January 13, 2014 Happy Birthday Megs and Les! I’m looking forward to this weekend. I’m headed to the city for money, Internet, and goods unavailable in Mayo-Darlé. I just made a list like I’m going to Target back home. So exciting and so American. It’s kind of a pain getting there, and once I’m there, the place I stay at is quite disgusting, but I guess it’s all worth it for the money and the Internet. I don’t have a good sense about money here yet. I took out money about a month ago and it’s been a budget scrunching week and one pocket-pinching week to go. I lived off of the equivalent of $100 for a month. Not bad. I bought one scarf to cover my poor face and head during this hot dry weather, and of course to try and fit in with the modest clothing. Other than the $3 scarf (I was so proud – I talked him down from $4!) I haven’t bought clothing, shoes, or other unnecessary items. Aren’t you proud, dad?!? It’s been effective treatment for a girl with shopaholic tendencies, especially when you see how frugally the locals live. It makes me feel a little ashamed actually. I would often buy things I didn’t need back home. I wonder if I were to go back home now, would I spend my money differently, be a little more conservative? I hope so. Maybe after two years, my spending habits will have changed drastically. I just took a bucket bath for the first time in two days. It is sure difficult to get clean here. My latrine never smells good and the concrete floor is never spotless. My washrags and towels have been washed in a river that smells like cow poo. I’ve been savoring the new washrags from Grama and Grampa; they smell so good and clean! When I got out of the “shower” and combed my hair, there were still fuzzies from my blanket in my hair. Yeah, not super clean, not to mention every time I shower and comb my hair there’s a handful of hair that comes out. I didn’t have a lot of hair to begin with and after two years I’m afraid I will have several bald spots. Last night I wasn’t feeling well and I felt like I might puke. Actually, I was kind of hoping to puke to get whatever wasn’t good out of my tummy. I was lying on the couch and moaning, with the bucket by me when my neighbor came in to say hi. I said I wasn’t feeling well and might puke. He said if I needed to puke to tell him. I told him, “Okay, I’ll tell you so you can close your eyes.” He laughed and said, “No, I need to leave if you puke.” I told him, oh thanks; you’re going to leave me alone to puke. He told me it was better if I’m alone when I puke. That’s the first time I’ve ever heard a Cameroonian say it’s better if you’re alone for anything. I never did puke but I fell asleep on my couch, which I rarely do during the night. Between the insects and things falling from the ceiling, I actually prefer sleeping under my mosquito net. Right now I’m sitting next to my two cats drinking tea (I think I over did it on Nescafe) and water with rehydration salts, my solution for everything back home is to drink water, now I have a feeling water and rehydration salts will become a popular drink here. It doesn’t taste good, but it is so hot here, I am probably dehydrated 90% of the time. I was discouraged to hear it gets even hotter in February, March, and April. I wanted to cry when I heard this. I can barely walk around in the afternoons as it is. It does get chilly during the nights, but I guess that doesn’t last either. It’s going to take a lot more adjusting. Yesterday, I went to the market and hung out there for a while. It is usually with guys and younger girls and boys because married women don’t leave their compounds often. The guys sit in the market and talk with each other; they drink hot tea, wear long sleeves, pants, and sometimes hats and jackets and I don’t see a drip of sweat on them. Meanwhile, I’m hogging the shade, wearing sunglasses, a summer dress, with my scarf awkwardly draped over my head and shoulders. I’m downing water and sweating constantly. When I complain about the heat, they just say, it’s perfect now, just wait until February. I’m not cut out for this type of sunshine, heat, and dust. Let’s hope I can adjust. People seem to move slower the hotter it gets. It is acceptable to take a break in the afternoon; I think it’d be equivalent to a siesta. I take advantage of this almost every day, usually having to share the couch with my lazy cats. Last night, while I was moaning on the couch, with my neighbor telling me not to puke in front of him, I heard something in the gap between the ceiling and roof again. Something with wings for sure. I told him to listen to it, he was like, “huh, must be a butterfly.” I wanted to smack him but also couldn’t help but laugh. Also, he was sitting under the biggest gap in the ceiling material, so if the butterfly (or bat or whatever other crossbred monster lives up there) fell, it would fall on his head. Well, I have to fetch water for my house, wash my dishes and probably sweep my floors. I better get to it because after a certain time, and temperature, I don’t do too much physical labor.

January 8, 2014 I spent two days being a little sick moving between my bed and my couch, drinking bottled water and wishing I were home. My friends certainly made being sick here, away from home, bearable. (There were times I felt like they were being my parents.) They would go to the market for me, get me bottled water, buy me food if I wanted, and just sit with me while I moaned my aches and pains out. They told me multiple times I need to go to the hospital, but I told them I was fine and if it wasn’t better in a few days then I would. Truth be told, I am scared to go to the hospitals here. They sat with me, speaking French and Fulfulde, laughing with each other, asking me what I’ve eaten today and that they would leave once I ate something. The first morning I woke up not feeling well, I woke up kind of confused. I fell a few days ago, maybe a week ago, and my ankle/foot still hurts. I rolled over in bed and thought to myself, well I should probably go to the doctor, but I hate to spend money on it if it’s nothing. I kept thinking I was at my parent’s house and when I get out of bed I can call the doctor if I decide it’s worth going in. When I finally opened my eyes, it was dark but I could tell the window was not where it should be in my parent’s guest room. Also, there were bizarre birds outside that aren’t normal in Montana, even in the summer time. I realized I was not in my parent’s house, let alone near Montana, or the States. I was in Africa, in Cameroon, in a little village near Nigeria without my family and without the ability to call my doctor. I haven’t felt so far away since being here. My aching stomach and head distracted me long enough to avoid any sadness associated with my confusion. Now, I am feeling better, still eating plain things and avoiding Nescafe and homemade peanut butter since I think those things could have been a large contributor. I think I’m done putting the effort into homemade peanut butter. I want to gag just writing about it right now. After one full day in my house, and another half day inside, I am headed back out into the world of Mayo-Darlé. I have a meeting with all the big wigs here in the community and I’m extremely nervous. I go between feeling like a grown woman who is brave and independent to feeling like a silly little girl who doesn’t know what’s going on. I have a little tea and bread in my tummy and am headed to the Sous-Prefecture for this meeting. Sometimes, I don’t know what the heck I’m doing here. Let’s be real, lately, it’s most of the time I don’t know what I’m doing here. Just going through each day trying to find something to be proud of or find something new I can learn.

January 8, 2014 I spent two days being a little sick moving between my bed and my couch, drinking bottled water and wishing I were home. My friends certainly made being sick here, away from home, bearable. (There were times I felt like they were being my parents.) They would go to the market for me, get me bottled water, buy me food if I wanted, and just sit with me while I moaned my aches and pains out. They told me multiple times I need to go to the hospital, but I told them I was fine and if it wasn’t better in a few days then I would. Truth be told, I am scared to go to the hospitals here. They sat with me, speaking French and Fulfulde, laughing with each other, asking me what I’ve eaten today and that they would leave once I ate something. The first morning I woke up not feeling well, I woke up kind of confused. I fell a few days ago, maybe a week ago, and my ankle/foot still hurts. I rolled over in bed and thought to myself, well I should probably go to the doctor, but I hate to spend money on it if it’s nothing. I kept thinking I was at my parent’s house and when I get out of bed I can call the doctor if I decide it’s worth going in. When I finally opened my eyes, it was dark but I could tell the window was not where it should be in my parent’s guest room. Also, there were bizarre birds outside that aren’t normal in Montana, even in the summer time. I realized I was not in my parent’s house, let alone near Montana, or the States. I was in Africa, in Cameroon, in a little village near Nigeria without my family and without the ability to call my doctor. I haven’t felt so far away since being here. My aching stomach and head distracted me long enough to avoid any sadness associated with my confusion. Now, I am feeling better, still eating plain things and avoiding Nescafe and homemade peanut butter since I think those things could have been a large contributor. I think I’m done putting the effort into homemade peanut butter. I want to gag just writing about it right now. After one full day in my house, and another half day inside, I am headed back out into the world of Mayo-Darlé. I have a meeting with all the big wigs here in the community and I’m extremely nervous. I go between feeling like a grown woman who is brave and independent to feeling like a silly little girl who doesn’t know what’s going on. I have a little tea and bread in my tummy and am headed to the Sous-Prefecture for this meeting. Sometimes, I don’t know what the heck I’m doing here. Let’s be real, lately, it’s most of the time I don’t know what I’m doing here. Just going through each day trying to find something to be proud of or find something new I can learn.

January 3, 2014 On my 10-minute walk to the market I am greeted by nearly everyone, except the kids who simply just stare at me (they are either in shock are scared out of their mind). I am greeted in French, Fulfulde, and English. If I say hi first I never know which language to use. If they respond in a different language, then I usually say hello again in the language they use. I usually feel silly after I’ve said hi twice in two different languages but by the time I reach the market I forget. The kids who yell “Nasara” distract me and I can’t help but smile. Even though I know this should annoy me, it doesn’t. When the kids aren’t scared of me and say anything to me, even Nasara, I greet them back with a smile. When I reach the market, there are moto boys waiting on the road, there are people patiently sitting in cars and buses, and there are people of all ages watching life in Mayo-Darlé. I stop by my friend’s boutique. He sells telephones, batteries, and other electronics. Usually, he is either inside his shack watching TV, using his computer, or outside sitting with nearby shop owners. Every time I show up, I get offered a chair within seconds. It’s impossible to refuse because if I do, they ask me where I’m going, what I need to buy, and then offer to get it for me. Sometimes they go get it themselves, sometimes they find a kid to go get it, and sometimes, maybe when they are tired, they accept my objections and I go buy my own things. It is such a trusting community. If I give my money to someone to buy me something, there is no worry they will steal from me. I’m not sure if it is because they know their parents will discipline them, or if that is just because everyone is taking care of everyone here. Either way, I love it. There are days when I think I was meant for this place. I love when people smile and say hi to me even though we’ve never met. I respond with the same enthusiasm, like we’ve met a million times. So far, everyone I’ve talked to loves music, loves to dance (or at least watch), and loves to eat together. Naps are perfectly acceptable, and in fact a normal part of the day. My large scar on my chest is normal; no one asks me silly questions like, “were you shot?” In fact, there is a group of people here who do scarification on their faces when they are young. In addition, my post mate (the other Peace Corps Volunteer here) was sick, and I was nervous about telling my colleague I’d miss a meeting. But when I told him, there was not a stitch of anger or annoyance. He told me it is normal to take care of people when they are sick; health comes first, before work or anything else. I apologized multiple times and he simply said “bon voyage” and I hope your post mate gets better. My post mate still isn’t back and the town is very concerned for him. He’s been gone a while now and there is at least one person every day who asks about his health. Of course, there are also days when I think to myself (sometimes out loud) what am I doing here? I have nothing to offer, especially when I can’t even communicate with most of them. I am barely getting down French, there is no way I can have a conversation in Fulfulde. I catch one word and usually that word is a French word mixed in with the local language. I don’t even know how to survive here, and I’m supposed to help with development work. It seems impossible. I have a lot to learn before I’m in any place to open my mouth with any ideas worth sharing. I get overwhelmed often and when I think I’m on my way to being helpful or supportive, I get comments like “I haven’t seen you lately, do you just stay in your house,” “you need to speak up in the meetings,” and “why don’t you try to speak Fulfulde?” It bursts my bubble every time I hear this. It is usually exactly what I am thinking to myself, and when someone says it out loud to me, calling me out on everything I’m trying so hard to overcome, I find myself fighting off the tears. There was one time I couldn’t hold it back any more and broke down. Luckily it was in my own house with a guy friend who had sat in on a meeting with me and called me out on all the things I think about myself, but in my mind are impossible to overcome right now. Things like speaking up in a meeting held in Fulfulde, giving ideas on the things they talk about, and asking questions. Considering I catch a fourth of most meetings, I don’t think I’m anywhere near doing the things I so badly want to do. I want to show them I am here to work, I want to help, and I want to do something worthwhile. But instead, I sit quietly listening for that random French word thrown into a speech in Fulfulde. When I am feeling brave, I ask them to speak in French, but that usually works for about 5 minutes before everyone is back to Fulfulde. I have no idea what I can do to help, to empower, to develop, or even just support people. I got nothing. I hope that changes with time. I try to tell myself to relax every time someone gets upset with me for not speaking Fulfulde or not remembering their name or position in the community. I tell myself, they have one new name and person to remember and it’s near impossible to confuse me with someone else. Even if they don’t have patience with me, I try to force myself to be patient because otherwise I will start having pity-parties way too often. It is nighttime here, about midnight. Everything and everyone is asleep. The only noises I hear are the occasional mouse, dog barking, cricket, or my cats changing positions on my blanket. I have yet to adjust to the African schedule. I love my nights and hate mornings too much. I want to stay up til 2am and wake up at 10am. Instead I force myself to go to bed earlier and let myself sleep until 7:30 or 8 am. The whole town is awake and working by the time I am drinking my coffee and getting dressed. I am definitely not helping with the idea of lazy Americans. Sorry America. I’ll try to get better, but it’s hard. I love the quiet of the night. There are no children yelling at me to “open the door” or “I want a bonbon” or “I want to draw.” I take the quiet time to reflect on my day. I think about all my conversations and I often can’t remember if I spoke English or French with people, but somehow I got through another day mostly understanding, and being mostly understood (I think). It’s a small victory that is overshadowed by the people who ask why I don’t leave my house or tell me I am not trying. I tell myself it is okay, that they don’t understand what it’s like for me to be here. But also I think, “yeah buck up girl, let’s get this show on the road.” But how?!? I can barely have conversations about things outside of food, weather, and the day. On the other hand, I am quickly learning how to lie about my relationship status. I can’t count how many marriage proposals I’ve gotten. I am not sure they really count as proposals since it’s less of a question and more of a statement. Usually followed by “…and we can go back to America together.” I just laugh and say I’m here to work, but that hasn’t been very effective. Now, I have a boyfriend/fiancé/husband (depends on who I’m talking to) back home in the States who is waiting for me to come back. With what I’ve come up with so far, he is a stand up guy who I’d love to meet. The men/guys here are different and difficult. They think I am their woman no matter what I say or do. I made the mistake of going to a bar with a guy on New Year’s (although I invited all my friends) and he thought I was going to marry him. I finally had to tell him, I’m just your friend. My guy friends laughed pretty hard as I tried to explain to this guy, in French, over the phone, I just want to be friends and asking if he has understood my terrible French. He said he did but by the phone call and visit later in the day, I am thinking he didn’t. Thankfully I was at the river washing clothes without my phone, so for now, I’ve evaded his interrogation about why I don’t want to be his wife. I am trying to integrate/adjust/etc. Sometimes I want to crawl in a hole but it doesn’t last more than an hour (maybe 2 or 3 sometimes) and the kids are a good distraction. I think they enjoy coming to my house because there are no rules. It’s a MAD HOUSE here sometimes, but I love it (usually). They come in, they draw, they play with my musical cards, my fake spiders, and they take turns trying to build the Legos my nephew sent for a little boy. I followed Joseph’s request of “Please give to a little boy” loosely. I couldn’t pick just one kid to give it to, but I have lent them out a lot and the kids love them. None of them (including the older youth) are as fast as Joseph though. Maybe with practice they will be able to build those cars without a problem. Thank you, Joseph; I told them the Legos were from you! Happy New Year everyone! I miss America quite a bit. I miss the running water, the constant electricity, and the thick comfortable mattress. Overall, I can’t complain, life is good and I like the village life and the people here. (I had to change that from “love” to “like.” I’m not quite there yet.)

December 26, 2013 Christmas has come and gone. It passed quietly and quickly. There was more electricity for Christmas Eve and Christmas. Instead of the electricity turning off at 10:30, it was on until 11-11:15 pm. That was pretty exciting. It sparked the night owl in me, though, and I stayed up way too late, long after the electricity was finished. Christmas lunch/dinner consisted of some rice from my neighbors. Then I had cookies, popcorn, tea, and homemade peanut butter for my own little “fête” (party) in my house, alone. I watched some “How I Met Your Mother” and “New Girl” and laughed out loud until the early morning as I pushed the thoughts of the cabin and family out of my mind. Sadly Santa didn’t find me. I hung out in the Marché (market) most of yesterday afternoon since Wednesday is market day in Mayo-Darlé. Every Wednesday Mayo-Darlé fills up with people from neighboring villages and nearby Nigeria. After some rice and conversation with my neighbor, I went to watch the end of a soccer game. Overall, a normal day here in Mayo-Darlé, except when I got home I called my family in 10 minute intervals for 50 cents each time and ate a lot of sweets. Christmas was too quiet and I missed my family. I woke up this morning, happy the day passed, but still sad I didn’t get to be with my family up at the cabin. Life is surely different here. Sometimes I just stop and think to myself, “Yep, this is life.” Today I thought it quite a few times. I woke up kind of late (for here anyways, like 9:30 am) and made some Nescafe. Decided I needed to stop listening to A Hometown Country Christmas. I switched up the music for the first time in a long time, maybe since I’ve been here. I was comfortable in my pajamas but reluctantly decided it was too late to be seen in my pajamas. I wiped my face off, sprayed my hair with dry shampoo and called it good. Yep, I’m lookin’ good. After getting dressed and opening the door to the usual crowd of kids, they came inside to hang out, draw, and speak Fulfulde. Since there is a break from school for the next week or so, the crowd is bigger than usual. My guy friends came over, kicked the kids out (sometimes a welcome part of other grown-ups coming over) and looked at photos with me. They were hungry so I offered them some food and tea (everyone drinks “chai” tea here despite it being 100 degrees). I prepared some eggs and they were appalled I didn’t have Maggi (cube of salt and other unknown things), tomatoes, and onions. They looked like they were struggling to get the eggs down. I couldn’t help to laugh and think of Megs telling me how to make things, making me meals, and laughing with me when I mess up meals back home. After a lot of laughing, joking, looking at photos, and speaking bad English and bad French I needed a break. I shut my door to kids saying, “Maureen, ouvre la porte” (open the door), made myself some more chai and read for who knows how long. Time is irrelevant, unless I have some sort of meeting to go to; I rarely wear and look at my watch. When I was ready for more socializing, I opened my door. Within minutes there were kids coming in and asking me what I was doing. I grabbed my garbage and gathered my dirty dishes and headed to my neighbors compound, where the well is. The group of kids helped me carry everything over there and one took my trash to the garbage pit area. I washed my dishes as the kids tried to get every little crumb of chocolate out of a cup and the now empty chocolate powder container. I couldn’t help but laugh, but also be a little worried since they were drinking well water. Then, I realized they don’t have a weak American stomach like I do and they will probably be just fine. After a few minutes, I noticed they were rinsing some carrots off. There were some carrots in my garbage sack. I thought they had gone bad after being gone for a few days. As they were munching away on the carrots I had long forgotten about, I couldn’t help but feel guilty. I had thought those were done for and was being picky about the food in my kitchen. As I wash my dishes, I think about the carrots I threw away, all the food that goes to waste back home, and how fortunate I have been in my life. I feel grateful but also terribly guilty. The kiddos helped me finish my dishes. They grabbed some plastic sacks from the ground, balled them up in their hands, dipped it in the water, rubbed it against the soap and scrubbed my dishes with it. It was actually pretty resourceful but I was also thinking of all the germs on those sacks. When we finished washing dishes and carrying water to my house, I gave them each a sucker (thanks Mom – they love them) and sent them on their way as I warmed up the soup I made for Christmas Eve. There is no refrigeration here and there is no microwave here. I simply turned the gas stovetop on to heat up the leftover soup from Christmas Eve. I had covered it and left it for a day and a half. Usually this would mean the soup is meant for the trashcan but after that whole carrot session, I definitely wasn’t going to waste the soup. I also couldn’t help but think of my dad. I could hear him saying, “Ah, that’s fine. I’ll eat that” when my sisters, mom, or I go to throw expired/old food away back home. He has a good attitude about not wasting food that us girls always give him a hard time for. Now, I have nothing to say on that subject. As I’m sitting in my living room typing this, drinking tea, waiting for my bathwater to warm up, I notice a lot of activity in the corner where the spider lives (one of many). I get closer and see a very subdued wasp wriggling around in the web as the spider quickly wraps him up. I sit and watch for a while. Don’t worry; I took a video so I can show you the impressive work. Yep, I live with spiders working in all corners of my house, trying to pretend I don’t notice them. My neighbor comes and asks me for some of my hot water. My bath is now half the pot of water I started with. I decide I need to learn to conserve water anyway since we are entering the dry season. I take a bath with half a bucket of water and feel surprising clean after. I think by the end of this I will fully understand the joke my brother-in-law told me before I left. When a pessimist looks at a half glass of water, he says, “that glass is half empty.” When an optimist looks at the same glass of water, he says, “that glass is half full.” And when a Peace Corps Volunteer looks at the glass of water, she says, “I could take a bath in that!” Just give me a few more months and it probably won’t be a joke. Maybe it’s because I’ve been reading Catching Fire – the second book in the Hunger Games – but I feel like a rebel when I stay up past 10:30 pm when the electricity is cut off. Now that it is midnight and I just had a call from Megs, I think I better head to bed. Not to mention, the longer I stay up the more times I have to use the latrine in the dark. One of my least favorite things to do.

December 24, 2013 It’s officially Christmas Eve here. The time is 00:42, or 12:42 am. One of the neighbors hung out with me until midnight to wish me Merry Christmas, then he said, “It’s not the 25; it’s not Christmas.” I tried to explain it is basically Christmas because it is Christmas Eve. The majority of the people here are Muslim, and the big fête (party/holiday) day is in August. It doesn’t really feel like Christmas anyway but I did warn my neighbors I might cry a little on Christmas while I eat cookies and drink tea (I wish it was wine). They didn’t want me to cry. Cameroonians don’t really cry from what I’ve seen, except the young children. So, here I am on Christmas Eve eve eating homemade burnt peanut butter (the color is disturbingly dark) with a spoon, drinking tea, and trying to get the internet key to work. I’m listening to A Hometown Country Christmas on repeat, which is fairly standard since I’ve gotten here. I just came home from Banyo. It is a nearby town (city in comparison to Mayo-Darlé) with a good hospital and cold drinks. My post mate – the other Peace Corps Volunteer here – was sick and I went with him to make sure he was okay. He is okay, but he went to Yaoundé for a checkup, leaving me here with myself and my Christmas music. It is Christmas Eve day now. I treated myself by sleeping in until 9:30 this morning. For those of you who know me, you know I could sleep until noon but I don’t want to get the label of the lazy American. Nine thirty here is like noon to them. I know I slept too late when I walk outside and people say “bonsoir” instead of “bonjour.” The Internet key is still not working. I wish it were so I could call and wish people a Merry Christmas. My big plans for Christmas Eve include going to buy peanuts and give homemade peanut butter a second try. The first time was just such a typical Maureen cooking experience it was amusing. I shelled all the peanuts and then roasted them. This took a good hour or more and then I burnt the peanuts. I was bummed but didn’t think it would matter THAT much. I rubbed off the little paper-like shell on the peanuts and borrowed my neighbor’s hand grinder – actually my neighbor girl did the grinding work for me – and the paste came out black. Who knew a few burnt arachides (peanuts) would make the peanut butter so dark. I guess there were probably more than a few burnt ones in there. They were laughing pretty hard at this and my neighbors told me to come to them for help next time. I will definitely take them up on the offer. After the black pate d’arachide (literally the peanut paste) was done, I added butter and sugar and put it in the JIF jar like it was real peanut butter. The only difference was it was black instead of tan. Don’t worry I ate it all anyway. When I first arrived here there was a large jar of peanut butter from the last volunteer (best thing ever). I told my neighbors that I already ate the peanut butter in my house; they were like “merde, Maureen” (curse word, Maureen). Little did they know that jar was gone about 3 weeks ago in addition to a jar from my parents and the JIF to-go packets from Heather. Maybe this is why they keep telling me I am so “gros” (fat). I got to say, it’s hard to get used to a culture where this is a good thing. I just take the comments and store them away for when I decide whether to take a moto or walk. I’ve been walking a lot. Last night I tried to help my neighbor with English homework. Holy cow, I’ve heard it is hard to teach English, but it is REALLY HARD to teach English. I don’t know the correct grammatical phrases for English and even though I have learned them in French, it doesn’t always translate and my French is very elementary. There are words/phrases in the English workbook that are not correct and it makes me wonder about all those language books in the states. Well, in addition to making peanut butter (almost a full day event) I have to get water for the kitchen and latrine. It is a good work out. It takes about 4 buckets to fill up each storage container. Each bucket takes about 1.5 well buckets of water. The well is fairly deep and takes some good muscles to pull the water bucket up. I am usually sweating and have burning arms by the end of this chore. I can barely imagine a running hot water shower back home without worrying about running out of water. I think back to the days of fighting with my sisters about who took up all the hot water. I think there were times it even ended in tears. Goodness, we are spoiled. What I would give to have a shower, with running water (hot, cold, no matter), or even a tiled area to have a bucket bath, without the jumping cockroach/grasshopper/spider crossbred things that inhabit the latrine.

December 19, 2013 Well, I just got back from the city. I felt surprisingly excited to come “home” and missed my home here in Mayo-Darlé. I definitely don’t get bothered as much here and am not called “la blanche.” I hear “Nasara” and my name and it is like music to my ears after 3 days of la blanche, smooching noises, and hissing. I get off the bus (3rd leg of the trip) in Mayo-Darlé and am greeted by a neighbor boy who says “welcome home Maureen” and has a moto ready to take me home. I try to quietly let myself into my house and close the door behind me. While I feel so welcome and happy to be here, I need a few minutes to myself before people start coming to greet me and the kids come in and draw. I had a good 12 hours of Internet. I am sorry for anyone I didn’t get to at least say hi to, but I loved getting to talk to everyone I did. I stayed up all night to try and get everyone in, but it was impossible. Finally, around 6 am and the sunrise I lied down in the bed for an hour before the doorbell rang and it was time to head home. I don’t think I really slept since earlier that night I saw two cockroaches (one in the refrigerator) and a mouse running through the office. There are ants all over and it’s hard to tell what is living/not living in the corners of the office/apartment place we get to stay during our banking trips to the city. There is no running water, but this time there was absolutely no water at all. No water in a bucket anywhere; none to flush the toilet, none to wash faces/hands, and definitely not to bathe. It was quite the stay, and I won’t lie, it crossed my mind to pay for a hotel room for the hot shower and flushing toilet (quite the PCV huh!?). Anyways, besides that, it really was fabulous to have Wi-Fi and be connected to family, friends, and the outside world. I spent one night with Internet and the previous night with fellow PCV’s. There is a girl who lives close to the city in a darling, nice house who hosted a girl’s night. It was amazing to have a night with other Americans and speak English and commiserate. They made amazing food, eggplant parmesan for dinner and hash browns and eggs for breakfast. I got to wander around a supermarket, maybe the most westernized supermarket I’ve seen outside the capital city. It had Christmas decorations, soy sauce, wine, dark chocolate, and a real broom and dustpan (as opposed to the sticks tied together; I can’t seem to get the technique down). I bought fresh veggies like eggplant, carrots, and green peppers, and even got a couple apples. I went “shopping” in the “up-for-grabs” bin at the Peace Corps office space and found sandals and another couple shirts. Basically shopped for free, Dad and Holly would be so proud. I enjoyed multiple cold juices, yogurts, and fresh bread. It was fabulous. I definitely indulged. Now, I am back home, haven’t showered since Monday. I left for the city on Tuesday and today is Thursday. I am pretty gross. I have been wearing the same clothes for close to 36 hours. I put on a little scarf to cover the greasy hair. I have a thin layer of dirt all over my body. It is dry season here and there is endless dirt, dust, and grime. It was a tough call between wanting the windows open to lessen the dripping sweat or wanting to be able to breathe semi-clean air. I think I appreciated the open windows with my headband/scarf over my face. I just went to say “bonsoir” to all my neighbors, apparently I am kind of in trouble since I forgot/didn’t tell them all I was leaving. I actually thought I mentioned it to all of them, but apparently not. They were pretty worried about me and thought I was in my room for 2 days straight. I felt kind of bad. But it is good to know someone would notice my absence. I got to say I am not a huge fan of travelling as of now. I have heard rumors it can take 3.5 – 4.5 hours on good days in the dry season to get from Mayo-Darlé to Bafoussam (banking city). I have yet to see that. Every time has been at least 6 plus hours with some sort of issue to go along with it.