First Rains

Sorry there’s been such a lull in the blogging. I’ve hardly been at my post in the past few months, dashing between Kribi in the south province for a In-Service-Training, then the back to the East for a couple days before heading up north to Garoua for some Fulfulde language training. I am wiped out after all that. Traveling in this country can be a trying experience!  Now I’m back in Yaoundé, I had to see the doctor here after coming down with a nasty bacterial infection on my face…its was not pretty and more than a little bit painful! So this post is actually from nearly a month ago. Hopeful once I get back to post, into good health, and into a routine I’ll be more on the ball with these things! 

 

 

Some days there is no place I would rather be than right here at the cross roads of west and central Africa. The first rains marking the end of the dry season are one of these days.

 After a few months without a drop everything around is parched and thirsty. The roads turn from mud to a fine dust which is kicked up by the logging trucks and gets on and into everything. So as the eastern sky blackens, the distant thunder rumbles, and the first hints of crisp, cool hits air sucked down from the heavens hits my sweat glistened skin I scurry to get home before the show begins. People, normally who at this early afternoon hour are just now rousing from the midday sun-induced stupor, seem today to have been infected with some the electricity crackling through the air and scamper about trying finish up any last business. As I dash down the past the market blinding clouds of dust and trash are kicked up by fickle winds. Northern women clutch their colorful, long flowing pagne to their faces and stride gracefully and confidently through the onslaught with an enviable grace, their brilliant fabrics sharply contrasting with the muted rust colored world quickly engulfing town. In a sudden moment of calm between gusts I raise my eyes and glance over the town from on top the hill near the market and glimpse the afternoon sun, usually sternly glaring down at me and generally making my life miserable at this time of day, now meekly skirting the edge of a mass of seething coal colored clouds. The sun’s formidable power is tempered by the encroaching tempest bearing down on it. To my left a blackness to rival that of midnight night forms the backdrop to a clump of flowering banana trees radiantly lit up with the last few remaining rays of sunshine sneaking in from my right. As the sun looses the battle the town assumes the ominous feel of a wild wild west town before a duel. Shopkeepers board up their windows, plastic bags tumble across the road, a few warning drops smatter the ground foreshadowing the deluge sure to follow.

Uh-oh, I’m not going to make it home on time. I quicken my pace wanting to get home dry, but yet not quite ready to leave the exotic scene playing out in front of me here in town. Running past the market I realize I forgot to pick up food for Mbango, the racist dog I inherited from the previous volunteer. I need to get something or he’ll steal my neighbors dinner again. After his last theft my neighbor (who has since moved) informed me the next time Mbango did this I would come home to “find him in pieces on my doorstep.” I’m not too sad that she moved…

Rushing into the market I hope that even though its late there will still be some dried fish left. No such luck however, the fish stall are already empty, all that’s left is the bush meat section with dead monkeys skulls and eerily human looking severed monkey arms and hands laying about scattered in between other unfamiliar animals that I would be hard pressed to name. I can’t bring myself to feed Mbango something so close to me on the family tree nor do I have any real interest in supporting the already thriving bush meat trade so I’ll just have to hope he stays out of my neighbors marmite. Though I honestly can’t understand his taste for the cuscus de manioc they’ll undoubtedly be cooking. Cameroonian cuisine, in general, has unfortunately yet to impress me (I still have some time).

 Surprisingly I make it home before the heavens open up. So after lighting the storm lanterns for the inevitable collapse of the power grid, I get to enjoy the spectacle of the thunderstorm from the dry comfort of my front porch. As another bonus I set out every bucket in my house to fill up, saving me from at least 4 trips to the well!

 

Life might not always be fun at post but it takes days like these to remind me that there is a lot of beautify here if I’m in the right mood to see it. I wont always be living in the bush in Central Africa so I might as well soak it up while I’m still here!

 *Just fixed the comment problem some people were mentioning. You should be able to leave comments now