Random slice of random day

In what may be a sign that life in Cameroon has become something resembling “normal,” and having been inspired by a visit from two PCVs, stagemates who I haven’t seen in a long time, I am dedicating this blog entry to a cleft-lipped baby and wooden demonstration penises.

On my way home from a short, mid-day, obscenely hot walk with the dog, I return to my family compound. I cross over a cement bridge traversing the open sewer that has just been put in, and hop onto a 4x8 wood plank that serves as an extension bridge over the awkward walkway that has yet to be touched. Having added another mark to the score of Lauren vs Bridge in what has become an ongoing battle, I hop down safely on the stolen cement walkway that lasts about 20 ft. About 3 months ago my compound members stole cement from the road building crew, the cement that falls to waste when the hot tar is already laid, and made a nice little walkway. This walkway was helpful during its first few months in existence, but then during the rainy season just became another part of the mudpit walk to and from the road. Anyway, on our return to my house, we pass first a monkey, a drill, in his cage, chowing down on boiled manioc. His name is something obscurely amusing, like Pappy or Pepe, and he is always doing something strangely human. Last week, for example, he was sitting up with his legs sprawled over and through the bars of his cage, like a man reposed on the couch watching television. Today he was too distracted to do anything mean to my dog who tried to touch him through the cage. As Owondo unsuccessfully tries to play with the monkey, 2 year old Stephen walks up, seeing only monkey. As soon and Stephen catches Owondo’s attention, Stephen flees, terrified of a pursuit by a now attentive dog. Stephen flees, however, with an empty gin sachet in hand, and a cigarette butt dangling from his lips. I proceed to remove the butt from his mouth, and smack him a little, enough to bring attention to his family of these vices learned too young. I, on the other hand, leave the gin sachet in the small child’s hand, figuring that you have to pick your battles.