Small small make house

So the next day in Bafoussam was actually far less painful than I thought it would be. Abba’s homestay mother had offered to meet us in Bafoussam and help us bargain at the market so we wouldn’t get ripped off. I managed to get many of the essentials (a cookstove, marmites, frying pan, cups, plates, silverware, a cake tin, a colander, mixing bowl, casserole dishes, a bucket, and a large container for storing water) without having to do any of the bargaining; plus her mother knew which stuff was quality and which was knockoff, so I think we got good stuff at a good price. Bargaining still stresses me out a little, so I was happy to get most of that done without having to deal with the headache of it. Plus, Abba’s mom was hilarious bargaining – she would make these priceless faces of disgust at certain price offers, and sometimes just wait around for five or ten minutes until the vendor gave the price she wanted.

I left Bafoussam the next day very early – I had the travel agency come and pick up my things at the hotel and then I met Magloire in Foumban. We left my things at his house while I got the remaining needed items (mattress, bottle of gas, sheets, pillows) in Foumban. Next we bought out an entire bush taxi (not cheap) to go straight to village, without the usual stop in Malentouen. Here are some photos from the trip:

The driver next to the bush taxi loaded down with all my crap. Notice that over half of the backseat is stuffed to the brim. Some things never change – I’m even a packrat in Africa.

This is right at the beginning of the dirt road after leaving Foumban. Notice the tiny dirt path snaking up the mountain in the distance. We would later mount that exact path in the bush taxi.

The “road” to village – it really is gorgeous. Breathtaking. Despite the fact that the road is really no more than a rocky dirt path.

Magloire helping to push the car out of an unexpectedly deep puddle (pond?) that the driver drove right into, causing flooding on the floors on the front seat. I was astonished that the engine wasn’t ruined by this.

We arrived, finally, in village on the 8^th around 5 PM – only about an hour and a half left of light in the day. The house would prove to be a much bigger headache than I imagined. My house was locked when we got there. Magloire ran off to see the landlady, but she didn’t have any keys. I climbed in through one of the windows to enter the house, and was kind of frightened by what I saw. The place was filthy – dirt and garbage littered all the floors. The wooden ceiling hadn’t been installed throughout the house, as it was supposed to be (my boss had given a rare 6-month rent advance so the ceiling would be done), and none of the door locks really worked. Also, the place was infested with wasps, ants, beetles, caterpillars, cockroaches, spiders – well, you name it, it lives in my house – and pigeons were living in the ceiling where there was ceiling (the living room area). Determined not to cry, I set up my still plastic-covered mattress on the floor, got out my sleeping bag, flashlight and some candles and set up camp while Magloire swept and washed some of the floors. That first night, I was a little on edge. I’ve heard enough stories form other PCVs to know that the most common crime is theft/robbery, and with all my possessions in one place, without a means to lock the house, I was freaked out.

I called my boss, Kim, the next day to discuss the issues with the house. She seemed upset that the ceiling wasn’t finished and called Magloire and we got to work taking care of things. The first thing was getting proper locks on the doors, which was surprisingly simple. Next we needed to get a carpenter to install wood panel ceilings throughout the house. The way Cameroonian houses are built here is with mud bricks, which are then covered with cement. The walls are topped by a corrugated tin roof on wooden support beams. Often this leaves a gap between the tin roof and the top of the mud-brick walls open to the outdoors. Wooden ceiling is thus installed in the house to deter thieves. The wooden ceiling was installed in my room and the living room, but not throughout the house, as it was supposed to be and the wooden shutters needed replacement (and the windows screening), so these were additional matters that needed addressing.

I pulled water from the well that is, thankfully, across the street, set up my stove and began boiling some water for drinking. Magloire and I started de-weeding the area around my side doorstep, and I started to feel better about the house.

Yesterday, we went and spoke to the head of the sawmill. He has been very helpful. When I came for site visit, he said he would have two beds made and a table and chairs, all ready to go when I arrived. Even though these things were not ready when I arrived, the only thing that remained was to varnish the bed. With luck I will get to pick these things up today and I will finally have a bed to sleep in. He also said he’d be happy to send over a carpenter to fix the ceilings and wooden window shutters, which might need replacing before I can set up window screens. Also, Magloire and I are going to talk to the mayor, hopefully today, about running a power line to my house, so I can have electricity from 6 PM to midnight, when they run their generator. All in all, I’m still living in a dump, but things are looking up.

What is abundantly clear, however, is that my house is going to need a lot of work before I call it a home. In America, I think safety and/or health codes would prohibit someone from living there. Magloire and I keep saying that petit à petit (little by little), it will get better. But I have yet to get a good night’s rest sleeping on my feather down sleeping bag which causes me to sweat profusely. So until some very basics regarding the house are taken care of, I’m not starting my work. Which kind of sucks, but I think I would cry if I had to work all day and then come home to this mess that I’m supposed to call my house.

Small small catch monkey.