Supposedly, West Africa is mostly English speaking, and eastern Africa
speaks French for the most part. Supposedly. And that’s just the
funniest thing to those of us here in Cameroon, a country on the west
coast of Africa. We are also in the half of the country that should
speak English, not French. It’s true that more people here speak
English than French, but the English that they speak is not the
English that I speak. No, not at all. Everyone in Lassin speaks the
dialect Noone and the form of English called pidgin. Not everyone,
however, speaks or can understand English. This is the reason why we
have translators/aides in our classrooms at the school.
As in all places, there are some words that don’t really transfer from
your English to mine. For example if someone says that they will
surely be at the church tonight for the meeting, what they’re really
saying is that they will probably be at the church tonight. If I try
explaining to someone that my foot is hurting, they could be quite
confused. First they might ask where my foot is hurting. To them, my
foot runs from my hip to my toes. They also don’t really use the word
hurting; instead, they say paining. So for someone to be getting me, I
should really say, the upside of my lower leg is paining me.
If I want to go out jogging or playing football, I am sporting. If I
want to know whether or not my class understands my instructions, I’ll
ask them if they are hearing or getting me. I might want to tell my
neighbor that I’m walking to school, they’ll think that I’m working to
school; I should actually say that I’m trekking.
The other day, Brother Gregory asked Steve if he could hear the
termite poison at the school. He, of course, meant to ask if Steve
could smell the stuff. I often hear people say to me “oh, you have
been missing?” That just means they haven’t seen me in a while.
The kids at school get mad at any other student who messes with the
air. You can imagine that means that the students have eaten a bad
combo of fufu and something soaked in palm oil, resulting in really
bad gas.
New babies are born, or put to birth, everyday at the health center.
Speaking of health, you might ask someone here who isn’t feeling very
well if they will go to the health center to get tested for malaria.
They’ll say no, they don’t really have the money to go to the center,
but, yes, they’re sure they have malaria (disregard the previous
definition for surely). You may then look at them with wide eyes and
really urge them that they need to get that checked out; they probably
don’t have malaria at all. People here call any sick, or illness,
malaria.
Here in Lassin, the answer to every question is yes, and foreigners
are always wealthy. We have so much, in fact, that we have to give
much of our things away so people better ask for them, just in case.
And if you pass your friend who has arranged to meet with you later
(or even in this very hour) to ask you for your things (especially
before you leave the country), they’ll say “I’m coming!” When they’re
planning on coming, you may never figure out. You could decide to just
meet with them now, and in the case, you’d want to ask “can we move
together”, not let’s take a walk.
And last but not least of all these strange words with multiple
meanings is the word finished. If you’re reading this blog now (does
anyone read this anymore?), you may have noticed the wide lapse in my
blogging. See, what happened was my computer got finished. Three or
four weeks ago, I was using my computer as I usually do (did), when
all of a sudden, the battery died. From that moment on, my computer
will not charge or even function with the battery in the computer. In
order for the computer to function, I must remove the battery and plug
in the computer. Other things that are finished are the honey, the
taxi driver who got beat up some months ago by a gendarme, the
chocolates my mom sent me, my white hot chocolate, and Kiddo the baby
goat.
Words are something else here, and miscommunications are frequent.
It’s still pretty fun to try to communicate, though. We’ll see how
long it takes me to figure out my mother tongue again.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Bummer 4/27/11
Sometimes you can see something in this world that just devastates
you. So many children here in Lassin have just been dumped here by one
or both of their parents to be taken care of by friends or family. I
don’t know how that really feels, but it must be awful for them.
Surely they’re thinking they aren’t good enough or that their parents
don’t love them. I hope they don’t think God’s like that too. Anyway,
that’s just one of the issues here. Another issue is somewhat related.
It must happen everywhere in the world. But it just breaks my heart.
About a week ago today, twin kids were born right in my compound. Not
the homosapien variety, but the goat variety. Baby goats are just the
cutest little things. Anyway, the mom ended up kind of taking one and
leaving the other. The kid that she bummed, called a bummer, didn’t
get discovered by the family until much later that day. Bummer. She
must have rejected it to begin with, I don’t know. But she definitely
wasn’t going to take it now.
I felt so bad for the little guy. He didn’t choose this life for
himself. He had no control over his situation. He was completely
helpless. The family wasn’t really doing anything about so I figured
it’d have to be me. If you don’t like the way something is, then do
something about it, right? So Wednesday night, on our way to church, I
stopped by the health center to see if they had any baby bottles.
Nope. I wondered how long he could last without food.
The next morning I stopped by John’s store and, wonder of wonders, he
sold bottles! I bought one and left some money with him to buy me some
cow’s milk. After school I came back to collect the milk. John bought
me about $1 worth (500 fr). This was way more than enough, over 1.5 L,
though I didn’t really know what I was doing. I immediately went up to
the Roses’ to heat some to feed the little guy. I didn’t realize
taking care of a baby animal was so difficult. Poor kiddo. So I
started [force]feeding him on Thursday afternoon about every 2-3
hours. I didn’t feed him at all in the night. Thankfully there was no
school the next day because of Good Friday, but Carol and I were going
to the next village to visit Julianna’s farm. Loco, a little girl in
my compound, was able to feed him twice in the late morning for me. I
came back from the farm in Binon and fed him again. It’s amazing how
much force you have to use to get ‘em to eat. Things had actually
gotten better but then they became worse. He didn’t seem to want to
eat. Then he had bloody diarrhea. I was sure he wouldn’t last too many
more days. Plus, who would continue buying milk and feeding him 6
times a day in just a few days when I leave?
The most precious thing happened on that Friday afternoon. Whenever I
tried holding little Kiddo, he’d just squirm around and cry. Then when
I put him down he’d go around to everyone and everything other than
the bottle and try bumping it for milk. So I picked him back up and we
finally find a comfortable position for one another. Then he fell
asleep on my shoulder. I want to cry right now just thinking about it.
He was just so helpless. I put him down a little while later in his
sleeping quarters and brought him an old pillowcase to lay on. When I
came back with the pillowcase, things didn’t really seem right with
him. He was just standing there awkwardly like he didn’t know where he
was. I laid him down on the pillowcase; later when I came by he was
asleep.
I don’t know if he died that night or the next morning. But Sabbath
morning, after I warmed some milk for him, I walked over to the house
and saw him lying lifeless outside the door. Everyone and their mother
around the compound were watching me, seeing what I’d do, I guess.
They all got a huge kick out of the goat’s new mother. I asked some of
the men sitting there, “The goat is finished?” “Yes,” they said.
“Okay.” I left. I left kind of kicking/laughing at myself for getting
to attached to Kiddo. I hope, though, that death, in any of its forms,
still makes us sad. Don’t let yourself be desensitized to all of it. I
know it’s our way of coping with the extreme sadness on Earth, but
it’s better to go to a funeral than a feast.
I can’t wait for heaven and the new earth, where there will be no more
death or pain or tears. All will be well there with our King.
you. So many children here in Lassin have just been dumped here by one
or both of their parents to be taken care of by friends or family. I
don’t know how that really feels, but it must be awful for them.
Surely they’re thinking they aren’t good enough or that their parents
don’t love them. I hope they don’t think God’s like that too. Anyway,
that’s just one of the issues here. Another issue is somewhat related.
It must happen everywhere in the world. But it just breaks my heart.
About a week ago today, twin kids were born right in my compound. Not
the homosapien variety, but the goat variety. Baby goats are just the
cutest little things. Anyway, the mom ended up kind of taking one and
leaving the other. The kid that she bummed, called a bummer, didn’t
get discovered by the family until much later that day. Bummer. She
must have rejected it to begin with, I don’t know. But she definitely
wasn’t going to take it now.
I felt so bad for the little guy. He didn’t choose this life for
himself. He had no control over his situation. He was completely
helpless. The family wasn’t really doing anything about so I figured
it’d have to be me. If you don’t like the way something is, then do
something about it, right? So Wednesday night, on our way to church, I
stopped by the health center to see if they had any baby bottles.
Nope. I wondered how long he could last without food.
The next morning I stopped by John’s store and, wonder of wonders, he
sold bottles! I bought one and left some money with him to buy me some
cow’s milk. After school I came back to collect the milk. John bought
me about $1 worth (500 fr). This was way more than enough, over 1.5 L,
though I didn’t really know what I was doing. I immediately went up to
the Roses’ to heat some to feed the little guy. I didn’t realize
taking care of a baby animal was so difficult. Poor kiddo. So I
started [force]feeding him on Thursday afternoon about every 2-3
hours. I didn’t feed him at all in the night. Thankfully there was no
school the next day because of Good Friday, but Carol and I were going
to the next village to visit Julianna’s farm. Loco, a little girl in
my compound, was able to feed him twice in the late morning for me. I
came back from the farm in Binon and fed him again. It’s amazing how
much force you have to use to get ‘em to eat. Things had actually
gotten better but then they became worse. He didn’t seem to want to
eat. Then he had bloody diarrhea. I was sure he wouldn’t last too many
more days. Plus, who would continue buying milk and feeding him 6
times a day in just a few days when I leave?
The most precious thing happened on that Friday afternoon. Whenever I
tried holding little Kiddo, he’d just squirm around and cry. Then when
I put him down he’d go around to everyone and everything other than
the bottle and try bumping it for milk. So I picked him back up and we
finally find a comfortable position for one another. Then he fell
asleep on my shoulder. I want to cry right now just thinking about it.
He was just so helpless. I put him down a little while later in his
sleeping quarters and brought him an old pillowcase to lay on. When I
came back with the pillowcase, things didn’t really seem right with
him. He was just standing there awkwardly like he didn’t know where he
was. I laid him down on the pillowcase; later when I came by he was
asleep.
I don’t know if he died that night or the next morning. But Sabbath
morning, after I warmed some milk for him, I walked over to the house
and saw him lying lifeless outside the door. Everyone and their mother
around the compound were watching me, seeing what I’d do, I guess.
They all got a huge kick out of the goat’s new mother. I asked some of
the men sitting there, “The goat is finished?” “Yes,” they said.
“Okay.” I left. I left kind of kicking/laughing at myself for getting
to attached to Kiddo. I hope, though, that death, in any of its forms,
still makes us sad. Don’t let yourself be desensitized to all of it. I
know it’s our way of coping with the extreme sadness on Earth, but
it’s better to go to a funeral than a feast.
I can’t wait for heaven and the new earth, where there will be no more
death or pain or tears. All will be well there with our King.
New Heart 4/27/11
When I first arrived here in Cameroon, the thing I mostly prayed for
was a change of heart. My body was fighting against everything I was
trying to do. I wanted to do the right thing, to love people, to enjoy
teaching and teach well. But my body just wouldn’t have it. I guess I
really didn’t want to do those things; but I knew that I really needed
to do those things. I needed to have God change my will and desires to
match His own for me.
And as with so many other prayers, God has answered. The change inside
of me couldn’t take place overnight. It’s actually still ongoing. It’s
something I have to keep praying for every day, every week, all the
time.
The amazing this is that I actually was presented with the opportunity
to stay here in Cameroon—or at least Africa—for some additional weeks.
Now, in the beginning, it was all I could do to remain here for 10
months. But even 10 months changed to 9 months, and even 9 months
changed to 8.5 months, and miraculously that changed to just 8. God is
so good.
The other week when the Roberts (and family) were here, Gary & I were
talking about life. He said that since I still wasn’t sure about Med
school, I should consider coming to Chad (hard-core country north of
Cameroon) or goind to Buea, Cameroon for 3 weeks after I leave Lassin.
That suggestion kind of hit me in the face hard. I thought, you know,
why not? In fact, I was really thinking that I wanted to stay in
Africa, I wanted to see Buea again, I wanted to go to Chad. I was
thinking, hey! postponing my return flight home really isn’t that bad
of an idea.
Me thinking those thoughts right there was a miracle. God has been
changing me because I keep asking Him to. And I’m so happy for it! I
prayed and fasted about staying here 3 more weeks. And God and I have
come to the conclusion that I’m just going to fly home as planned.
That’s fine. Just knowing that I was willing to stay is exciting for
me.
was a change of heart. My body was fighting against everything I was
trying to do. I wanted to do the right thing, to love people, to enjoy
teaching and teach well. But my body just wouldn’t have it. I guess I
really didn’t want to do those things; but I knew that I really needed
to do those things. I needed to have God change my will and desires to
match His own for me.
And as with so many other prayers, God has answered. The change inside
of me couldn’t take place overnight. It’s actually still ongoing. It’s
something I have to keep praying for every day, every week, all the
time.
The amazing this is that I actually was presented with the opportunity
to stay here in Cameroon—or at least Africa—for some additional weeks.
Now, in the beginning, it was all I could do to remain here for 10
months. But even 10 months changed to 9 months, and even 9 months
changed to 8.5 months, and miraculously that changed to just 8. God is
so good.
The other week when the Roberts (and family) were here, Gary & I were
talking about life. He said that since I still wasn’t sure about Med
school, I should consider coming to Chad (hard-core country north of
Cameroon) or goind to Buea, Cameroon for 3 weeks after I leave Lassin.
That suggestion kind of hit me in the face hard. I thought, you know,
why not? In fact, I was really thinking that I wanted to stay in
Africa, I wanted to see Buea again, I wanted to go to Chad. I was
thinking, hey! postponing my return flight home really isn’t that bad
of an idea.
Me thinking those thoughts right there was a miracle. God has been
changing me because I keep asking Him to. And I’m so happy for it! I
prayed and fasted about staying here 3 more weeks. And God and I have
come to the conclusion that I’m just going to fly home as planned.
That’s fine. Just knowing that I was willing to stay is exciting for
me.
Embarrassing Myself 4/27/11
There’s no doubt that this place, this experience, this everything,
has changed me. But I don’t consider this whole experience to be the
roundest thing I ever saw. You getting me? I haven’t really had many
literal life or death trials here, so I won’t necessarily be any more
prepared to experience one. I have had numerous opportunities to
cook/prepare food, though. So the next time there’s a real need for
food, I’ll really be able to contribute something pretty meaningful.
Well, one area I have NOT had any, any, any extra experience with
while I’ve been here is… interaction with the opposite sex. Now I
could really worry about it, but I’m definitely not. The thing is, God
is the leader, director, shepherd, love, joy, savior of my life. I
know that if I come across a life or death situation or even a boy, He
will take care of me.
There are tons and tons of boys and men in Lassin, but I just don’t
think they’re for me. I am here for a mission and a purpose. I’m here
to teach little children about Jesus amongst some other things (like
surviving), not to socialize, flirt, yada yada.
I did have an interesting time (at least it was in my own thoughts)
with a non-African guy who came to visit. A few weeks ago, our good
friends Gary and Wendy Roberts flew in from Chad with their cute
little girl and their, uh, young, German, pilot-in-training comrade
who knows multiple languages and has traveled a lot and is about five
years older than me.
Before I continue, I just want to say that if ever I consider myself
in an awkward situation, I do understand that I probably created it
myself.
So I tried to be friendly enough to all of our visitors, but for some
strange reason I couldn’t bring myself to talk to or even look at the
guy. What’s wrong with me?! I know that the longer I wait to break the
ice, the thicker it’ll be. So I did finally break it. I was laughing
at myself the whole time they were here. I was just so afraid. I felt
like my silence toward this fellow was obvious. But I felt like, I
don’t know, like everyone was possibly thinking (but not at all, I’m
sure) how convenient it was that the two young, single missionaries
were brought together under this roof and shouldn’t they really get
along well and become friends. I’ve been told that I think way too
much.
I realized that anytime I find myself in the company of a single
member of the opposite sex, I freeze. My brain stops working, I can’t
remove my eyes from the floor, it’s just awkward. I think it’s all in
my head. And I’m really going to work on this. Maybe that’ll be more
plausible now that I’ve let the whole world know.
Here’s to embarrassing myself much less frequently.
has changed me. But I don’t consider this whole experience to be the
roundest thing I ever saw. You getting me? I haven’t really had many
literal life or death trials here, so I won’t necessarily be any more
prepared to experience one. I have had numerous opportunities to
cook/prepare food, though. So the next time there’s a real need for
food, I’ll really be able to contribute something pretty meaningful.
Well, one area I have NOT had any, any, any extra experience with
while I’ve been here is… interaction with the opposite sex. Now I
could really worry about it, but I’m definitely not. The thing is, God
is the leader, director, shepherd, love, joy, savior of my life. I
know that if I come across a life or death situation or even a boy, He
will take care of me.
There are tons and tons of boys and men in Lassin, but I just don’t
think they’re for me. I am here for a mission and a purpose. I’m here
to teach little children about Jesus amongst some other things (like
surviving), not to socialize, flirt, yada yada.
I did have an interesting time (at least it was in my own thoughts)
with a non-African guy who came to visit. A few weeks ago, our good
friends Gary and Wendy Roberts flew in from Chad with their cute
little girl and their, uh, young, German, pilot-in-training comrade
who knows multiple languages and has traveled a lot and is about five
years older than me.
Before I continue, I just want to say that if ever I consider myself
in an awkward situation, I do understand that I probably created it
myself.
So I tried to be friendly enough to all of our visitors, but for some
strange reason I couldn’t bring myself to talk to or even look at the
guy. What’s wrong with me?! I know that the longer I wait to break the
ice, the thicker it’ll be. So I did finally break it. I was laughing
at myself the whole time they were here. I was just so afraid. I felt
like my silence toward this fellow was obvious. But I felt like, I
don’t know, like everyone was possibly thinking (but not at all, I’m
sure) how convenient it was that the two young, single missionaries
were brought together under this roof and shouldn’t they really get
along well and become friends. I’ve been told that I think way too
much.
I realized that anytime I find myself in the company of a single
member of the opposite sex, I freeze. My brain stops working, I can’t
remove my eyes from the floor, it’s just awkward. I think it’s all in
my head. And I’m really going to work on this. Maybe that’ll be more
plausible now that I’ve let the whole world know.
Here’s to embarrassing myself much less frequently.
Chocoholic 4/27/11
If you know even a little about me, you know that I have a problem. I
have a sweet tooth about the size of Buddy’s in the movie The Elf.
It’s bad. Anyway, I decided to do an experiment a month or so ago.
Since I’ve been here in Africa, so much has taken place. There’s been
so much change. And, I hate to admit it, but I’ve turned to my comfort
foods (most all containing sugar) a few too many times. I had enough
of that around March 10. So I decided to go without chocolate. I
should really have just done it as long as I could. I think I would
have found again that through Christ the impossible is possible. But
instead I decided to go without it for 40 days. So my chocolate fast
began, and it went over pretty well. The funny thing about it all is
that I was due a package from mi madre about halfway through my
chocofast. Could you guess what the box contained? Well, along with
about 2 huge editions of the Knox News Sentinel and about 5 small
English dictionaries, there were 10 boxes of girl scout cookies. And
guess what was one of the main ingredients in all but 3 boxes? Oh yes.
Chocolate. Ironic.
For the most part my fast wasn’t too difficult. I think I really
understood that my body really needed the break from the junk. I’ve
been back on chocolate a week now. And I really think I’m mostly
eating it because, all of a sudden, I can. I don’t really want it that
badly or need it; it’s just available. So I figure, why would I want
to leave this stuff behind?
When I get back home, I feel a definite swap to carob coming on. I
just feel better off the chocolate. My new friend Merlisa (she, her
husband Elebert, & daughter Estella arrived here in Lassin some weeks
ago; they’re our “replacement people”) told me she used to have the
same problem with chocolate (man, she doesn’t even know about my ice
cream addicition. Could I even still call it that? I think I might be
cured.). She told me that chocolate (and, I’m sure, sugar in general)
shocks your body. God’s informed us that we are to present our bodies
a living sacrifice and that our bodies are temples, a place for God’s
Spirit to dwell. If you really believe that, consider how you’re
hindering your mind and body today. How could you make your mind
clearer, your body more efficient, through what you put inside of it?
Change is good. If you know your life isn’t exactly compatible with
the Truth, change will be even better.
have a sweet tooth about the size of Buddy’s in the movie The Elf.
It’s bad. Anyway, I decided to do an experiment a month or so ago.
Since I’ve been here in Africa, so much has taken place. There’s been
so much change. And, I hate to admit it, but I’ve turned to my comfort
foods (most all containing sugar) a few too many times. I had enough
of that around March 10. So I decided to go without chocolate. I
should really have just done it as long as I could. I think I would
have found again that through Christ the impossible is possible. But
instead I decided to go without it for 40 days. So my chocolate fast
began, and it went over pretty well. The funny thing about it all is
that I was due a package from mi madre about halfway through my
chocofast. Could you guess what the box contained? Well, along with
about 2 huge editions of the Knox News Sentinel and about 5 small
English dictionaries, there were 10 boxes of girl scout cookies. And
guess what was one of the main ingredients in all but 3 boxes? Oh yes.
Chocolate. Ironic.
For the most part my fast wasn’t too difficult. I think I really
understood that my body really needed the break from the junk. I’ve
been back on chocolate a week now. And I really think I’m mostly
eating it because, all of a sudden, I can. I don’t really want it that
badly or need it; it’s just available. So I figure, why would I want
to leave this stuff behind?
When I get back home, I feel a definite swap to carob coming on. I
just feel better off the chocolate. My new friend Merlisa (she, her
husband Elebert, & daughter Estella arrived here in Lassin some weeks
ago; they’re our “replacement people”) told me she used to have the
same problem with chocolate (man, she doesn’t even know about my ice
cream addicition. Could I even still call it that? I think I might be
cured.). She told me that chocolate (and, I’m sure, sugar in general)
shocks your body. God’s informed us that we are to present our bodies
a living sacrifice and that our bodies are temples, a place for God’s
Spirit to dwell. If you really believe that, consider how you’re
hindering your mind and body today. How could you make your mind
clearer, your body more efficient, through what you put inside of it?
Change is good. If you know your life isn’t exactly compatible with
the Truth, change will be even better.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Market, Mangoes, & the Mundane (3/10/11)
Today was a significant day. All the past 30 days have kind of
squashed together (this is true except for the tarantula-like spider
Carol found in her clothes last week that Steve is now keeping in an
upside down drinking glass on the table or the black widow-like spider
in a large mason jar on the table or the huge Gaboon Viper I saw last
week on someone’s porch. It was dead. I have photos.). But not this
day. Today I consumed my first Cameroonian mango. Although not
completely ripe, it really did remind me of mangoes I’ve eaten in the
States. So good. I’ve waited and waited and waited for the mangoes to
come, using their arrival as another indication of the time that has
actually passed. I’ve waited for mangoes for 6 months. And they are
finally here. I admit, though, that during my long period of waiting I
made these African mangoes into something more than what they actually
are. Even if they are less then I expected, I’ll enjoy them
whole-heartedly. The small things really are huge blessings from God.
Today is also Lassin Market Day. Market Day comes every eight days (so
next week it will fall on Friday); two days after Market Day is
Country Sunday for the village. The 8-day week makes the reality of a
Sabbath inconvenient for many here. We are good at coming up with
excuses that will one day pale in comparison to the majesty of our
God. Since my arrival here, I’ve pretty much avoided the market…
mostly. This was, of course, encouraged by the other missionaries
here- and even locals. The markets the place where people waste time,
get into trouble, frequent the bars, etc. My bad feelings toward the
market have come and gone, really. Since Kim and Kataya left, I find
that going to the market really only reminds me that they’re not here
anymore. From the beginning, I also hated being stared at and called
by so many people. I like to think that I never have enjoyed
attention—good or bad. I definitely have disliked it from people I
don’t know. I’ve never experienced it on so great a scale as I do here
on Market Day. I’ve become used to it, but I still like to avoid the
crowd. A few weeks ago I happened to be in the market past about4 o’
clock. Never again will I go to the market past 3. One of the items
people enjoy on Market Day (and in the market on every other day as
well) is palm wine. Palm wone is the fermented juice of the raffia
fruit, I believe. And it smells awful. Anyway, by the time 4 comes
around, many are inebriated by the stuff. And on this Sunday market, I
was walking to Julianna’s booth, minding my own business when BAM! A
stranger grabbed my shoulder with his strong hand. I tried shrugging
him off but could not shake him until I physically shoved his hand off
my shoulder. This really shook me. I had the only other Adventist
family here escort me out of the market, past the bar just outside the
market, right to the path to my house, vowing never to go to the
market again. I have. I understand that people under the influence of
alcohol cannot be responsible for their actions. That’s too bad.
Another interesting thing I’ve confronted in the market (besides juju,
which I’d call a combination of alcohol and this next occurrence) is
insanity. I remember Divine’s little niece (and my neighbor) coming to
see me a few days ago. Her name is Loco. Despite my reclusive
tendencies this day, she managed to catch me outside on my porch, and
I was happy for the visitor. It seemed, though, that everyone else in
the village was somewhere else. It was pretty quiet in the quarter.
She said, “There is a madman at the palace.” “Oh, really… Did he pass
by here before?” “Mmm,” she confirmed. I figured it was the same
madman who’d been around before, the one who lives in Lassin. Later, I
learned that this was a different guy. And on the day he was “at the
palace” he was completely naked. Glad I didn’t happen to meet him on
that day. But, unfortunately, I did meet him the next day. And oh boy.
I don’t know what else I can say about it. I think it was Tuesday
morning. I left my house at a decent hour, headed for school. I walked
through the market as usual, past John’s store, down to the bike park.
I noticed a man sitting in the middle of a clear area, equidistant
from the village phone and the two Muslim shops. I didn’t think
anything of it. But then I met the village phone guy coming up to his
shop. He let me know I could come and buy credit, so I followed him.
Well, then I discovered the madman. I just walked right up into the
village phone booth, trying not to look at the crazy person speaking
some alien language. I’m telling you, the guy sounded like one of the
aliens from the movie Signs. Really. I casually mentioned to the phone
guy and his other customer that “there’s a madman outside.” They
agreed with me. Well, by this time the madman had noticed me also.
Around here, when people see a “white man”, they really see a walking
10,000 cfa note. That’s too bad. So the guy sauntered up to the
village phone booth, sitting on the ground just down from the veranda,
hand extended towards me, still muttering in clicks, gurgles, and
groans. Wow. I wasn’t thinking much to myself besides “don’t look at
him, don’t look at him.” Mostly I was talking to God. The madman even
threw something, a little metal piece like a small, old rusty bracket,
up at my feet. That really startled me, though. At that point the
phone guy started yelling at him in Fulani to get away, I guessed. He
and his other customer assured me that I should not be afraid of him.
They could tell I was upset, ha. Oh, I forgot to mention that, just
next store, standing right in front of Shey John’s store, was the Fon
(traditional king of Lassin). It is the Fon’s responsibility in his
village to make sure that the guests of the village were treated as
guests should be. He was watching all this happen, and I felt better
knowing he was seeing it all. The madman did back away by the time I
exited the booth and darted for the road toward Kibo. I wanted to be
far, far away from Lassin as quick as I could. Well, he wouldn’t have
that, of course. He started after me at a slowish but steady pace. By
the time I reached the very edge of the high veranda, just before the
path (with the Fon on the other side), the man chucked some sort of
heavy garment in my direction. The dirty clothes landed just beneath
me, right in path. I shot a quick glance toward the Fon, jumped down
off the veranda (as faaaaaar as I could jump haha), and walked as
quick as I could toward school. Some school girls joined me about this
time and I saw D in the distance. I knew God had delayed him just the
right amount of time- and the girls, too. I was so happy to see these
familiar faces. I walked/jogged toward D and school, the madman
following us. Now he was speaking Fulani or Hausa, and the girls could
understand. I kept hearing him saying something about ‘nasara’ (white
man). Ummi and Zenabu said, “Madam, he is insulting you.” I just said
“Oh, okay. I’m just walking to school.” I never looked back, just kept
on keeping on. He stopped following after some time, I guess,
encouraged I’m sure by D’s presence between us. So I’ve put yet
another thing on my list of reasons to stay away from the market.
Besides mangoes and madmen, there’s not a whole lot of news. I admit
that I’ve been through the routine here just enough times to dub it
mundane. When things are still exciting and new, it’s hard to imagine
that they could one day become the boring norm. And I still can’t
really bring myself to say that about life here. I mean, c’mon, I’m IN
AFRICA. How could I be bored?? How could things be dull?? That makes
me wonder if it’s just me. Eh. I think I’m coming full circle. In the
beginning, I noted every single bright spot of every day. I had to. I
couldn’t survive otherwise. I had to acknowledge the blessings God was
pouring out on me. I think now, after months of becoming accustomed to
life here in Lassin, I need to do the same. Mangoes are such a
blessing. Safety from harm and my sanity are huge gifts, too. And did
I mention the baby goats? Without these little bundles of joy, I’d
really be discouraged, my mind stuck in my mundane “reality”. The
reality is that God is here with me in Lassin, just as He is with you
(wherever you are). The reality is that He knows my every thought, His
future plans for me, the number of hairs on my head. Amd He loves me!
What an amazing God we serve.
squashed together (this is true except for the tarantula-like spider
Carol found in her clothes last week that Steve is now keeping in an
upside down drinking glass on the table or the black widow-like spider
in a large mason jar on the table or the huge Gaboon Viper I saw last
week on someone’s porch. It was dead. I have photos.). But not this
day. Today I consumed my first Cameroonian mango. Although not
completely ripe, it really did remind me of mangoes I’ve eaten in the
States. So good. I’ve waited and waited and waited for the mangoes to
come, using their arrival as another indication of the time that has
actually passed. I’ve waited for mangoes for 6 months. And they are
finally here. I admit, though, that during my long period of waiting I
made these African mangoes into something more than what they actually
are. Even if they are less then I expected, I’ll enjoy them
whole-heartedly. The small things really are huge blessings from God.
Today is also Lassin Market Day. Market Day comes every eight days (so
next week it will fall on Friday); two days after Market Day is
Country Sunday for the village. The 8-day week makes the reality of a
Sabbath inconvenient for many here. We are good at coming up with
excuses that will one day pale in comparison to the majesty of our
God. Since my arrival here, I’ve pretty much avoided the market…
mostly. This was, of course, encouraged by the other missionaries
here- and even locals. The markets the place where people waste time,
get into trouble, frequent the bars, etc. My bad feelings toward the
market have come and gone, really. Since Kim and Kataya left, I find
that going to the market really only reminds me that they’re not here
anymore. From the beginning, I also hated being stared at and called
by so many people. I like to think that I never have enjoyed
attention—good or bad. I definitely have disliked it from people I
don’t know. I’ve never experienced it on so great a scale as I do here
on Market Day. I’ve become used to it, but I still like to avoid the
crowd. A few weeks ago I happened to be in the market past about4 o’
clock. Never again will I go to the market past 3. One of the items
people enjoy on Market Day (and in the market on every other day as
well) is palm wine. Palm wone is the fermented juice of the raffia
fruit, I believe. And it smells awful. Anyway, by the time 4 comes
around, many are inebriated by the stuff. And on this Sunday market, I
was walking to Julianna’s booth, minding my own business when BAM! A
stranger grabbed my shoulder with his strong hand. I tried shrugging
him off but could not shake him until I physically shoved his hand off
my shoulder. This really shook me. I had the only other Adventist
family here escort me out of the market, past the bar just outside the
market, right to the path to my house, vowing never to go to the
market again. I have. I understand that people under the influence of
alcohol cannot be responsible for their actions. That’s too bad.
Another interesting thing I’ve confronted in the market (besides juju,
which I’d call a combination of alcohol and this next occurrence) is
insanity. I remember Divine’s little niece (and my neighbor) coming to
see me a few days ago. Her name is Loco. Despite my reclusive
tendencies this day, she managed to catch me outside on my porch, and
I was happy for the visitor. It seemed, though, that everyone else in
the village was somewhere else. It was pretty quiet in the quarter.
She said, “There is a madman at the palace.” “Oh, really… Did he pass
by here before?” “Mmm,” she confirmed. I figured it was the same
madman who’d been around before, the one who lives in Lassin. Later, I
learned that this was a different guy. And on the day he was “at the
palace” he was completely naked. Glad I didn’t happen to meet him on
that day. But, unfortunately, I did meet him the next day. And oh boy.
I don’t know what else I can say about it. I think it was Tuesday
morning. I left my house at a decent hour, headed for school. I walked
through the market as usual, past John’s store, down to the bike park.
I noticed a man sitting in the middle of a clear area, equidistant
from the village phone and the two Muslim shops. I didn’t think
anything of it. But then I met the village phone guy coming up to his
shop. He let me know I could come and buy credit, so I followed him.
Well, then I discovered the madman. I just walked right up into the
village phone booth, trying not to look at the crazy person speaking
some alien language. I’m telling you, the guy sounded like one of the
aliens from the movie Signs. Really. I casually mentioned to the phone
guy and his other customer that “there’s a madman outside.” They
agreed with me. Well, by this time the madman had noticed me also.
Around here, when people see a “white man”, they really see a walking
10,000 cfa note. That’s too bad. So the guy sauntered up to the
village phone booth, sitting on the ground just down from the veranda,
hand extended towards me, still muttering in clicks, gurgles, and
groans. Wow. I wasn’t thinking much to myself besides “don’t look at
him, don’t look at him.” Mostly I was talking to God. The madman even
threw something, a little metal piece like a small, old rusty bracket,
up at my feet. That really startled me, though. At that point the
phone guy started yelling at him in Fulani to get away, I guessed. He
and his other customer assured me that I should not be afraid of him.
They could tell I was upset, ha. Oh, I forgot to mention that, just
next store, standing right in front of Shey John’s store, was the Fon
(traditional king of Lassin). It is the Fon’s responsibility in his
village to make sure that the guests of the village were treated as
guests should be. He was watching all this happen, and I felt better
knowing he was seeing it all. The madman did back away by the time I
exited the booth and darted for the road toward Kibo. I wanted to be
far, far away from Lassin as quick as I could. Well, he wouldn’t have
that, of course. He started after me at a slowish but steady pace. By
the time I reached the very edge of the high veranda, just before the
path (with the Fon on the other side), the man chucked some sort of
heavy garment in my direction. The dirty clothes landed just beneath
me, right in path. I shot a quick glance toward the Fon, jumped down
off the veranda (as faaaaaar as I could jump haha), and walked as
quick as I could toward school. Some school girls joined me about this
time and I saw D in the distance. I knew God had delayed him just the
right amount of time- and the girls, too. I was so happy to see these
familiar faces. I walked/jogged toward D and school, the madman
following us. Now he was speaking Fulani or Hausa, and the girls could
understand. I kept hearing him saying something about ‘nasara’ (white
man). Ummi and Zenabu said, “Madam, he is insulting you.” I just said
“Oh, okay. I’m just walking to school.” I never looked back, just kept
on keeping on. He stopped following after some time, I guess,
encouraged I’m sure by D’s presence between us. So I’ve put yet
another thing on my list of reasons to stay away from the market.
Besides mangoes and madmen, there’s not a whole lot of news. I admit
that I’ve been through the routine here just enough times to dub it
mundane. When things are still exciting and new, it’s hard to imagine
that they could one day become the boring norm. And I still can’t
really bring myself to say that about life here. I mean, c’mon, I’m IN
AFRICA. How could I be bored?? How could things be dull?? That makes
me wonder if it’s just me. Eh. I think I’m coming full circle. In the
beginning, I noted every single bright spot of every day. I had to. I
couldn’t survive otherwise. I had to acknowledge the blessings God was
pouring out on me. I think now, after months of becoming accustomed to
life here in Lassin, I need to do the same. Mangoes are such a
blessing. Safety from harm and my sanity are huge gifts, too. And did
I mention the baby goats? Without these little bundles of joy, I’d
really be discouraged, my mind stuck in my mundane “reality”. The
reality is that God is here with me in Lassin, just as He is with you
(wherever you are). The reality is that He knows my every thought, His
future plans for me, the number of hairs on my head. Amd He loves me!
What an amazing God we serve.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Blog: Let it Rain
Blog: Let it Rain (Feb. 8, 2011)
Dry season means dust up to your elbows. Dry season means small brown
particles in every crevice and every hole in your body. Dry season
means dragonflies and better roads and nights with “too much cold”. It
means you can wash your clothes without worrying about them. It means
ice cream in the market! It means many, many things. But I’ve heard
that, every once in a while during dry season—maybe two random
days—it’ll rain. Last week, showers of blessings rained down from the
sky. It was great! I’ve really, really, REALLY missed the rain. When
it rains here and you happen to be inside a house/building with a tin
roof, the noise is deafening. I love how one sound can just totally
overwhelm all other sounds. The only thing you can possibly hear when
it’s raining is the rain. No one can tell you it’s not raining, and no
one will be able to ignore the fact that it’s raining. Everyone will
know it.
Earlier this week I was listening to a David Crowder song (this
actually happens pretty much every day…). I will not be silent. I will
not be quiet anymore. I will not be silent. I will not be quiet
anymore… The words reminded me of the rain. And of the beauty all
around me. Just look. Look up at the sky. See the trees, the tall,
tall trees. They are reaching up to God. Look at the beautiful flowers
(or snow? Ha). Oh, and the mountains. I can’t even begin to do them
justice. All nature testifies that God is real. Our God is alive and
well, worthy of our worship, of all worship. The words also reminded
me of my own witness. Even if mankind refuses to acknowledge his
Creator, even if he refuses to testify share with other, then the
rocks will cry out. I cannot be silent. I will not be quiet anymore.
Now if I were you, I’d ask me- Osoula? In other words- What’s the
news? Well, let me think. Last Monday, Steve, Carol, & I went to Kumbo
for the day. It’s always nice to get online to see what’s going on out
there. Anyway, on our way back we found out that Demasias, the guy who
rode with us to Kumbo (our church landlord), was going to stay in
Kumbo. But as we were in the taxi park receiving his message, we
learned that Shey John (a very nice man who owns the largest store in
the market) had been discharged from the hospital in Kumbo and was
waiting for a taxi back to Lassin. He quit smoking last year when he
caught a ride with the Roses to Bamenda and couldn’t smoke at all for
several hours. Since he quit, he’s gained some weight (haven’t we all)
and drinks the same amount (or more) of alcohol. Since he works at the
store all day, he eats very irregularly. Anyway, he’s been in the
hospital several times for stomach problems. The hospital never really
says what’s wrong exactly, they just give him “gastrointestinal
medicine”. We all visited with him during the two and a half hour trip
back to Lassin. I suggested that it could be Crohn’s. You think? I
don’t really remember enough about Crohn’s disease except that, when
people with the disease return to the diet intended for us by God, it
can be reversed. So Steve had a bright idea. He told John to let us
(Carol & I) cook some meals for him for about a week and see what
difference it makes. I’ve had a lot of fun preparing an extra bowl of
food for him at dinner time every day this week. The only problem is,
it could look… unfavorable?... if a woman was bringing him food every
day—especially to Shey John’s jealous wife. So we’ve employed Divine
as our delivery man. Sabbath evening, though, Carol and I were going
to bring the food to him on our way to the church. We headed toward
his shop—down the shortcut, past my house, across the bridge, and up
to the market. Carol didn’t have her glasses on, so I’m glad I’m so
observant haha. From the outskirts of the market I could see John’s
store. And from the outskirts of the market I could see Shey’s wife
sitting in front of the store. Close call! We brought him the cold
food later, after our meeting.
In other news, it’s Youth Week here in Lassin, and all over Cameroon
for that matter. No school today either!! I just love holidays.
Yesterday was Human Investment Day (community service) for the youth.
We had morning classes (some English, songs, and the Bible story) at
APSL (Adventist Primary School of Lassin) and then started on our
little project. The students have been collecting firewood from the
area around the school for a few weeks, and yesterday we delivered
bundles to about 10 old men and women in Lassin. My group (the Lions!)
delivered 6 bundles to an ol’ mudda (old mother) who lives here in
Calaba quarter. I pass her house every day as I’m walking to and from
the Roses’. Usually when I try greeting her she just gives me this
look. She rarely greets back. She just doesn’t seem too happy.
Miraculously, yesterday morning as I passed her on my way to school
she actually said good morning-o! back; she even said it with a slight
smile, I think.
The Lions and I arrived at her compound around 1:45 after trekking
with the firewood from school only to find that she was not there. We
left the pile of wood by her door and hoped she’d understand it was
for her. Then the 6 kids in my group came back to my compound for
water and Nutty Buddies! Thanks McKee! Haha! Later, on my way to the
Roses’, I saw that her door was open. So, with my laptop on my head, I
stepped in front of her doorway and tried knocking—“Bong, bong!! Bong,
bong!” I saw her there inside the dark room and got her attention. I
said- “This wood is for you,” motioning to the firewood outside her
door. She gestured with both hands, a sign of respect, and slowly
stood before coming toward me. On her way, she asked if I was the one
giving it to her. I said that it is from my school, from the students
of APSL. I almost cried a little later. She came out of her house to
me and gave me a big side-embrace haha. I told her—“God bless
you!”—not knowing if she really understood. She thanked me and thanked
me. She said—“Thank you, my pikin. Thank you. I came back and saw the
wood but did not see pikin. Thank you.” I will never look at that ol’
mudda in the same way. Now I just consider another one of my
grandmothers. I love how extended my family is. Brothers and sisters,
fathers and mothers, grandparents—they’re everywhere.
I just have a bit more news to share. After Christmas break, a spent
about two weeks teaching Class 5 only. Since Kim left, they didn’t
really have a teacher (well, they still had Divine). Plus, Gregory (a
man who lives near the school and helped build it) has been doing
cement work on the school. As of today, I think, all the classes have
cement-plastered walls AND cement floors! No more dirt! Whoo hoo!
During the first two weeks after Christmas break, classes 1 and 2 were
together in either room 1 or 2 while the other was getting worked on.
During that time, both Naphtali and Julianna taught classes 1 and 2
together. But since then I’ve been floating from Class 2 to Class 5
and have been lesson planning for all of Class 2 and the English/Math
for Class 5. Teaching two classes really makes the days go super fast!
It’s nice. dClass 5, though, has been out of a classroom for the past
couple weeks and have been meeting outside. We have a very nice place
up under the Eucalyptus grove with benches and “desks”. There’s even a
chair for the teacher.
I think I’ve mostly broken my habit of counting down the days ‘til
May… now I’m just keeping in mind how many weeks I have (11.5 :D
haha!). Life’s not too bad here at all. I think the main thing I’m
really missing are the friends and family I’ve spent so much of my
life with (I already mentioned that I have friends and even family
here, too. They’re just not the same, though.). So for now, I’m just
living in today, trying to savor today. I don’t want to be living in
any other time but this moment. May will come soon enough, and, by
then, it will probably be too soon. Today, I’m being drowned (in a
good way) in the blessings of God. I thank Him for the rain, for the
children, for your prayers, for animals (saw another chameleon this
week!), for good food, and for life.
Dry season means dust up to your elbows. Dry season means small brown
particles in every crevice and every hole in your body. Dry season
means dragonflies and better roads and nights with “too much cold”. It
means you can wash your clothes without worrying about them. It means
ice cream in the market! It means many, many things. But I’ve heard
that, every once in a while during dry season—maybe two random
days—it’ll rain. Last week, showers of blessings rained down from the
sky. It was great! I’ve really, really, REALLY missed the rain. When
it rains here and you happen to be inside a house/building with a tin
roof, the noise is deafening. I love how one sound can just totally
overwhelm all other sounds. The only thing you can possibly hear when
it’s raining is the rain. No one can tell you it’s not raining, and no
one will be able to ignore the fact that it’s raining. Everyone will
know it.
Earlier this week I was listening to a David Crowder song (this
actually happens pretty much every day…). I will not be silent. I will
not be quiet anymore. I will not be silent. I will not be quiet
anymore… The words reminded me of the rain. And of the beauty all
around me. Just look. Look up at the sky. See the trees, the tall,
tall trees. They are reaching up to God. Look at the beautiful flowers
(or snow? Ha). Oh, and the mountains. I can’t even begin to do them
justice. All nature testifies that God is real. Our God is alive and
well, worthy of our worship, of all worship. The words also reminded
me of my own witness. Even if mankind refuses to acknowledge his
Creator, even if he refuses to testify share with other, then the
rocks will cry out. I cannot be silent. I will not be quiet anymore.
Now if I were you, I’d ask me- Osoula? In other words- What’s the
news? Well, let me think. Last Monday, Steve, Carol, & I went to Kumbo
for the day. It’s always nice to get online to see what’s going on out
there. Anyway, on our way back we found out that Demasias, the guy who
rode with us to Kumbo (our church landlord), was going to stay in
Kumbo. But as we were in the taxi park receiving his message, we
learned that Shey John (a very nice man who owns the largest store in
the market) had been discharged from the hospital in Kumbo and was
waiting for a taxi back to Lassin. He quit smoking last year when he
caught a ride with the Roses to Bamenda and couldn’t smoke at all for
several hours. Since he quit, he’s gained some weight (haven’t we all)
and drinks the same amount (or more) of alcohol. Since he works at the
store all day, he eats very irregularly. Anyway, he’s been in the
hospital several times for stomach problems. The hospital never really
says what’s wrong exactly, they just give him “gastrointestinal
medicine”. We all visited with him during the two and a half hour trip
back to Lassin. I suggested that it could be Crohn’s. You think? I
don’t really remember enough about Crohn’s disease except that, when
people with the disease return to the diet intended for us by God, it
can be reversed. So Steve had a bright idea. He told John to let us
(Carol & I) cook some meals for him for about a week and see what
difference it makes. I’ve had a lot of fun preparing an extra bowl of
food for him at dinner time every day this week. The only problem is,
it could look… unfavorable?... if a woman was bringing him food every
day—especially to Shey John’s jealous wife. So we’ve employed Divine
as our delivery man. Sabbath evening, though, Carol and I were going
to bring the food to him on our way to the church. We headed toward
his shop—down the shortcut, past my house, across the bridge, and up
to the market. Carol didn’t have her glasses on, so I’m glad I’m so
observant haha. From the outskirts of the market I could see John’s
store. And from the outskirts of the market I could see Shey’s wife
sitting in front of the store. Close call! We brought him the cold
food later, after our meeting.
In other news, it’s Youth Week here in Lassin, and all over Cameroon
for that matter. No school today either!! I just love holidays.
Yesterday was Human Investment Day (community service) for the youth.
We had morning classes (some English, songs, and the Bible story) at
APSL (Adventist Primary School of Lassin) and then started on our
little project. The students have been collecting firewood from the
area around the school for a few weeks, and yesterday we delivered
bundles to about 10 old men and women in Lassin. My group (the Lions!)
delivered 6 bundles to an ol’ mudda (old mother) who lives here in
Calaba quarter. I pass her house every day as I’m walking to and from
the Roses’. Usually when I try greeting her she just gives me this
look. She rarely greets back. She just doesn’t seem too happy.
Miraculously, yesterday morning as I passed her on my way to school
she actually said good morning-o! back; she even said it with a slight
smile, I think.
The Lions and I arrived at her compound around 1:45 after trekking
with the firewood from school only to find that she was not there. We
left the pile of wood by her door and hoped she’d understand it was
for her. Then the 6 kids in my group came back to my compound for
water and Nutty Buddies! Thanks McKee! Haha! Later, on my way to the
Roses’, I saw that her door was open. So, with my laptop on my head, I
stepped in front of her doorway and tried knocking—“Bong, bong!! Bong,
bong!” I saw her there inside the dark room and got her attention. I
said- “This wood is for you,” motioning to the firewood outside her
door. She gestured with both hands, a sign of respect, and slowly
stood before coming toward me. On her way, she asked if I was the one
giving it to her. I said that it is from my school, from the students
of APSL. I almost cried a little later. She came out of her house to
me and gave me a big side-embrace haha. I told her—“God bless
you!”—not knowing if she really understood. She thanked me and thanked
me. She said—“Thank you, my pikin. Thank you. I came back and saw the
wood but did not see pikin. Thank you.” I will never look at that ol’
mudda in the same way. Now I just consider another one of my
grandmothers. I love how extended my family is. Brothers and sisters,
fathers and mothers, grandparents—they’re everywhere.
I just have a bit more news to share. After Christmas break, a spent
about two weeks teaching Class 5 only. Since Kim left, they didn’t
really have a teacher (well, they still had Divine). Plus, Gregory (a
man who lives near the school and helped build it) has been doing
cement work on the school. As of today, I think, all the classes have
cement-plastered walls AND cement floors! No more dirt! Whoo hoo!
During the first two weeks after Christmas break, classes 1 and 2 were
together in either room 1 or 2 while the other was getting worked on.
During that time, both Naphtali and Julianna taught classes 1 and 2
together. But since then I’ve been floating from Class 2 to Class 5
and have been lesson planning for all of Class 2 and the English/Math
for Class 5. Teaching two classes really makes the days go super fast!
It’s nice. dClass 5, though, has been out of a classroom for the past
couple weeks and have been meeting outside. We have a very nice place
up under the Eucalyptus grove with benches and “desks”. There’s even a
chair for the teacher.
I think I’ve mostly broken my habit of counting down the days ‘til
May… now I’m just keeping in mind how many weeks I have (11.5 :D
haha!). Life’s not too bad here at all. I think the main thing I’m
really missing are the friends and family I’ve spent so much of my
life with (I already mentioned that I have friends and even family
here, too. They’re just not the same, though.). So for now, I’m just
living in today, trying to savor today. I don’t want to be living in
any other time but this moment. May will come soon enough, and, by
then, it will probably be too soon. Today, I’m being drowned (in a
good way) in the blessings of God. I thank Him for the rain, for the
children, for your prayers, for animals (saw another chameleon this
week!), for good food, and for life.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Blog: You Are Not Alone (January 23, 2011)
I can think back to many things I’ve said in the past, things I’ve claimed I would never, ever do. Now, all I can say to that is never say never. I’ve told a few that I’d never live alone—IF I could help it. And I guess I can’t really help it in this case. Kim and Kat left Lassin 2.5 weeks ago. I really think I thought they would never really go. But they’re definitely no longer here. I couldn’t help but think thoughts like “I’m the only one left now. What’s gonna happen to me now?” I also thought things like “whatever happens, God’ll get me through it. Everything else can change, but He will never, ever, ever change. He’s everlasting.” So I’ve been living (more like camping actually haha) “alone” for almost 3 weeks now. And you know, I think I am really enjoying it! I was telling my parents that it has been so, so long since I’ve had some alone time for my little introverted mind. In the past 20 weeks, I’ve usually had to go to the toilet, my room (although I did share my room the first month or so), or out for a walk if I wanted to be alone. Now, though, I have a little more control. Instead of just my room and the bathroom, I can also enjoy quiet time in my kitchen, living room, and one of the 2 guest rooms! I typically try and avoid the kitchen and the guestrooms, though, because of the spider infestation. I think I’m housing a few cousins of the black widow. Each time I enter my house when it’s dark out, I do a very thorough inspection. I’m careful to tear down any spider webs in my path with the broom (opposed to using my body) on my way to turning on the light. Then I make my way over to my room and the bathroom. I’m completing this inspection faster and faster each night! I think I always do it with a smile on my face, too; I laugh at myself inside. I think about how funny I would look to my mom or dad or friends. Another thing I’m doing that I thought I’d never, ever do: enjoying the company of pests. Call me crazy. But I’m not. I really think of Fang, the giant spider in my room, Stuart, the cute little mouse who visits me from time to time, and Moose, the stuffed moose sent to me from America.. I really do think of them as blessings from God, as friends to keep me company in that huge house. I was thinking about these blessings the other day, and God just kept sending more. Market day two weeks ago was on Thursday (Jan. 13); I was trying to avoid the market for the second or third week ‘cause it really makes me miss Kim and Kat. I was just about to start carrying water from the tap when I met Carol coming from the market to her house. Mathias, one of my students and one of the sons of the “traditional doctor”, had followed her from the market. He is so cute. I’m sure he’s the smallest second grader—probably even smaller than many students in class one. Well, he quietly left Carol’s side and kept me company as I carried water. He helped me count the five buckets “we” carried from the tap to the house. I really loved his company. I sent him back to the market with a little bit of my Mambo bar (chocolate!). I really love the little visitors I get. They remind me that I am not alone. They remind me that heavenly angels are ever with me. They remind me that Jesus is with me always. So don’t you worry about me over here in Africa. I am not alone.
Blog: Sharing is Caring (Jan. 27, 2011)
Growing up as an only child was better than I’ll ever realize. I was (and am) more fortunate than I’ll ever know. Since coming to live and work in Cameroon, I have understood how blessed I really am just a little bit more.
As far as I can remember, I always, always, always wanted siblings. Maybe I didn’t voice that opinion much; but thinking back, I really, really wanted them. People tell me—Oh, Jess! If you’d had siblings, you’d have wished you were an only child. The grass does seem to be ever greener on the other side. One thing I believe siblings would have helped me with was my character. Yeah, that sounds pretty vague haha. More specifically, they would have helped me to share more. I haven’t had to share my things much with anyone—that goes for my room, my food, my mom, everything.
And now I’m in a place that is indescribably generous. They share everything. It’s amazing to me. And it is really difficult for a day to go by without me feeling at least a little bit guilty; most days I’m really embarrassed about my selfish mindset. What’s worse (it’s really not a bad thing… just when it comes to me and my conscience getting along) is that they share even more with me because I am a guest in their country! Almost every day, during long break, someone gives me something more to eat. Two days ago it was a papaya. Last semester, Naphtali (my assistant/translator) and his family (his 2 youngest kids attend the school and his wife works with Carol in class 1) would try to give me yams, fufu, groundnuts (peanuts), palm kernels, coconut, sugar cane, oranges, bananas… SO much! These are things that they brought for their own lunch.
Now Carol and I already bring a pretty a large lunch (comparably)—some sort of bread with peanut butter and/or honey, an orange, a banana, sometimes pineapple/papaya, and trail mix. I am ashamed to say that I rarely share my lunch. Occasionally, I’ll give a piece of pineapple or some raisins or something to someone. If you give to one, though, you may wind up splitting your lunch for one into… 75 or so pieces. Hmm. I’m learning. I’m learning that making sure you have enough to eat for yourself is not so important. Many of the kids don’t bring anything to eat for lunch. Just in the last few weeks, though, we started the Peanutty Protein Project (not really its name..). Some blessed Californian is paying for each child to have a handful of peanuts every school day. We’re hoping that this will help their bloated, nutrient deficient bodies even just a little. People here seem to be used to eating only 2 meals a day, and we’ve had a hard time figuring out where they get certain necessary nutrients (like protein, vitamin C, iodine, etc.).
But, yes, I am learning. The people here are so willing to give. For me to become like them—that just can’t happen overnight. Duh. But… maybe it will actually take more like… 8.5 months, in total. Maybe then there’s some hope for me. I’ve written before of how difficult it is to see change in myself. I mean, I am with me every single day. I won’t know how I’ve changed until the end of this. I hope then I can see that I’ve become more like the people here, that my heart has been growing bigger and bigger.
“… But whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also. It anyone wants to sue you and take away your tunic, let him have your cloak also. And whoever compels you to go one mile, go with him two. Give to him who asks you, and from him who wants to borrow from you do not turn away.” Matthew 5:39-42
“Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in the power of your hand to do so. Do not say to your neighbor, ‘Go, and come back, and tomorrow I will give it,’ when you have it with you.” Proverbs 3:27, 28
As far as I can remember, I always, always, always wanted siblings. Maybe I didn’t voice that opinion much; but thinking back, I really, really wanted them. People tell me—Oh, Jess! If you’d had siblings, you’d have wished you were an only child. The grass does seem to be ever greener on the other side. One thing I believe siblings would have helped me with was my character. Yeah, that sounds pretty vague haha. More specifically, they would have helped me to share more. I haven’t had to share my things much with anyone—that goes for my room, my food, my mom, everything.
And now I’m in a place that is indescribably generous. They share everything. It’s amazing to me. And it is really difficult for a day to go by without me feeling at least a little bit guilty; most days I’m really embarrassed about my selfish mindset. What’s worse (it’s really not a bad thing… just when it comes to me and my conscience getting along) is that they share even more with me because I am a guest in their country! Almost every day, during long break, someone gives me something more to eat. Two days ago it was a papaya. Last semester, Naphtali (my assistant/translator) and his family (his 2 youngest kids attend the school and his wife works with Carol in class 1) would try to give me yams, fufu, groundnuts (peanuts), palm kernels, coconut, sugar cane, oranges, bananas… SO much! These are things that they brought for their own lunch.
Now Carol and I already bring a pretty a large lunch (comparably)—some sort of bread with peanut butter and/or honey, an orange, a banana, sometimes pineapple/papaya, and trail mix. I am ashamed to say that I rarely share my lunch. Occasionally, I’ll give a piece of pineapple or some raisins or something to someone. If you give to one, though, you may wind up splitting your lunch for one into… 75 or so pieces. Hmm. I’m learning. I’m learning that making sure you have enough to eat for yourself is not so important. Many of the kids don’t bring anything to eat for lunch. Just in the last few weeks, though, we started the Peanutty Protein Project (not really its name..). Some blessed Californian is paying for each child to have a handful of peanuts every school day. We’re hoping that this will help their bloated, nutrient deficient bodies even just a little. People here seem to be used to eating only 2 meals a day, and we’ve had a hard time figuring out where they get certain necessary nutrients (like protein, vitamin C, iodine, etc.).
But, yes, I am learning. The people here are so willing to give. For me to become like them—that just can’t happen overnight. Duh. But… maybe it will actually take more like… 8.5 months, in total. Maybe then there’s some hope for me. I’ve written before of how difficult it is to see change in myself. I mean, I am with me every single day. I won’t know how I’ve changed until the end of this. I hope then I can see that I’ve become more like the people here, that my heart has been growing bigger and bigger.
“… But whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also. It anyone wants to sue you and take away your tunic, let him have your cloak also. And whoever compels you to go one mile, go with him two. Give to him who asks you, and from him who wants to borrow from you do not turn away.” Matthew 5:39-42
“Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in the power of your hand to do so. Do not say to your neighbor, ‘Go, and come back, and tomorrow I will give it,’ when you have it with you.” Proverbs 3:27, 28
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
An African Christmas, Part Two
After a slight delay we made our way to our dormitory style rooms there.
After two nights in this room, we moved to an apartment where we stayed 3
nights (until Christmas day). This facility was cheap, had hot water, and a
kitchen! Plus it was very safe. And they had internet, even wifi! [It was
during my time on the computer here that I learned of many, many engagements
amongst people I know; I was determined not to let it depress me haha. There
was no reason for me to be unhappy! I'm traveling the world, serving others
in the name of Christ! I'm doing exactly what I should be.] It was on the
other side of town, though, so we spent an unexpected amount on taxi fare.
The grand finale of our stay in Yaounde occurred on Christmas day, when we
moved in to the Hilton for the night. We were there at the hotel as soon as
we could check in, and didn't leave the place until the exact check-out
time. Yaounde was fun to explore, but it was also quite expensive-especially
everything with the word "Hilton" on it. Christmas night was also the night
I really started feelings malarial. Is that a word? Anyway, Saturday night I
felt really awful. Plus I was more homesick than I had been in a good while,
it being Christmas day spent without any family and all (though I did spent
quite a bit of time on the phone with family that day). Oh yeah! On
Christmas Eve we visited Yaounde's zoo. THAT was pretty awesome. They had
peacocks and monkeys roaming free around the facility, seven large, active
lions, some crocs, tortoises, and parrot-type birds. The monkeys and the
lions were my favorite. The zoo itself seemed pretty run down, but I was
able to see more and be closer to the animals than I would at any zoo I've
been to in America. Honestly, after Yaounde, I just felt like either going
back to Lassin or back to America. Our next stop was Kribi, one of Cameroon'
s "beach resort" towns. I guess I felt pretty miserable in Kribi, too. Yeah,
the beach was there, but we were kind of bored. Now that I think about it, I
wasn't bored. I was exhausted. Funny how I can get those mixed up. We only
stayed there 2 nights. By the time we left for Limbe, the last time I had
showered was Sunday, the morning we left the Hilton (best shower
ever-bathroom was complete with a hair dryer!). So I was pretty gross.
GROSS. Haha! On our way to Limbe, we had to go through Doula (my very first
glimpse of Cameroon). Anytime we go through Doula, we get to see our very
dear friend Charles Ichu. What a guy. He picked us up from the taxi park,
drove us to Moneygram/the bank/the bakery, and then we all started together
toward Limbe. I mentioned to Charles that I wasn't really feeling well, and
he insisted on taking me to the Adventist Hospital in Buea, a town right
next to Limbe. Unfortunately, we got there after their lab had already
closed for the day (the was Tuesday, Dec. 28 btw). Dr. Trixie, a Loma Linda
graduate, informed me of the possibilities and asked me to call her the next
day after I got tested for malaria. I either had malaria, a viral infection
(in my lungs? which was causing pleuritis), or a pulled back muscle from
doing a handstand. I didn't want to take malaria meds without knowing if I
actually had malaria or not. I did have a temperature of 102. So we headed
to Limbe, so grateful for Charles' company. After checking out a few hotels,
we finally chose one located inside a botanical garden and very close to a
bakery and ice cream shop. Finally, a shower! I hit the sack pretty quickly
after washing up. I was beat. You know, I think the time we spent in Limbe
evenly tied with our time in Yaounde, or maybe even beat it. Wednesday
morning, we had brunch at Chela's, a restaurant located inside Limbe
Wildlife Center. We could see the gorillas from our table! The lab techs
there also performed my rapid response malaria test without charge! Turns
out, yes, I had a moderate infection of malaria. Now I can say I really have
experienced Africa. or at least Cameroon. I was talking with the tech and
the "doctor" about my mission here in Cameroon. They said that they love to
hear about someone working for the Lord. They invited me to take some of
their brochures back to America and talk to some friends or family about
donating to their cause. I promised them I would. We headed to the pharmacy
where I bought some Courtem (great stuff!), then to the room, and then to
Hotel Seme Beach! For 3 bucks, we hung out at the chocolate beaches of Limbe
and never found out about the drink that the fare included. I had a good
time but not as good a time as Kim and Kat had. I just wanted to sleep on
the beach and work on my tan. I stuck out like an elephant. Haha :) That
night, Kim and I left the room to go for a walk (I was secretly looking for
ice cream. I thought it would help my fever go down, ya know), and we ran
into some very interesting people. First we saw this big safari-like jeep in
the driveway. It was painted white with "Drive Against Malaria" in big red
and black letters on its side. Then, all of a sudden, its driver, Dr. Sara
from the Netherland introduced herself and immediately noticed my fever. I
thought she was so cool. Right away, Kim let her know that I had malaria. I
just smiled haha. Her cohort, David, showed up, and I noticed that he had no
right arm or leg. Yikes. He had whitish-grey, long, curly hair and piercing
blue eyes. He's from the UK. They proceeded to visit with us and educate us
about malaria. They checked Kat's temperature (no malaria) and gave us all
free Courtem. They were pretty G. The next day, after a quick stop by Mt.
Cameroon (we tried walking to the first geographical "level", the forest,
but we didn't really make it too far), we headed back to Douala hoping to
catch the night bus to Bamenda and make it to Lassin by Friday evening. I'm
sorry to say that I did not take a enough pictures during our Cameroonian
adventure. I did have a pretty swell time, though. Now I can say that I
really have seen Cameroon. Another thing we failed to do was to go up north
towards Lake Chad to see Waza National Park. We decided that the journey
would be too long and dangerous. I don't think I'd mind doing Christmas in
Africa again, just as long as I have some family to keep me company.
After two nights in this room, we moved to an apartment where we stayed 3
nights (until Christmas day). This facility was cheap, had hot water, and a
kitchen! Plus it was very safe. And they had internet, even wifi! [It was
during my time on the computer here that I learned of many, many engagements
amongst people I know; I was determined not to let it depress me haha. There
was no reason for me to be unhappy! I'm traveling the world, serving others
in the name of Christ! I'm doing exactly what I should be.] It was on the
other side of town, though, so we spent an unexpected amount on taxi fare.
The grand finale of our stay in Yaounde occurred on Christmas day, when we
moved in to the Hilton for the night. We were there at the hotel as soon as
we could check in, and didn't leave the place until the exact check-out
time. Yaounde was fun to explore, but it was also quite expensive-especially
everything with the word "Hilton" on it. Christmas night was also the night
I really started feelings malarial. Is that a word? Anyway, Saturday night I
felt really awful. Plus I was more homesick than I had been in a good while,
it being Christmas day spent without any family and all (though I did spent
quite a bit of time on the phone with family that day). Oh yeah! On
Christmas Eve we visited Yaounde's zoo. THAT was pretty awesome. They had
peacocks and monkeys roaming free around the facility, seven large, active
lions, some crocs, tortoises, and parrot-type birds. The monkeys and the
lions were my favorite. The zoo itself seemed pretty run down, but I was
able to see more and be closer to the animals than I would at any zoo I've
been to in America. Honestly, after Yaounde, I just felt like either going
back to Lassin or back to America. Our next stop was Kribi, one of Cameroon'
s "beach resort" towns. I guess I felt pretty miserable in Kribi, too. Yeah,
the beach was there, but we were kind of bored. Now that I think about it, I
wasn't bored. I was exhausted. Funny how I can get those mixed up. We only
stayed there 2 nights. By the time we left for Limbe, the last time I had
showered was Sunday, the morning we left the Hilton (best shower
ever-bathroom was complete with a hair dryer!). So I was pretty gross.
GROSS. Haha! On our way to Limbe, we had to go through Doula (my very first
glimpse of Cameroon). Anytime we go through Doula, we get to see our very
dear friend Charles Ichu. What a guy. He picked us up from the taxi park,
drove us to Moneygram/the bank/the bakery, and then we all started together
toward Limbe. I mentioned to Charles that I wasn't really feeling well, and
he insisted on taking me to the Adventist Hospital in Buea, a town right
next to Limbe. Unfortunately, we got there after their lab had already
closed for the day (the was Tuesday, Dec. 28 btw). Dr. Trixie, a Loma Linda
graduate, informed me of the possibilities and asked me to call her the next
day after I got tested for malaria. I either had malaria, a viral infection
(in my lungs? which was causing pleuritis), or a pulled back muscle from
doing a handstand. I didn't want to take malaria meds without knowing if I
actually had malaria or not. I did have a temperature of 102. So we headed
to Limbe, so grateful for Charles' company. After checking out a few hotels,
we finally chose one located inside a botanical garden and very close to a
bakery and ice cream shop. Finally, a shower! I hit the sack pretty quickly
after washing up. I was beat. You know, I think the time we spent in Limbe
evenly tied with our time in Yaounde, or maybe even beat it. Wednesday
morning, we had brunch at Chela's, a restaurant located inside Limbe
Wildlife Center. We could see the gorillas from our table! The lab techs
there also performed my rapid response malaria test without charge! Turns
out, yes, I had a moderate infection of malaria. Now I can say I really have
experienced Africa. or at least Cameroon. I was talking with the tech and
the "doctor" about my mission here in Cameroon. They said that they love to
hear about someone working for the Lord. They invited me to take some of
their brochures back to America and talk to some friends or family about
donating to their cause. I promised them I would. We headed to the pharmacy
where I bought some Courtem (great stuff!), then to the room, and then to
Hotel Seme Beach! For 3 bucks, we hung out at the chocolate beaches of Limbe
and never found out about the drink that the fare included. I had a good
time but not as good a time as Kim and Kat had. I just wanted to sleep on
the beach and work on my tan. I stuck out like an elephant. Haha :) That
night, Kim and I left the room to go for a walk (I was secretly looking for
ice cream. I thought it would help my fever go down, ya know), and we ran
into some very interesting people. First we saw this big safari-like jeep in
the driveway. It was painted white with "Drive Against Malaria" in big red
and black letters on its side. Then, all of a sudden, its driver, Dr. Sara
from the Netherland introduced herself and immediately noticed my fever. I
thought she was so cool. Right away, Kim let her know that I had malaria. I
just smiled haha. Her cohort, David, showed up, and I noticed that he had no
right arm or leg. Yikes. He had whitish-grey, long, curly hair and piercing
blue eyes. He's from the UK. They proceeded to visit with us and educate us
about malaria. They checked Kat's temperature (no malaria) and gave us all
free Courtem. They were pretty G. The next day, after a quick stop by Mt.
Cameroon (we tried walking to the first geographical "level", the forest,
but we didn't really make it too far), we headed back to Douala hoping to
catch the night bus to Bamenda and make it to Lassin by Friday evening. I'm
sorry to say that I did not take a enough pictures during our Cameroonian
adventure. I did have a pretty swell time, though. Now I can say that I
really have seen Cameroon. Another thing we failed to do was to go up north
towards Lake Chad to see Waza National Park. We decided that the journey
would be too long and dangerous. I don't think I'd mind doing Christmas in
Africa again, just as long as I have some family to keep me company.
An African Christmas, Part One (1/9/11)
It really seems like a year has passed since I last "updated" you all. That
much has honestly happened. Let's see how well I can remember everything.
Well, December found us (Kim, Kat, & I) with extreme cabin fever. We really
wanted to get out of Dodge, er, Lassin. So we planned accordingly. We would
leave on the last Thursday of school after class let out, and we would set
out to see the world! And even though we didn't end up leaving until Friday
morning or seeing the world, we let nothing curb our enthusiasm AT ALL.
Thursday night/Friday morning was spent packing up ol' Silvy, Kim's old,
silver, hard-top, on-its-last-leg suitcase and all our respective backpacks.
We were going to enjoy this trip no matter what happened. Friday morning, we
tramped down to the taxi park clad in jeans hauling all our stuff. The day
before, I'd been told that it would just be best if I ate the rest of my
2010 meals with Kim & Kat. So this morning, defeated, I carried my bag of
white, breakfast bread to the market with francs to supplement it with
chocolate, biscuits, and ching ching all 'round. The night before, Julianna,
one of the sweetest people in Lassin, had brought us fufu & fried agusi
(pumpkin seed swimming in palm oil: very tasty!). I ate my fufu with avocado
and shared some with D. We had way too much fufu to know what to do with-aka
we gave it away. Anyway, we found a taxi & the four of us piled in,
completely pumped for our adventure across Cameroon. First stop? Kumbo of
course! This was pretty much the most important stop since I needed onions
so bad from Moneygram (onions is Rose lingo for cold, hard CASH). Oh! Funny
story. Well this taxi ride was one of my first experiences with dust. The
roads in rainy season are just awful to drive on, BUT the roads in dry
season are covered with at least a few inches of loose, orange dust. This
dust will find its way into a taxi or suitcase or person through the tiniest
of openings. It's great. Our trip Kumbo also found us with some interesting
cargo, and I'm not talking about taxi mates. Two pretty big bags of bong (I
think that's what they called it?) traveled with us most of the way to
Kumbo. Also great. Okay, so after taking a bike to the post office (3 more
packages! Thank you Mom & Gma Anne!), walking to Pastor Josiah's house
(pastor of our church here in Lassin), loading up on holiday goodies from
the boxes, taking a bike to Moneygram/the supermarket, then BACK to the taxi
park, we were all almost ready to go to Bamenda. The roads to Bamenda are
much better than those to Lassin. So, in that respect the trip was better.
There are even some paved stretches of road which means a lot less dust. But
I think we must have gotten on the oldest "Taxi Bus" in the business.
Bamenda is just on the other side of these big hills. In order to get to
Bamenda, the Taxi Bus had to climb these hills. It barely made it. Once we
started up the hill, the driver had to stop what seemed about every ten
minutes to replenish the water in the radiator. One time when we stopped, he
didn't wait long enough for the pressure to decrease before opening the cap.
Hot water and steam came shooting out in all directions! By this time, all
the occupants of the van were very angry at the driver for putting them
through this and not maintenance-ing his vehicle before the busy holidays.
We made it to Bamenda, but he couldn't even take us all the way to the taxi
park-the van was in that bad of shape. He pretty much made us get out on the
side of the road (we were very, very close to our stop, though). After a few
minutes, our Bamendian contacts, Mercy and Rita, met us. Mercy is the wife
of Felix who Kim met through the installment of her village phone
antenna-like you know what that means. Our time in Bamenda was very nice. We
got a total change of scenery, TV (Kat was ecstatic about the Disney
channel), ice cream, internet, new hair-dos, free lodging, malaria (haha!
Yeah, I'm pretty sure I contracted it in Bamenda, 7-10 days before the onset
of symptoms.), ATM use, and good company. One thing I did not get was a
shower. All I can say about that is: mercy. I think my favorite part of
Bamenda was the hair-platting line of the market. Or maybe it was the cold
or frozen drinks and snacks we enjoyed. Yeah, I think both. The
hair-platting line is a pretty long aisle of the market with nothing but
women and girls standing or sitting on stools doing nothing but braiding
hair. It was really awesome. When we first arrived, I was kind of annoying
because all the women were staring and trying to get us to go to them for
their services. We finally found the ladies Rita was looking for and I got
to sit. The women starting braiding Kim and Kat's hair at about 1 pm in the
afternoon, and we didn't leave the market 'til 7 or 8 that night at least.
It was a long day, but they had beautiful, yet painful, braids to show for
it. Sunday night we carried/rolled our things to the taxi park ready to
embark on our next leg of our adventure. This time, we'd be taking the night
bus to Yaounde, the capitol of Cameroon. This would be one of my favorite
stops on our trip. I slept like a baby on the bus. Only because Divine was
nice enough to let me have his window seat. I conked out before the bus even
rolled out of the park. I have learned some funny things about night buses.
The seat number that is written on your ticket means nothing. Sure, you
might be sitting in Seat 55, the information given on your ticket. But, then
again, you might be sitting in Seat 54, Seat 12, or Seat 74. Or you might be
sitting on some luggage in the aisle, someone's lap, or even the floor. If
you're not quick to claim your seat, you may not have one for the ride.
Also, about half-way through the drive to your destination, night buses
always stop at a sort of night market. The first time my sleep was
interrupted by this, I was pretty startled: What the heck is going on?!
People actually want to eat at this time of the night?? Crazy. The second
and third times were old news. My first few goals in Yaounde were to find
lodging, go to a bakery, and take a shower-in no particular order at all.
So, we found our way to the SDA Union office hoping they could help us.
Fortunately, they are located right across the street from the best bakery
in Cameroon-Calafatas Boulangerie. Wowsers, that place is awesome. After
picking up some breakfast, we just lounged in the lobby of the union office,
dozing on and off after their staff worship. We waited to see the president
for about 3 hours. Turns out that their hotel units were booked. They helped
us find a taxi across town to the Baptist mission, SIL. Now this place
looked so nice! It's a huge gated community filled with Americans and
Canadians and even Cameroonians.
much has honestly happened. Let's see how well I can remember everything.
Well, December found us (Kim, Kat, & I) with extreme cabin fever. We really
wanted to get out of Dodge, er, Lassin. So we planned accordingly. We would
leave on the last Thursday of school after class let out, and we would set
out to see the world! And even though we didn't end up leaving until Friday
morning or seeing the world, we let nothing curb our enthusiasm AT ALL.
Thursday night/Friday morning was spent packing up ol' Silvy, Kim's old,
silver, hard-top, on-its-last-leg suitcase and all our respective backpacks.
We were going to enjoy this trip no matter what happened. Friday morning, we
tramped down to the taxi park clad in jeans hauling all our stuff. The day
before, I'd been told that it would just be best if I ate the rest of my
2010 meals with Kim & Kat. So this morning, defeated, I carried my bag of
white, breakfast bread to the market with francs to supplement it with
chocolate, biscuits, and ching ching all 'round. The night before, Julianna,
one of the sweetest people in Lassin, had brought us fufu & fried agusi
(pumpkin seed swimming in palm oil: very tasty!). I ate my fufu with avocado
and shared some with D. We had way too much fufu to know what to do with-aka
we gave it away. Anyway, we found a taxi & the four of us piled in,
completely pumped for our adventure across Cameroon. First stop? Kumbo of
course! This was pretty much the most important stop since I needed onions
so bad from Moneygram (onions is Rose lingo for cold, hard CASH). Oh! Funny
story. Well this taxi ride was one of my first experiences with dust. The
roads in rainy season are just awful to drive on, BUT the roads in dry
season are covered with at least a few inches of loose, orange dust. This
dust will find its way into a taxi or suitcase or person through the tiniest
of openings. It's great. Our trip Kumbo also found us with some interesting
cargo, and I'm not talking about taxi mates. Two pretty big bags of bong (I
think that's what they called it?) traveled with us most of the way to
Kumbo. Also great. Okay, so after taking a bike to the post office (3 more
packages! Thank you Mom & Gma Anne!), walking to Pastor Josiah's house
(pastor of our church here in Lassin), loading up on holiday goodies from
the boxes, taking a bike to Moneygram/the supermarket, then BACK to the taxi
park, we were all almost ready to go to Bamenda. The roads to Bamenda are
much better than those to Lassin. So, in that respect the trip was better.
There are even some paved stretches of road which means a lot less dust. But
I think we must have gotten on the oldest "Taxi Bus" in the business.
Bamenda is just on the other side of these big hills. In order to get to
Bamenda, the Taxi Bus had to climb these hills. It barely made it. Once we
started up the hill, the driver had to stop what seemed about every ten
minutes to replenish the water in the radiator. One time when we stopped, he
didn't wait long enough for the pressure to decrease before opening the cap.
Hot water and steam came shooting out in all directions! By this time, all
the occupants of the van were very angry at the driver for putting them
through this and not maintenance-ing his vehicle before the busy holidays.
We made it to Bamenda, but he couldn't even take us all the way to the taxi
park-the van was in that bad of shape. He pretty much made us get out on the
side of the road (we were very, very close to our stop, though). After a few
minutes, our Bamendian contacts, Mercy and Rita, met us. Mercy is the wife
of Felix who Kim met through the installment of her village phone
antenna-like you know what that means. Our time in Bamenda was very nice. We
got a total change of scenery, TV (Kat was ecstatic about the Disney
channel), ice cream, internet, new hair-dos, free lodging, malaria (haha!
Yeah, I'm pretty sure I contracted it in Bamenda, 7-10 days before the onset
of symptoms.), ATM use, and good company. One thing I did not get was a
shower. All I can say about that is: mercy. I think my favorite part of
Bamenda was the hair-platting line of the market. Or maybe it was the cold
or frozen drinks and snacks we enjoyed. Yeah, I think both. The
hair-platting line is a pretty long aisle of the market with nothing but
women and girls standing or sitting on stools doing nothing but braiding
hair. It was really awesome. When we first arrived, I was kind of annoying
because all the women were staring and trying to get us to go to them for
their services. We finally found the ladies Rita was looking for and I got
to sit. The women starting braiding Kim and Kat's hair at about 1 pm in the
afternoon, and we didn't leave the market 'til 7 or 8 that night at least.
It was a long day, but they had beautiful, yet painful, braids to show for
it. Sunday night we carried/rolled our things to the taxi park ready to
embark on our next leg of our adventure. This time, we'd be taking the night
bus to Yaounde, the capitol of Cameroon. This would be one of my favorite
stops on our trip. I slept like a baby on the bus. Only because Divine was
nice enough to let me have his window seat. I conked out before the bus even
rolled out of the park. I have learned some funny things about night buses.
The seat number that is written on your ticket means nothing. Sure, you
might be sitting in Seat 55, the information given on your ticket. But, then
again, you might be sitting in Seat 54, Seat 12, or Seat 74. Or you might be
sitting on some luggage in the aisle, someone's lap, or even the floor. If
you're not quick to claim your seat, you may not have one for the ride.
Also, about half-way through the drive to your destination, night buses
always stop at a sort of night market. The first time my sleep was
interrupted by this, I was pretty startled: What the heck is going on?!
People actually want to eat at this time of the night?? Crazy. The second
and third times were old news. My first few goals in Yaounde were to find
lodging, go to a bakery, and take a shower-in no particular order at all.
So, we found our way to the SDA Union office hoping they could help us.
Fortunately, they are located right across the street from the best bakery
in Cameroon-Calafatas Boulangerie. Wowsers, that place is awesome. After
picking up some breakfast, we just lounged in the lobby of the union office,
dozing on and off after their staff worship. We waited to see the president
for about 3 hours. Turns out that their hotel units were booked. They helped
us find a taxi across town to the Baptist mission, SIL. Now this place
looked so nice! It's a huge gated community filled with Americans and
Canadians and even Cameroonians.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Blog: Improvement (Dec. 12, 2010)
Wonders of wonders: we'll be home in less than 5 months, it's almost
Christmas here, less than 1 week of school 'til break, I'm happy. I never
thought that Africa could be as cold as it is right now!! Wow! The
temperature difference here between the middle of the night and then middle
of the day is huge! I really do feel like I'm camping and have been for over
3 months. It's great, though! The crispiness of the morning is really nice.
Or is it just crispness? Ha! Well, I've heard that, according to teachers,
one of the things most dreaded things in teaching can be summed up in just
one word: grades. And, boy, did I really agree about a month and a half
back! The testing that I've done in the past week, though, has simply been a
breath of fresh air. Testing my whole class (orally, for the most part) can
really take a long time. That's what I learned about the process during
mid-term testing a few weeks ago. But this past week was really nice. I knew
what I needed to do and had a plan. Instead of testing all the kids the week
before grades were due, I've done them. well it's still the week before. but
I've allowed for much more time this go-around. And let me tell you what I'
ve learned from all my students (except for one) by testing them. They've
really improved! Now I know how good teachers much feel when they realize
that the students they have been teaching have actually been learning, too!
Haha-go figure. So I want you all to know that I really am teaching over
here in Lassin, Cameroon. The kids really are learning. God really is
working. A LOT! He's the one responsible for all the good things happening
here! What a big job He's got; but He surely is capable. Not only has class
2 improved at APS of Lassin (as well as the other classes, I'm sure), but
the relationships here amongst missionaries and locals has really changed.
Improvement's been prayed for, and God has delivered. Another thing that's
gotten better is my cooking skills. Friday afternoon, I attempted to create
a cake that looked and tasted like chocolate. The main ingredient: carob!
God must've performed a miracle on that cake! Thank you all for your prayer
and support. It makes such a difference to me and the others here. Your
random texts, calls, and packages are such a blessing. Hope everyone reading
this has a wonderful holiday!HH
Christmas here, less than 1 week of school 'til break, I'm happy. I never
thought that Africa could be as cold as it is right now!! Wow! The
temperature difference here between the middle of the night and then middle
of the day is huge! I really do feel like I'm camping and have been for over
3 months. It's great, though! The crispiness of the morning is really nice.
Or is it just crispness? Ha! Well, I've heard that, according to teachers,
one of the things most dreaded things in teaching can be summed up in just
one word: grades. And, boy, did I really agree about a month and a half
back! The testing that I've done in the past week, though, has simply been a
breath of fresh air. Testing my whole class (orally, for the most part) can
really take a long time. That's what I learned about the process during
mid-term testing a few weeks ago. But this past week was really nice. I knew
what I needed to do and had a plan. Instead of testing all the kids the week
before grades were due, I've done them. well it's still the week before. but
I've allowed for much more time this go-around. And let me tell you what I'
ve learned from all my students (except for one) by testing them. They've
really improved! Now I know how good teachers much feel when they realize
that the students they have been teaching have actually been learning, too!
Haha-go figure. So I want you all to know that I really am teaching over
here in Lassin, Cameroon. The kids really are learning. God really is
working. A LOT! He's the one responsible for all the good things happening
here! What a big job He's got; but He surely is capable. Not only has class
2 improved at APS of Lassin (as well as the other classes, I'm sure), but
the relationships here amongst missionaries and locals has really changed.
Improvement's been prayed for, and God has delivered. Another thing that's
gotten better is my cooking skills. Friday afternoon, I attempted to create
a cake that looked and tasted like chocolate. The main ingredient: carob!
God must've performed a miracle on that cake! Thank you all for your prayer
and support. It makes such a difference to me and the others here. Your
random texts, calls, and packages are such a blessing. Hope everyone reading
this has a wonderful holiday!HH
Blog: Get Outta My Face! (Dec. 12, 2010)
Sometimes on my walk home from school, the butterflies go fluttering by and
nearly run in to my face. The first time this happened, I was really in a
foul mood (haha). My day of teaching had gone fine, but I just really wanted
to be alone; I really wanted to be free from the children. Here, though,
that just doesn't happen. The faster and harder I try to walk, the more they
try to keep up with me. So the first time these butterflies tried to take me
out, I was really kind of mad at them. I knew I was wrong for being annoyed,
but I guess I didn't care at first. Then I got to thinking. Those
butterflies are beautiful. They weren't really trying to hurt me. They're
totally innocent creatures-even if they do like to hang out in gross places
(or piles.). I should be thinking of them as a huge blessing and not a huge
annoyance. Then a drew the great parallel. The butterflies are just like the
children. They're carefree, innocent, beautiful. That is, up until I wanted
to pin them as annoying. How dare I. Since beginning my new life as a
teacher, I have really learned more of the appreciation due to the adults
throughout my life. Sometimes adults have just had it with kids. All they
really want to say is "Get outta my face, kid!" But I'm so glad they said
that so seldom to me. I'm so, so grateful. My parents and family, my friends
and their families, my teachers. All of them chose to be kind to me (as far
as I can remember). As much as I just wanted to be around them, to be
included, even to be in their face-they could've really had a problem with
me. But they chose not to. Sometimes we all just need time to be alone, time
free from others. I know I violated that me-time of many, many adults
growing up. But I think that's just the beauty of kids. They remind how we
should be: always loving, always selfless, always like Jesus. The past few
weeks I've wondered if He even ever got tired of the people who were just
always there at His heels. And I don't know. But I'm sure if He was, He did
everything in His power to keep them from knowing it. What kind of person
would Jesus have been if He didn't want to be around people or got tired of
people? I'd feel guilty for wanted to depend on Him, for needing to depend
on Him. Thank God Jesus wasn't like me. So for now, I'm so thankful for the
Spirit's small reminders of how to live like Jesus lived. Thanks for the
butterflies in my face.
nearly run in to my face. The first time this happened, I was really in a
foul mood (haha). My day of teaching had gone fine, but I just really wanted
to be alone; I really wanted to be free from the children. Here, though,
that just doesn't happen. The faster and harder I try to walk, the more they
try to keep up with me. So the first time these butterflies tried to take me
out, I was really kind of mad at them. I knew I was wrong for being annoyed,
but I guess I didn't care at first. Then I got to thinking. Those
butterflies are beautiful. They weren't really trying to hurt me. They're
totally innocent creatures-even if they do like to hang out in gross places
(or piles.). I should be thinking of them as a huge blessing and not a huge
annoyance. Then a drew the great parallel. The butterflies are just like the
children. They're carefree, innocent, beautiful. That is, up until I wanted
to pin them as annoying. How dare I. Since beginning my new life as a
teacher, I have really learned more of the appreciation due to the adults
throughout my life. Sometimes adults have just had it with kids. All they
really want to say is "Get outta my face, kid!" But I'm so glad they said
that so seldom to me. I'm so, so grateful. My parents and family, my friends
and their families, my teachers. All of them chose to be kind to me (as far
as I can remember). As much as I just wanted to be around them, to be
included, even to be in their face-they could've really had a problem with
me. But they chose not to. Sometimes we all just need time to be alone, time
free from others. I know I violated that me-time of many, many adults
growing up. But I think that's just the beauty of kids. They remind how we
should be: always loving, always selfless, always like Jesus. The past few
weeks I've wondered if He even ever got tired of the people who were just
always there at His heels. And I don't know. But I'm sure if He was, He did
everything in His power to keep them from knowing it. What kind of person
would Jesus have been if He didn't want to be around people or got tired of
people? I'd feel guilty for wanted to depend on Him, for needing to depend
on Him. Thank God Jesus wasn't like me. So for now, I'm so thankful for the
Spirit's small reminders of how to live like Jesus lived. Thanks for the
butterflies in my face.
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