So
one of the things I didn’t expect to encounter while in Cameroon was having
roommates. Not something I was prepared for to say the least. But being the
adaptable man that I am, I have persevered.
There’s Jordan, he was my first roommate. He can really be a jerk. He likes to hang out in the kitchen late at night and touch all of my things. His place is typically by the water filter. I can’t tell you how many late nights I’ve stumbled out of bed to get water and he’s just there, hangin’ out. He’s turned out alright though; he mostly keeps to himself and always makes himself scarce when I’m in the kitchen. Plus he rarely ever leaves the kitchen so at least I always know where he’s at. Then there’s Joyce. She didn’t come along until a couple of months ago. Something about the way she moves so quickly and stealthily really gives me the creeps. She was great in the beginning. There’d be days at a time that I wouldn’t see her. But as of late she’s been very bold. She feels free going from room to room at all hours, regardless of my presence, and… She’s been steeling my food. This I cannot abide. I’ve tried to have a conversation with her about this but she’s just too quick. At least Jordan listens when I speak. Lastly there’s Arthur. Arthur is a treat. He holds himself in such an honorable way. Something about his presence really calms me. It’s too bad what happened, he hasn’t been around lately. I think he’s still a little bitter about the fact that I chopped his arm off. I know, I know I should have been more careful. But it was clearly stated in our lease agreement that he was to reside on my porch and not enter the apartment. Upon his breaching of this clause I was forced to take action. It was not my intention to separate one of his limbs in the process but, c’est la vie. Cameroon has made me a brutal enforcer.
Oh Arthur’s a Preying Mantis. I guess I should have mentioned that earlier. Jordan is my cockroach and Joyce is my mouse. I didn’t mention Richard because I don’t want to believe that he exists. He had similar features to Joyce but on a scale larger than I’m comfortable accepting in my home. I also didn’t mention the spiders; they receive no name because I have no intentions of becoming acquainted with their likes.
You’ll notice that I am referring to singular life forms. Have no fear, I’ve not deluded myself into thinking that there exists only one cockroach and one mouse. This just makes it easier. The kicker is when I go in to my kitchen and four Jordan’s scurry away. When that happens I promptly turn around as if I did not see anything. He was having a party and didn’t need disturbing.
This has become a very useful tactic in ensuring my comfort here in Bali Cameroon. I no longer fear my obligatory inhabitants. Give it a whirl!
There’s Jordan, he was my first roommate. He can really be a jerk. He likes to hang out in the kitchen late at night and touch all of my things. His place is typically by the water filter. I can’t tell you how many late nights I’ve stumbled out of bed to get water and he’s just there, hangin’ out. He’s turned out alright though; he mostly keeps to himself and always makes himself scarce when I’m in the kitchen. Plus he rarely ever leaves the kitchen so at least I always know where he’s at. Then there’s Joyce. She didn’t come along until a couple of months ago. Something about the way she moves so quickly and stealthily really gives me the creeps. She was great in the beginning. There’d be days at a time that I wouldn’t see her. But as of late she’s been very bold. She feels free going from room to room at all hours, regardless of my presence, and… She’s been steeling my food. This I cannot abide. I’ve tried to have a conversation with her about this but she’s just too quick. At least Jordan listens when I speak. Lastly there’s Arthur. Arthur is a treat. He holds himself in such an honorable way. Something about his presence really calms me. It’s too bad what happened, he hasn’t been around lately. I think he’s still a little bitter about the fact that I chopped his arm off. I know, I know I should have been more careful. But it was clearly stated in our lease agreement that he was to reside on my porch and not enter the apartment. Upon his breaching of this clause I was forced to take action. It was not my intention to separate one of his limbs in the process but, c’est la vie. Cameroon has made me a brutal enforcer.
Oh Arthur’s a Preying Mantis. I guess I should have mentioned that earlier. Jordan is my cockroach and Joyce is my mouse. I didn’t mention Richard because I don’t want to believe that he exists. He had similar features to Joyce but on a scale larger than I’m comfortable accepting in my home. I also didn’t mention the spiders; they receive no name because I have no intentions of becoming acquainted with their likes.
You’ll notice that I am referring to singular life forms. Have no fear, I’ve not deluded myself into thinking that there exists only one cockroach and one mouse. This just makes it easier. The kicker is when I go in to my kitchen and four Jordan’s scurry away. When that happens I promptly turn around as if I did not see anything. He was having a party and didn’t need disturbing.
This has become a very useful tactic in ensuring my comfort here in Bali Cameroon. I no longer fear my obligatory inhabitants. Give it a whirl!
We
can now acknowledge the fact that it’s been nearly six months since my last
post. It has not been for lack of wanting that I have curtailed this
publication’s progress. Many times I have sat to write, but became quickly
overwhelmed at the task of representing my experiences in Cameroon in a
succinct and coherent manner. So instead I decided to jump in to this story
about my various pests. It is a fitting anecdote for the transitions I am going
through. Every day here you are faced with something to fear. I realized early
on that if I were to succumb to this inevitability I would fail. So I have been
forced to adopt some new strategies. Break some of my more rigidly western
attitudes and adopt some new ones.
For example proximity or personal space. This should be all but forgotten in the developing world. On more than one occasion I have traveled in a Toyota corolla with up to eleven people. Once you’ve voluntarily boarded that vehicle and squeezed yourself into a position with no semblance of comfort, you realize how small your personal bubble can get. But all of us are now capable of getting to where we need to go so that is a win in Cameroon. I like to think of this as an economic benefit.
It’s fascinating how much one can change their perspective in the matter of six months. In my first few posts my American standards of “normal” were still very much in tact. I think this was why writing came so easily then. I could look at the oddities of life here and verbalize them easily. But now I’ve become used to seeing a cow hanging out the back of a sedan. Or getting yelled at by the tens of people a day saying “white man” or just “white”. Some other names I’ve gotten are Sisqo, Indiana Jones, Mother F#@$&%, and my (n word). The latter is my least favorite, and is the only sure fire way to get me to blow up at you and cause a scene in the middle of the market. So life is very different here. And in many ways it’s the same. I guess in the end it’s difficult to paint a picture for you if your not standing by my side. But I vow to be better at this blog thing and perhaps it will become a more fluid process with more attention and practice.
For example proximity or personal space. This should be all but forgotten in the developing world. On more than one occasion I have traveled in a Toyota corolla with up to eleven people. Once you’ve voluntarily boarded that vehicle and squeezed yourself into a position with no semblance of comfort, you realize how small your personal bubble can get. But all of us are now capable of getting to where we need to go so that is a win in Cameroon. I like to think of this as an economic benefit.
It’s fascinating how much one can change their perspective in the matter of six months. In my first few posts my American standards of “normal” were still very much in tact. I think this was why writing came so easily then. I could look at the oddities of life here and verbalize them easily. But now I’ve become used to seeing a cow hanging out the back of a sedan. Or getting yelled at by the tens of people a day saying “white man” or just “white”. Some other names I’ve gotten are Sisqo, Indiana Jones, Mother F#@$&%, and my (n word). The latter is my least favorite, and is the only sure fire way to get me to blow up at you and cause a scene in the middle of the market. So life is very different here. And in many ways it’s the same. I guess in the end it’s difficult to paint a picture for you if your not standing by my side. But I vow to be better at this blog thing and perhaps it will become a more fluid process with more attention and practice.
