A lovely hike

Doug, Hannah, Mary and I went for a rather long hike this morning after breakfast.  We trekked up the mountain to the origin of one of the waterfalls, and then crept back into the bush to a lagoon where it starts.  It was really quite breath-taking. 

We then went further into the countryside, where we met several horses and cows.  Two of the cows demanded to see our passports, however after we explained that we were ignorant of that rule, they begrudgingly let us pass (I did overhear them exchanging rather patronizing "moos" after we left). 

A slightly uncomfortable interaction with some slightly angry guards

We had an interesting interaction with the Cameroonian army/police (I can never tell them apart).  We were riding to Bamenda, when our cab was stopped at a checkpoint about half way there.  We drive through this checkpoint every time we go.  Sometimes there are people there, sometimes not, but we never stop.  An excitable young man in an army uniform came up to the cab yelling something about ID.  We couldn't really hear him because the radio was so loud, and was stuck there, presumably for the life of the car. The Cameroonians were handing him their government IDs, but we tried to explain to him that we did not have such IDs, which should have been apparent from our glaring whiteness.  He wanted to see our passports.  Two of the three of us had them, but we didn't want to disclose who didn't, and we tried to explain that we were not in the habit of carrying them in case they got lost.  We offered to bring them the next day, however he simply laughed at this and ordered us out of the car.  At this point an interesting dual-natured good cop/bad cop, good suspect/bad suspect routine ensued.  As I have written earlier, in the marketplace the normal interaction involves a lot of angry yelling and accusation, after which a mutual agreement is met, and all parties are happy and smiling.  Mary attempted to use this model with the young guard, being confrontational about how we have never been asked for ID, and that this was highly unusual, and that the policy must have changed within the last two days as we had just been to Bamenda, and had no such requirement. The young guard (bad cop) was becoming increasingly irate, however only spoke Pidgin and French, and so we really could only tell that he was acutely-on-chronically unhappy.  Enters good cop: a slightly older police officer who was slightly calmer, however also holding a rather large machine gun.  He explained that because of the upcoming election, the police are checking the ID of every person traveling, every day, for the last three months.  Again, this is totally untrue, but who were we to argue.  We asked if we could go back to get the ID, or bring it tomorrow.  He wanted the one without ID to wait while the others went back.  We had no intention of disclosing which of us did not have ID, and certainly were not going to leave one person at the "military outpost" while we spent an hour getting the ID.  I asked him if I could pay him a 'fine' directly for our forgetfulness.  Either he didn't catch that this was an attempted bribe, or I wasn't subtle enough, or he actually was committed to his job, but he explained that this was not an issue of money, but rather that he had his job to do.  He then informed that until we produced papers, we were in the custody of the police, and were not able to leave (eek).  At least he was remaining calm, and never raised the machine gun to imply that, in fact, he was making the rules at the moment.  I apologized for our ignorance of the law, and insisted that we meant no disrespect to him or his country, but that we were not willing to leave one person here while the others went to get the ID.  I handed him my pocket medical-card (a copy of my US license that I carry with me) and explained that this is a very valuable card to me, and that I cannot practice medicine without it, and that if he would keep that it would guarantee that we would return with the IDs soon, as I had to get it back.  He told me that if I didn't return it wouldn't matter, as they would then have my name, and would call Yaunde airport to inform them that I was not allowed to leave the country (I resisted the temptation to tell him that was fine, as I was flying out of Douala).  He went to check with his boss, and returned a moment later, handing me the card, and saying that we could go about our business, but not to forget our ID again.  I gave him very flowery "thank you my friend" handshake, and apologized again.  The bad cop then ran up "Hey, Doctor, you di no tell me you speak French"  I informed him that I don't speak French.  He informed me that I do.  I again insisted that was not the case.  His contention was that if I worked in the hospital caring for French-speaking patients, then I must speak French.  I tried to discuss my use of interpreters, however he then began yelling at me in Pidgin that in "Dis country I am big man" and that not to allow disrespectful speech.  I placated his ego, which I can only assume was fragile due to the fact that he was a good six-inches shorter than the rest of the guards, and told him "yes, sir, you are the big man, and we di not mean no disrespect"  After that it was actually a fairly nice trip to Bamenda. 

Pens in Cameroon are like cigarettes in prison

Mary and I had the pleasure of touring the wards this afternoon to distribute some pens left by Jeff Schlaudecker.  The response was rather amusing:  we have given away books, food, clothes and so on (things that are either more educational, necessary for life, or expensive), and the response is a polite “OK, great” without a ton of affect.  However when we gave ward nurses hand-fulls of pens, they were simply elated, smiling joyfully, and saying “God bless you”  I now know to stock up on pens, pencils, candy, and possibly clipboards before our next trip.  I will also try taking some to the market as a bargaining tool.  They may also prevent our being shived should we venture into more dangerous areas of Bamenda

Politics, religion, and Smurfs

Our trip to Bamenda today (yes, we’ve gone two days in a row) was highly enjoyable.  We started by going with Mr. Eta, a psychiatric nurse-practitioner (and therefore the only person in Bamenda capable of prescribing psychiatric medications) to the home of one of his patients, a 36 year old schizophrenic man.  We then had the pleasure of accompanying Eunice and her niece on a school-supply buying trip, which was much more fun than it might sound.  Unlike a Target excursion, we got to go throughout the market and little shops buying specialty goods at each one.  One of the shops sold a bag of 1 ounce shots of whiskey for 1000 francs (about $2).  I really wanted to get one for the novelty of it, however the hospital campus requests no alcohol on the grounds, and as we are guests I’ll respect that.  We also found popcorn, roasted bananas, and plantain chips.  Yummy.                  We had to wait about 30 minutes for our taxi home to fill up with people, but it was worth the wait.  The driver and the passenger next to me (there were four of us in the front seat) had a really interesting conversation about Catholicism vs Pentecostal, the process of dowry, marriage, polygamy, the importance of a good education, being charitable, being blessed by God for kind actions and so on.  I feel like I had more insight into some local culture in that forty minute car drive than I had thus far.  We shook hands when we got to Bamenda, which was unusual, but nice.

                We walked through the Bamenda market to get bananas, pears (which is what they call avocados), and a gift for Mary’s brother.  I then spotted the highlight of my daily purchases—a tarp covered with holiday hats, several of which being those worn by Mr.Smurf!  The price was only 300 francs (about 75 cents).  I couldn’t refuse.  As I tried it on the women in the market laughed, and appropriately so, as I looked like an idiot; nonetheless I love it, and intend to wear it around the grounds tomorrow, hoping to get a pose with Mr. Smurf.

                I continue to pray daily and thank God that He has blessed me to be here at all, and even more that I am here with Mary.  The peace of having my wife and best friend with me has kept my mind steady, and my spirit light.  Beyond this, I am here with more friends, and have made several in –country.  I pray that the Lord continues to guide and strengthen us, and that he would also open our hearts and minds, and temper our egos, in order to know and serve His will

A Toyota can fit many hogs

The taxi rides are some of the more interesting events that happen in this country.  I thought that the banana cab, and the crazy cabbie, were probably un-topable.  However, when Mary and I left for Bamenda yesterday afternoon, I don’t think we could have guessed our soon-to-be cab mates.  At first it was us, and a woman with a small baby.  Cute.  After about 10 minutes, though, we stopped next to a farm where there were three live, hog-tied hogs by the side of the road.  I would guess their weights at about 80 pounds  each, more or less.  We were in a compact Toyota hatchback at the time, and I was skeptical that our porcine friends could hitch a ride—oh naïve American.  I now know that three fully grown live hogs can be stacked in the trunk of a Toyota.  To make the ride more comfortable, you simply place a piece of carpet over the writhing pigs, and then cram luggage on top of that.  Yes, there was still the occasional angry snout that stuck out when we went over a speed bump.  And, yes, hogs have several opinions which they share loudly and often, but never again will I doubt the superior cargo space and smooth ride of a Toyota.

King Katwell Ngkitty

Greetings loyal subjects.  My name is King Katwell Ngkitty, and I am the ruler of Mbingo, a small city in the country of Cameroon, of which I am also king.  Bask in my glory!  I live in a palace built for me by my subjects.  During the days I inspect the different rooms, checking on the well-being of my loyal subjects.  If you visit, you will see that the palace is staffed by many priests and advisors—you will recognize them by their white coats, and spritely demeanor.  They attend to the needs of the peasants who come to pay homage to their king.  Note that as a peasant, you may not directly interact with me, unless it is to give me a fish (which you should do).  Otherwise you must consult one of my priests (you may also give them the fish, which they can then give to me).  In the mornings you will gather to sing me songs, however must then go to assist the peasants laying prostrate, awaiting my blessing.

Currently it is very dangerous around my palace, as the evil kitties have sent a curse of water from the sky to fall up us (kitties hate water, except of course to drink).  Fear not!  Upon arrival, all are given sanctuary under the protective roof of my palace, for I am a good and kind and jealous king.  I am cute, too. 

If you are truly blessed, you may get to rub my tummy for protection on future journeys (bringing me fish will greatly improve your odds)

Sincerely and purrrrrow,

King Katwell Ngkitty

PS: do not forget to bring me a fish

A vain attempt at a comfort from home

I can't honestly say that I've wanted for anything from home that I can't get here in Cameroon.  I rarely eat out, and I'm not a big fan of the cable tv that I inexplicably signed-up for earlier this Summer.  One thing that I do really miss, though, is ice cream.  The cold, creamy joy that I can purchase for a mere $3 a 1/2 gallon.  Mmmmm.  I decided to try making a facsimile of ice cream from powdered milk, eggs, and sweetener.  We do not have vanilla or chocolate, so I looked to the fruit in our kitchen for added flavor.  Bananas were the obvious choice, but not very adventurous.  A favorite of mine, that is very cheap here in Cameroon, was staring me in the face: avocado.  I have had sliced avocado on vanilla ice cream in the past, and the flavors really compliment each other quite nicely.  So what about avocado flavored ice cream?  They are easily mashed, and mix well with cream, so why not?  I cooked, cooled, and froze the concoction, and had my avocado-flavored frozen dairy treat.  Sounds disgusting, right?  Well it is!  Crap, why the hell did I think this was a good idea?  I wasn't drinking, or delirious, or even half-asleep.  The saddest part is, though, that I will probably try again on the premise that I just didn't have the ingredients in the correct proportions.  Perhaps tomorrow I will try to make Papaya-tuna casserole...