Don't go in there at night

On more than one occasion during the week while Mike and Becky were gone, I found reason to walk into the kitchen and turn on the light after dark -- something I have never done previously. Each time, I was greeted by half a dozen cockroaches scurrying across the dining room table. (Ugh. Sometimes I'd just prefer not to know. Oh well.) The problem is not slovenliness in the cleaning department, but the shoddy craftsmanship of the table (sadly typical in carpentry here) so that the ravages of a family of 6 on a table already suffering from pocks, holes and cracks creates happy hunting ground for creepy crawlies. Surviving in Cameroon requires a phlegmatic approach to insects.

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Money

The high incidence of money talk here is surprising to me, given the scarcity of either hard cash or savings accounts. Not that no one has money here, but living a basically subsistence existence off a jungle farm with only one major crash crop a year means you never have a whole lot of cash -- either on paper or in hand. We're currently entering the season of money here in Bekondo, when the cocoa crop is mostly harvested, dried and sold to buyers. Christmas is party time, not because of Christ but because of cash. It's a lively time for parties, running a generator to power lights and music, trucking in drinks to flow with goodwill. It's the time when schools put their foot down and demand tuition fees be paid or students leave. It's a time of increased crime because people are travelling to visit family and money is around. Taxis double and triple in price -- because they can -- until December 25th, after which the frenzy abruptly stops and prices return to normal (so...

Infidel again

I just finished reading Infidel and I have to say I greatly respect this woman. What a story. And what a character, to have endured it all and emerged a determined, principled, passionate but not bitter or unyielding woman. A quote from her book: People are always asking me what it's like to live with death threats. It's like being diagnosed with a chronic disease. It may flare up and kill you, but it may not. It could happen in a week, or not for decades. The people who ask me this have usually grown up in rich countries, Western Europe and [North] America, after the Second World War. They take life for granted. Where I grew up, death is a constant visitor. Which reminds me -- on a related topic, one of the things that bothers me about Islam is how often its followers' reactions to offences are so disproportionate. A Western journalist composes editorial cartoons satirizing the Prophet Mohammad; violence erupts in the Middle East, including attacks on the Danish and Norwe...

The anti-bike blog

OR I do not think [that word] means what you think it means It has become a weekly, almost daily occurrence. A how-to article or blog post will come across my path – usually in my facebook feed – touting the wonders of winter cycling. Not one to learn a lesson quickly, I keep clicking on them. Inevitably, I navigate away in frustration. It’s fun! It’s easy! Anyone can do it! You don’t need special gear; you can even look chic while you’re doing it. Oh, and get off your high horse – being a winter cyclist doesn’t make you special. This is the message of all these articles. Lies, I tell you. Now, far be it from me to dissuade people from cycling, but I think we may need different words for the varying circumstances that fall under the umbrella term “winter cycling.” Take Vancouver and Seattle, for example, where bicycle enthusiasts will talk about “winter” cycling. I’ll grant you that a bone-chilling, relentless, drenching rain is its own special brand of miserable to bi...

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