4 more things I did in March
on Notes from Quite Far (Cameroon), 07/May/2009 11:20, 34 days ago
1. Went to a wedding2. Marched in a parade3. Climbed a mountain4. Wrote this blog I never posted.March 25th and I can’t help feeling I’ve let you down somewhat, blog-wise. If I could only do one interesting thing every week or two I’d have a steady feed of things to write.Still, some things have happened this past month. The weather has changed for starters. Luckily Yagoua has its fair share of trees so even the hottest days are a just bearable 45 degrees. That’s hot enough though. The sun is so strong it bakes everything it touches, so it’s difficult to get cool. The walls and floors are hot to the touch, even inside. The fan blows warm air, like one of those dryers you get in public toilets at home. Everything is hot: cups on the shelf feel like pots fresh out of the dishwasher; clothes on their hangers feel like they’ve been on the radiator; the mattress absorbs heat all day so at night the floor is the only option. On the up side, the water is still cool. My day is one long shower interspersed with work and food. It’s also quite nice tosit next to the fridge with the door open. The freezer compartment is just big enough for a 5 litre water bag I got from Milletts, and over the course of the day it turns into a huge bag of ice which I hug when I get in from work then sleep with at night. Like a boyfriend only less complicated.The day spent at Mount Boboyo then the crocodile lake turned out to be 3 hours climbing mount Boboyo, 5 minutes at the crocodile lake, just to confirm there were no crocodiles, then an hour at the Les Palmiers bar trying to cool down with ice cold pop. In 2007, climbed a mountain in St Martin, but there was a path and steps, and it got a bit slippery so I gave up and went back down. Boboyo was a bit different. Instead of steps there were huge boulders, and we had a guide, so giving up would have been too embarrassing. The climb was divided into 3 parts. The way up was unpleasant and very hard work, but with the promise of an exhilarating sense of achievement when I reached the summit. The summit was cool and breezy and had a great view, though was lacking in exhilaration. Finally the way down was, frankly, terrifying. Gripping on for dear life to anything is bad, and generally to be avoided. But gripping on for dear life to scorching hot rocks is a lot worse. Still, you have to do these things, otherwise how would you know that you definitely don’t like them, or indeed want to do them ever again?My opposite neighbour Hajja got married this month. It was interesting to be at a wedding with the women and children instead of men this time. Much the same though– lots of sitting around on mats, only women don’t tend to speak French so I was a bit quieter than last time. Counting to 100 in Fulfulde doesn’t come in particularly handy at weddings. My adopted grandma was there. She’s great. Sat me down and showed me all the presents and told me in Fulfulde who they were for. The presents are put in a suitcase, which is itself also a present. She showed me one of the cases, and said "Dada Hajja", which I took to mean Hajja’s dad. I looked inside - high heels, tights, knickers, bras and perfume. Either dada means mum in Fulfulde or the people here are more liberal-minded than I have given them credit for. At any rate, I did my impressed face (I’ve been practising since last I wrote) and was sent off to be briefed on my duties. I was to be one of the entourage who took the present and flowers, alongside 5 other women. We all wore very pinkmatching outfits. I still can’t work out how to wear the skirts, which are a rectangle of cloth, tied in a particular way. I had to have mine tied for me by Hajja’s best friend. It turned out my waist was too big, and they had to extend the material with a piece of ribbon. In front of the entire family. Who found it hilarious. We took motos to the groom’s house, and due to the tightness of my skirt I had to ride sidesaddle – another terrifying experience. No pictures until I can find a scanner, unfortunately, and even then just a few very posed photos of us. Smiling in photos is not the done thing here. Anyway, the wedding went well and Hajja is now living with her husband up the road. Another neighbour got married this weekend, but I don’t know this one so well, so just walked awkwardly past, not knowing who was getting married to whom and so not saying anything to anyone incase I got it wrong. Good old British fear of embarrassment. I can’t seem to shake it, in spite of no-one here caring less what I say or do as long as I wear sleeves and stay sober.Finally there was International Women’s Day. It was a day to celebrate femaleness in all its glory. It was a day to wear the official Women’s day outfit (complete with pictures of women driving taxis and building roads). And, of course, somewhat inevitably, it was a day to march. And march I did. (It was only a matter of time before I got in on the act.) I marched past the stand with the Lycée girls, then I ran round the back and marched again with the ENIEG staff. Marching is not as easy as it looks. I did it wrong at first, but then later I started doing it right. Not sure what the difference was between the two, but apparently I nailed it in the end. Not much more to say except it was my first day spent outdoors, and I got sunstroke.And that’s pretty much it. Perhaps if other topics really dry up I’ll write a blog about my job one time – the main part of my life and the reason I’m here. But that would be a last resort. Luckily it’s the Easter holidays coming up, so there should be some interesting things to say. My friend Gareth is coming to stay and we’re going to do some tourism – that is, if we survive the 9-hour crowded bus ride through the hottest part of Cameroon. Will keep you posted.Bye for now.