just sending a text (even in country they’re expensive), cold drinks from a refrigerator, comfortable furniture, American food and how convenient it is to make (or better yet have it delivered), and of course machines that do everything for you. For the most part it all stemmed from not being able to see any family or friends back home for almost a year and thankfully now that I’m on the homestretch, the homesick feelings have subsided. Still, if I hadn’t gotten so good at “not giving a shit anymore” I’d be right back where I was. As one of my good friends here would say: Sometimes living here just sucks!

2. What I know now, that I didn’t know then. This one’s inspired by Oprah’s pocket book my mother gifted me before I left. ☺ In brief: I love democracies (real ones), customer service is Nice, no matter how bad our economy might get it can’t get this bad, education is key but equally if not more important, how it’s applied, I’m an American citizen = I have endless opportunity, I’m American = I’m exposed to a ridiculous amount of variety, we have it ridiculously easy when it comes to finding ways to entertain ourselves, and if you want development you’ve got to have infrastructure, and less corruption on every level, that helps too. ☺

3. Americans really like to travel! We’re accustomed to people telling us they’re going to one place or another. Whether for a vacation, work, study abroad, internship, etc. we Westerners have the financial means and the notion that seeing the world is a good thing. Experiencing life outside your culture is information you can’t get in the classroom. In Cameroon however, it’s quite the opposite. People here rarely travel. They might for a marriage or funeral, if someone’s sick, or possibly for work. The kids get their chance during the summer months when they’re shipped off au village to live with another family member. Just the other day I learned that the farthest my 14 year old neighbor-friend has been from Foumbot is 35km away! The principal cause is obvious: lack of capital. Still there isn’t the mentality that if you really want to visit someplace, if it’s important to you, that if you save your Cfa “petit a petit”, you might actually be able to get there. Yet another micro-finance conversation.

4. Watching my house gradually fall apart. That’s right. My house was finished only two days before I moved in and yet immediately, it started falling apart. The plaster from my kitchen ceiling was the first thing to go. Every morning for months while heating water for my morning coffee, I’d be wiping a large pile of it off my cutting board. A large wooden overhang for hanging curtains was next. That decided to completely fall off the wall during one of my French tutoring sessions. A cracked window pane in my kitchen that was caused by the large gusts of wind that come through when it storms. Holes in my cement floor- several . Cracks in the walls that go on for several inches – everywhere. The toilet/shower/sink combo, none of which has ever worked properly and at least one of which seems to present a new and different at least once a month – depuis Fevrier. One of my living room windows sliding completely off the hinges to then shattering on my floor when I was only trying to open it – last month. More plaster falling from the ceiling in kitchen and now the living room – present. Cameroonian construction is not a matter of science. My contribution to the whole mess? Nail holes in the wall. Pablo Costa, you’d be happy to know your care package photos are up partout ma maison!

5. Scaring children. Now this a fun one. My morning runs take me out to the more remote quartiers where people, in particular the children, don’t make it into town on a regular basis. Hence the probability that they’ve seen a white person before, highly diminished. On three separate occasions that I can remember I’ve had kids crying and running in the opposite direction. The second was definitely my favorite. As a rounded a corner I spotted a mother and her 4 year old daughter walking ahead me. The daughter turns around, takes one look at me, and starts screaming bloody murder. She clings frantically to her mother who then turns around to discover it’s only me. In the little girl’s mind I’m sure I was an alien with weird devices sticking out of her ears and unfortunately for her, I’m running in their direction. The screaming, crying, and grasping only intensify as I get closer. For the little girls sake I pretend not to even notice them at all and as I pass, I can hear the mother giggling to herself. Oh Cameroon!

Tropical Disease Bingo

Hahaha, check it. We had a good laugh over this one at the CASE. Thryn Albin never ceases to amaze me with her creativity. Thankfully I can only vouch for two!