kar0ling

Obvious effects of rainforest on objects are mould (e.g. shoe leather) and a grossly shortened lifespan for electronics. But the humidity and heat of the rainforest also has a curious effect on other things: Rubber/plastic Who would've expected that constant humidity and persistently above-room-temperature environment would lead to brittleness in plastic? Tupperware/plastic containers--a valuable item here to keep creepy crawlies out of food--take a beating, especially the lids which crack without warning after a certain interval of use. Hair I'm not a girly girl who spends a whole lot of time, money, or energy on my hair, but, slob that I am, even I noticed a difference in my hair here. Sure, I've always known a certain amount of humidity makes for happy hair, but I thought that mostly applied to curly-haired people. For one, I don't need to use conditioner. Two, static is unheard of. Tinfoil That an old roll of tinfoil would start to discolour after a whi...

"Have you noticed how you can tell which denomination a church belongs to by the similarity of its decorating style to those of denominations back home?" Dan asked as we stepped into an Apostolic Church. I hadn't, but once he pointed it out, I began to see what he was talking about. What I had noticed was that Kingdom Halls of the Jehovah's Witnesses (who have made it nearly as far into the bush as Bekondo) have the same plain, nearly windowless, rectangular-box look out here as they do at home. Baptist churches are plain structures: rectangular buildings with pitched roofs. Simple and functional. Presbyterian churches are not ornate stone cathedrals like First Presbyterian or Westminster United in Winnipeg, but are aesthetically pleasing structures with solid walls, usually a bell-tower, and some detail. They also have a raised pulpit and a lectionary. I haven't been in any Catholic churches here, but from the outside they are the nicest looking buildings around....

To complement our special unit on Cameroon in during Dry Season FES, the whole group went on a field trip to the Bafut Palace, and the Mankon Museum about an hour's drive away. The tribal ruler in the North West Province is called the "Fon" and is revered to the point of worship. This contrasts with the chiefs in the South West Province who are elected, and, as we have seen recently in Bekondo, are treated as ordinary mortals, and subject to scandals and libel same as any other person. Bafut Palace The Bafut palace had already come alive in my mind through the hysterically funny storytelling of Gerald Durrell in The Bafut Beagles , the story of his time in Cameroon rounding up animals for the London Zoo. It's truly a delightful read; the man has a great ear for Pidgin, and a masterful way of describing his experiences in a wry, self-deprecating tone. Unfortunately -- at least to my preliminary investigations -- it's currently out of print. The guesthouse where Dur...

While we're on the topic of interesting food, I finally got to try snails. Or rather, snail. (Not that I was waiting on tenterhooks, but it was a goodly while ago they warned snails would be on the menu.) The night Friesens had snails for supper I was eating at the Scotts, but, eager that I should not miss out on the cultural experience, Lisa sent some rice, snails and sauce over for me to try. The sauce was tasty, though it had a vaguely snail-like essence to it. The snails were not repellent but neither were they palatable. They didn't have much flavour, so the overwhelming impression was of rubbery gnurple. I'll try anything once, I always say. After that I may get selective.

At breakfast this morning, Becky mentioned they'd gotten some meat last night. As the plan was for us to eat it at lunch today, she instructed Kenneth to get it from the fridge to show me. I couldn't imagine what it could be that a small bag of it in the fridge would be recognizable. Then I looked closer. Scaly skin. Lizard? Yes, Johannes (Scotts' househelp) and Bruno (Scotts' German Shepherd) went hunting yesterday and shot a monitor lizard which they generously shared with us. So today in our pepe soup we had pieces of lizard meat. Actually, Becky pulled out the meat to serve it separately, and I must confess I ate but a miniscule amount. The taste itself was not problematic and the meat was very tender. But the skin was still on it, and there were still some small bones, and I really am a child when it comes to fat, bones and gnurple in my meat. The skin itself was very thin and peeled nicely off the thick layer of fat so that once you got down to the flesh, a walnut...

Youth Day has officially been celebrated in Cameroon on February 11th for 42 years: since 1966, when President Ahmadou Ahidjo declared it a national holiday. Previously "Empire Day," it has also been known as "Plebiscite Day," (an awfully boring name to which the otherwise random title "youth day" is far preferable, in my opinion, though it does not convey the historical political significance of the celebration). My friend Miriam, a nursery teacher (yes, they have pre-school even in an African village), said the program would start at 8 a.m. When I expressed surprise at the early hour, she looked sheepish and hedged, "well, that's black man time, maybe 9 o'clock for you." On the day in question, ready to go at 10, as per Becky's recommendation, the girls and I wandered over to Friesens' (some 15 metres down from the Bonye tree where the students gather for their march) around 10:30 to wait for things to begin. Once a sizeable cro...

Something about the traditional dances performed at the Youth Day celebrations in Big Bekondo was awfully reminiscent of music videos. While I recognize that the young people of even a remote Cameroonian village are influenced by North American pop culture (e.g. a young man playing Shania Twain music videos non-stop on the television in his tiny one-room abode in Kumba--a room he shares with a brother and sister), I suspect most of what looks familiar is going the other direction. Given how strongly African Americans feature in the genesis of rap and hip-hop music, I figure the moves these village kids make which bring to mind those performed by pop music dancers back home likely originate here in Africa, not in minds on North American soil.

Nooooooooo! In Bamenda and drier regions, they welcome the rain to tamp down the dust and temper the heat. Not so us rainforest folk (okay, "us" being Becky and me). Our first day back in the village was gloriously sunny which we took advantage of to get many loads of laundry dried. But late afternoon rumblings turned to evening showers and it's been cloudy ever since. I'm not ready for dry season to be over! What with the dampness, the cooler temperatures strike a chill; and what with the clouds blocking out the sun, the dimness is depressing. They assure me this is "mini rainy season": the sun never fully disappears and the rain always stops sooner rather than later. Full-blown rainy season doesn't start until June/July with its greatest intensity in August. I hope they're right. But alas, I shall miss the sun.

Dust and sweat. I'm back in Big Bekondo. Yes, I just accused Bamenda of having dust beyond anything I'd ever seen, but it doesn't negate the fact that a house without windows will be dusty after three weeks, even in the rainforest. And sweat-yup, it's humid. Transition season (period of intermittent rain and sun before rainy season begins in earnest) is upon Bamenda - its people eagerly await the dust-dampening rains, but in the meantime the humidity builds. Elsie kept complaining of how humid it was while I stared at her blankly: "humidity? What humidity? I live in the rainforest." Upon reaching Kumba today, I found the air temperature itself to seem cooler than mid-day in Bamenda, especially with the cooling breeze up on the second story of the building on the Baptist compound, but the humidity was undeniable. Back in the village, I am experiencing that familiar sheen of sweat over my whole body. But it's good to be "home".

One A taxi was wheeling along the road, a (usually handheld) pushcart hobbling in tow behind it. One wheel of the cart was wobbling wildly. So distracted by musing about that wheel were we that we hardly noticed till we were past that there was a man sitting inside the trunk of the car! Was he holding the cart? Possibly. I was so amazing to see him in there, it was all I was able to take in. Two A motorcycle carrying a motorcycle. The passenger of the motorcycle driving down the road was holding the second motorcycle perpendicular across the first. Who needs a truck?

It's irritating, but what can you do? It's so common, you just assume it's culturally appropriate. I've simply gotten used to strange men reaching out to grab my hand or stroke my arm in the market. So I was somewhat surprised when Elsie launched into one offender as we strode along the sidewalk the other day in Bamenda. "Why are you touching my friend?!" "Would you like if someone did that to your sister?!?" "Why do you do that?!" "I can't even bring my friends to town because you people are always touching them!" "You're sorry? Well, sorry means you won't EVER do it again! Are you really sorry?" I appreciated her going to bat for me but was taken aback by her vehemence, and, frankly, slightly amused by the whole thing. The crowning touch was a vendor a few stalls over, attracted by the kafuffle, who asked what the problem was. Elsie explained and he--who has like as not done the same thing himself many time...

Elsie and I headed downtown in a taxi to do some shopping today. There was a bit of a funky smell in the vehicle, which I simply attributed to warm, unwashed bodies in a warm, unwashed taxi…that is, until I heard a clucking sound behind me. I couldn’t even look. It was just too scary, but Elsie confirmed with a smile, that yes, indeed, there was a chicken in a basket behind the backseat. And here I thought I was getting used to loose chickens. I guess I still don’t like to be in a confined space with them.

Dusting in Manitoba is usually a figure of speech. Okay, I guess there does develop a thin layer of dust on furniture which needs to be wiped off periodically, but this “dust” is not so much dirt as it is tiny particles of miscellaneous things which collect on surfaces over time. Here in Bamenda during dry season, dust really does collect on surfaces…in a matter of hours. (and by “dust” I mean dirt.) Dust swept off dirt roads and dusty sidewalks, carried on the air, sliding between window louvers windows and deposited everywhere.

At church today, the service was a bit emptier than usual, but my heart was encouraged by watching the Cameroonians worship. The songs focussed on praising God, and the people sang, clapped, and moved with joy. The sermon, from II Timothy 2:1-7, was practical both for a time of crisis and for everyday life: be strong in the grace of Jesus Christ. We wait with some trepidation, but with trust in God, for what Monday will bring. The normalcy we witnessed this weekend may have been only a short break in the protests to allow people to move around and get supplies. Please continue to pray for peace in Cameroon. Pray for people who are struggling and pray that the government may act with wisdom and justice.