The Naked Crazy, the Tampax Box, and a new Home

The other day a crazy, homeless, naked (very well-endowed, I might add) man told me that I should really try harder to be cleaner because it wasn’t proper for a lady to go out in public looking as filthy as I was. Ah, the irony. As the rainy season comes to a close, and the gentle patter of rain is traded in for the thick blanket of dust, I find it simply impossible to stay clean. This situation is made worse by my inability to properly wash my clothes, and the fact that every time I take a moto (the only real mode of transportation in village), I look like I’ve just taken a bath in dust. I feel like that smelly kid from the Charlie Brown cartoons.

I must admit that I’ve been rather terrible about writing in this blog, but it’s amazing how difficult and overwhelming it is to write about a lot of nothing. I find that my days here are consumed by waiting, and idle conversation, and yet somehow the day’s work renders me blissfully exhausted. As more and more of seemingly nothingness accumulates, I don’t know where I left off, and where I should begin.

After a little over two months of arduous training (read: I’m an expert at looking like I’m busy when I’m really doing nothing), I’m finally a volunteer! The swearing in ceremony was a lovely affair complete with all the usual fanfare of an African parade. The U.S. ambassador read us our oaths, and apparently PC volunteers are incapable of remembering what is told to them. None of us were able to complete the oath, and as we giggled through our blunders, I just hope that the constitution was not offended by our laughter.

The night before I left, I gave my family parting gifts. To Paquita and Esperance, the littlest girls, I gave dyed boas in the stunning colors of neon pink and lime green. Not quite sure what to make of the mess of feathers, I assured them that they were all the rage amongst American celebrities. This fashion tip peaked the interest of my oldest sister and mother. As they chatted away about potential dresses and shoes they could get to match these stunning boas, I couldn’t help but laugh. Boris and Christian received bouncy balls and jump ropes. Boris, ever the scavenger, dug through my trash the last night. His eyes lit up as he pulled out a gorgeous blue Tampax box. He begged me for it. The next morning at breakfast Boris came running to me with his spoils in hand—the bouncy balls, and jump rope had finally found a home in his new Tampax box. He told me that he couldn’t wait to show it to his class.

The morning we left was indeed a somber one. As much as I whined and complained about my homestay family and the general insanity of stage, Bangangte was my first home in Cameroon. I cried for the second time in Africa (the other being my birthday, which was a little Sixteen Candle-ish) as I left my family. My mother made me meatballs and French fries for my first night alone—in truth, I cried most at the generous gesture of meatballs.

I’m writing now from my new bed (which is actually just a frame, but work with me here) in my new village. Right new everything is so novel and I’m just…I’m just really happy (stay tuned for next week when I plan on being sad). Though I’m constantly overwhelmed, and generally clueless, I feel like this place could become an excellent second home (and certainly a perfect resting place for the intrepid travelers amongst you!).

I start “work” tomorrow—though exactly what, where, and with whom that work is has yet to be determined. Until I install internet in my town (which I’ve promised them will come quite soon), I’m going to be a bit incognito, but I’ve made a pact with myself to write a blog entry and check internet every week. So until the next time, I hope everyone is well, nestled under down comforters, and enjoying the first snowfall of winter.