'Tis the season for dying

I had a pretty long blog entry written out, but I have erased it. It was written on Monday, November 1st, it had something to do with my hopes for the election, my optimism for the outcome, but that is all forgotten now. Remind me not be so optimistic next time. I wrote a brief little comment about the elections as my previous blog entry. Its funny how that emotion has worn off so quickly. I felt those feelings immediately after it all happened, but those feelings have all but disappeared in me. In Africa I have other things to think about, I guess. I'm sure I'll get to deal with all the problems this new fundamentalist christian government has to offer as soon as I return home, I can't wait!

Today was a long, Cameroonian day. It was a cultural day. I attended the burial ceremony of the father of the director of the NGO I work with. I never knew the man who died, and I hardly know this director I speak of. That’s how it works here. You go to all kinds of ceremonies for people you don’t know. I think its funny to imagine doing the same thing in the states. Imagine just walking into a random funeral for someone you never knew. Funerals are a lot more exciting here, so I guess it makes a little more sense to do it here. I’ve known about this ceremony for about a week now, but I was not planning on attending. It wasn’t until yesterday (friday) that I changed my plans. Apparently everyone expected Pat and I to be there. In the words of our friend Guy, the manager of one of the banks we “work” with.
“It is important that you attend this event. When the people in the village see that there are white men at the event they will realize that the director is an important man. The director will be very happy. You MUST attend.”
Ok. I guess we are going.
So that’s how the decision was made. I don’t regret going to this event by any means, I enjoy the cultural events and customs that I am fortunate to witness here. I just thought that the reasons for our attendance were interesting and funny. White men, who are these white men and why must they be so damn important? Personally, if I were Cameroonian, I wouldn’t view them as such. But I am glad they do because it makes me feel welcome almost everywhere I go. It can be a little overwhelming though. Sometimes I feel more like a decoration. Peace Corps volunteers are a bunch of fancy American decorations donated to developing countries to make their ceremonies look nicer and more important. That’s one way to look at it.
Anyway, Pat and I were told to meet Guy at the bank at precisely 8am, no later. We arrived, precisely at 8am. I don’t think he expected us to be there on time because we didn’t leave the bank until 10am. We should know better by now, we really should. One two and a half-hour car ride, several u-turns, one flat tire, many dirt roads, one dead snake, and many village children later, we arrived at the site of the ceremony. I must say that this is the furthest into the Cameroonian countryside I have been thus far. It was strange, one minute we’re in the middle of nowhere, seemingly lost, the next minute we’re still in the middle of nowhere, except now, we are surrounded by a few hundred other people. The ceremony was rather brief by Cameroonian standards. Maybe it just seemed brief to us because we arrived a few hours late. We weren’t too late for the buffet and wine and beer, though. It was a good time after all. It took about two hours to get back. Four hours of travel for about three hours of ceremony. Not bad. The ride home was a little less planned. For the first leg of the journey, we shared a bus that was rented out by some rich drunk folk from the capital city. For the second leg, we rode in a BEAT UP station wagon of some sort. I had to share the front seat with Guy who is a big man. At some point during the ride home, the front seat we were sharing gave out. After enduring years of abuse this old seat decided to stop supporting Guy and I. The seat fell backwards slowly, and gently crushed Pat, who was sitting behind us. For some reason, Pat and I found this to be hilarious and we laughed pretty hard. The owner of the vehicle didn’t seem to care.

I am exhausted now, to say the least. It’s not like I did anything exhausting today, I think it’s all the travel that really gets to you in Cameroon. It’s always interesting, and the stimulation really wears on the body and mind. When fearing for your life, enjoying the strange scenery, sharing a broken front seat with a big person, and laughing your ass off at everything, your mind and body wear pretty quickly. Pat and I were invited to ANOTHER burial ceremony tonight in BANA. We are way too exhausted to embark on another three-hour car ride under the cover of darkness. NO WAY, PAS CE SOIR. Not tonight, maybe next time. People seem to be dying quite frequently this time of year, so I’m sure there will be another opportunity in the very near future to attend a ceremony.

Tomorrow, I may have the day to do nothing but read Hemmingway and play tennis. Man, that sounds really snobby and un-peace corps, but that's what Sundays are for, right? What a relief tomorrow will be.

I’ve been pretty tired and kind of sick lately. I’m allergic to something here, every morning I wake up with a stuffed nose, a sore throat and a bad attitude. The bad attitude goes away, but the nose and throat problem persists. Oh, well. As they say in Cameroon “Ashia.” Ashia means “oh, well” or “too bad” or “sorry about that” or “man, that really sucks” or “that’s life buddy, deal with it.” Ashia is great for Cameroon, it applies to many circumstances.

Here’s some incredibly good news (for me, at least): My best friend Blake Nolan is coming to visit! He is coming in February and I can’t tell you how excited I am about this, I’m losing sleep over it. Just so you all know: WE ARE GOING TO HAVE AN AMAZING TIME. I just hope we manage to stay out of trouble for the extent of his stay because we tend to get into trouble when we are together. If anything, we will boggle many people’s minds, which we tend to do no matter which armpit we find ourselves in. Blake also has a blog, and if you want something interesting to do in February, you should read both of our blogs, and compare. Africa: experienced simultaneously through the eyes and minds of two mind-boggling maniacs. Blake is going to take some pretty tiiiiiiiight pictures, too. You see, he is a photographer by trade, and he’s damn good at it too. Check out his blog: http://blakejnolan.blogspot.com/ to see some pictures and read about his adventures in London. He is breaking into the photography scene, and he’s gonna make it. I’m proud of him.

Anyway, we will get to do all the crazy things that this country has to offer:

We will stay in 5 star resorts (peace corps volunteers houses, or whatever we can sleep on). We will cruise the streets in a pimped out, fully loaded ‘05 Escalade (a beat up ’87 Corolla taxi stuffed with 9 people). We will eat caviar and filet mignon (grilled fish and beef on a stick). We will drink copious amounts of Champagne (beer and what have you). We will mingle with celebrities (Cameroonian villagers), and play golf (apartment basketball), all in the company of Beautiful European Super Models (peace corps volunteers). Pretty nice, huh? But WAIT! That’s not all Bob! Blake will be treated to a complimentary six week supply of Mefloquine, to keep those sneaky little Malaria bugs from invading his liver and killing him! WOWZA! All I can say is, WATCH OUT! Seriously, though, this is going to be a great time. When that’s all over, I will be sad, but excited because in November of 2005, my pops will visit, stay tuned for details! I am very happy and very fortunate to be able to share this experience with a best friend and my dad. It will be interesting to see how they react to all the things I try so hard to write about. All I know is that neither of my visitors will EVER forget their experience here. It’s something else, it really is. Most volunteers don’t have friends and family with as much curiosity and bravery to experience Africa. Thanks Dad, thanks Blake.

We are well into November now. In a few weeks I will hit my six-month mark in Cameroon. That’s pretty strange to say. I’ve been in Africa for six months and already I feel somewhat normal here, as normal as a stranger from a strange land can feel here. Sometimes it seems like yesterday that I arrived and sometimes it seems like ages ago. I know I often make this same reference to time, but it really is strange. I have lost my American concept of time here. It’s not a day-to-day life here. It’s one long show. The days blend together. Years from now, when I am old and famous, I will look back at this time of my life and I will think “Wow, that was ONE LONG DAY. What a long day it was.”

I don’t know what to make of it all so far. I’ve learned something, I’ve grown somehow. I don’t know how yet. I probably won’t know how until I return to the States and I compare my Post-Cameroon behavior and attitude in the U.S. to my Pre-Cameroon behavior and attitude. I need that benchmark. There are going to be differences. What will they be?

I spent some time a few weeks ago reading through all of my previous blog entries. I certainly noticed a change in my outlook and my way of relating my experiences here. I feel more realistic about it all now, whatever that means. It certainly isn’t the fantasy world it was when I arrived. I’ve grown accustomed to the scenery, now I am noticing more of the details. Nothing here is as I expected it, nothing ever is, I guess. Reality is a little harsher than my imagination makes things out to be. That has been my biggest lesson thus far. Life is full of lessons, I hope to learn them all someday. Being here is teachiong me a fair share of lessons. I was still a kid when I left the States, and I will still be a kid when I get back, only I will be a really WISE kid.

That’s all for now. Back to Hemmingway and Caviar. Tomorrow it’s tennis and Hemmingway, then on Monday it’s back to Peace Corps. The Show goes on.