Welcome to my morning

So you’ve figured out I’m not living in a mud hut, but otherwise, what the heck is my day-to- day life like here? Here’s a peak – and if you wonder why I’m not getting any further than describing my living situation, it’s frankly because that’s about all I’ve got my head wrapped around so far. Being the only white person and the first Peace Corps volunteer in this area, not to mention daily culture clash and the lack of anything familiar, has me wrapped in a disorienting tangle of challenges that I’m still too turned around to relate, but down the road we’ll unravel it funny and painful bit by bit : )

My first thought when I wake up with a jolt is usually “How the hell did that rooster get into my bedroom??!”  Once I sit up I remember that my windows are barred and my doors are locked, so the abrasive, intrusive noise-maker is only right outside on my porch. Ok, breathe, deal. I’m up.

Next:  fingers crossed that water “flowed” last night. My house is set up for running water, but the community’s catchment system is plagued with leaks and is insufficient for the neighborhood’s population, especially in the current dry season, so the showerhead and sink are purely decorative. As for most Cameroonians then, my home life revolves around the logistics of water – getting it, and using it sparingly. There is a tap on the outside of my house that often runs for a couple hours in the middle of the night (or else the lizards are turning into little water-porting gnomes) and when I wake up to a full bucket, my day is off to a great start. I immediately put a big pot on my gas plate, get some oatmeal cooking alongside it, and cut up a small pineapple – at 25 cents apiece I’ll eat the whole thing right there. I split the hot water and use a couple bowls to do the dishes with one half, then add the other half to a bucket of water outside and take my sponge bath under the banana trees  – warm water turns it from an unpleasant drudgery into the most luxurious moment of my day. Well, my every few days – in between, the water is put toward my drinking filter, washing clothes, cooking, flushing the toilet, and giving the new house a serious scrub down, which takes place in small bits as I can get my hands on extra reserves of liquid and motivation. If by 9 AM I have made breakfast, cleaned up the kitchen, bathed,  and made small talk with my neighbor ladies who are busy cooking and washing as well, I feel productive…and ready for a nap.

When no water has come in the night it’s like getting up on the wrong side of the bed.  I get easily overwhelmed by the highways of ants that the heat has driven into my kitchen and the family of chirping mice that are living in the base of my living room comforter chair. My scores of bug bites itch more and my face and feet feel dustier knowing I won’t be bathing, and being set back another day to wash my dirty floors and clothes makes me feel irkingly out of control. Most of all, intimidation consumes me at the overwhelming project of transforming my fixer-upper house into a much needed oasis without Google, Home Depot, or the yellow pages.  The place has not been lived in for years – aside from looking like a haunted house with cobwebs and spiders, the electricity and plumbing need major attention, gaps under the outside doors let mice in, the locks need to be changed, the roof leaks...and the bathroom sink literally fell off the wall when I put my toothpaste down on it. Did I mention that my elderly landlord died three days after I moved in? So where do I start?  It’s all about who knows some guy who is good with wires or built his own house and could help me out, and that includes a major learning curve around doing informal business. For example, the next time I give a guy money to go and buy the needed materials for a job, I’ll think to hold on to his right arm first so he actually comes back. Guess you gotta pay the price for becoming savvy. 

But when all this seems like a 10,000 piece puzzle and all I’ve connected so far is three edge pieces, I smile with relief, remembering I have a secret weapon. Perseverance, optimism, and unshakable faith that I can handle this? Well, I’m working on those, but what I know I can count on now is the shiny bicycle the Peace Corps gave me – though the roads are so rough, dusty and ridden with speeding motorcycles that riding it is not feasible, the kids in my courtyard will do anything to sit on it and have me push them around. Including – aha- helping me fetch buckets of water from the nearest public tap. These kids grow up with physical labor the way I grew up with bedtime stories- it’s just tradition. Nine year old girls are putting jugs on their heads that I can’t even pick up once they leave them on my porch, and who knew six year old boys could already have defined arm muscles?!  Once they’ve helped me and I keep up my end of the bargain (I guess  I should not be surprised that they think 3 people can sit on the bicycle seat at once) I go inside and revel at being able to brush my teeth, wash my face, and put  on some water for tea. That’s better, I can handle this. And the pieces are coming together – I’ve now got new locks, I’ve figured out where to buy eggs and peanuts for protein, and I hired the car-wash guys to wash my rug with their serious hose. I’ve set up shelves in my kitchen, gotten mosquito screens put on all my windows, and learned how to use the same water for at least three tasks.

In English we say slow and steady; in French they say petite a petite; in Pidgin, don’t ask me why, they say small small catch monkey.  And so it is – I’ve realized this whole experience is just as much about figuring out how to be on my own, outside my comfort level, as it is about connecting with others.

It’s a lot like camping actually, and to be honest, I sort of love it. Because with every little thing that comes together that was 25 times harder to get accomplished than it would have been at home, the satisfaction is equally out of proportion. It's the little victories.