November 8, 2003
5:30 a.m. Roosters crow and the manioc-grinding machine begins its long day of work. Breakfast includes oatmeal (Quaker!) or rice, with milk, cinnamon and sugar, and a cup of hot chocolate. The dishwater bucket is filled at the well in the yard (treated with a few drops of bleach ... just in case), school supplies are gathered (chalk and homemade visual aids, to make up for the lack of textbooks). Shoes enjoy a quick wipe-down (no time for polish) and I'm out the door with wide-brim hat and umbrella. (Random sightings of wandering pigs, goats, chickens, and middle-aged Cameroonians in hot pink jump suits accompany the walk.)
7:00 a.m. En route to school, I stop at the market to stock up on tomatoes (20 cents for 5-6), onions (20 cents each), garlic (10 cents a handful), and bananas (2 cents each) or oranges (2 for 5 cents). Say hello to the market ladies and continue to school.
7:15 a.m. Students line up in orderly rows outside the main school building, awaiting the flag ceremony. One grade is chosen to sing the national anthem (after a poor performance, they kneel on the ground in the sun). The principal makes his announcements. Any disrespectful student is beaten in front of his/her peers.
7:30 a.m. School day begins, divided into 7 one-hour periods with two breaks (15 minutes and 45 minutes). Subjects include math, biology, chemistry, history, geography, home economics, philosophy, French, English, German or Spanish, and manual labor (cutting the grass with a machete).
12:00 noon. Lunch. If I'm ambitious, rice and beans; if not, the newly discovered sardine and mayonnaise sandwich.
3:00 p.m. Soccer matches are a dime a dozen. Recently, I've taken to playing basketball with a group of young boys who think they're Kevin Garnett and Vince Carter (among others).
4:00 p.m. Two days a week, I have a one-hour class in the local language, Kako. My progress has been rejoiced by elderly folk and very young children for a 30-mile radius.
After 5:00 p.m. Usually amounts to hanging out at the local bar “chez Jacques” for beef shish kabobs and abundant political discussions. I've been called both a “spy” (employed by the U.S. gov't - I haven't a clue what they'd want to spy on) and an “observer” (employed by the Cameroonian gov't - presidential elections will be in January, and people are uptight). A fellow teacher, Francis, belongs to the opposition party and explains the conspiracy behind his lack of electricity (they're out to get him despite his delinquent payments). If we're lucky, we get a visit from the town drunk, nicknamed “Tout de suite” (he always demands, “Donne-moi une bière tout de suite!” or “Give me a beer right now!”). He provides at least an hour's worth of entertainment. My school's vice-principal majored in philosophy, which often leads to good discussions.
7 or 8:00 p.m. Return home for dinner. Rice and beans, or with recent access to good vegetables, fried rice or stir-fry. Then a cold and refreshing bucket bath and shave - my house was cruelly designed to accommodate running water, with a bathroom sink and flush toilet: plumbing which goes un-exercised. I play with my cat, wash the dishes, and dump the day's dishwater into the toilet (eco-friendly flushing). Walk to the pump to fill bath and/or kitchen water. Read a book, listen to the BBC or RFI news on short-wave radio, get school materials in order for a new day.
10-10:30 p.m. Bed time.
A short note on weekends and holidays:
In a town where the entertainment amounts to beer or soccer (during the day), and beer and music (at night), people are always looking for a reason to organize a party. On October 5th, we celebrated International Teacher's Day. On November 6th, we celebrated the 21st Anniversary of President Paul Biya's “ascension to the Presidency of Cameroon.” Both involved a parade around the town followed by carousing and dinner. And on October 19th, we celebrated Let's Get Drunk and Stuff Ourselves Because There's Nothing Else to Do Day (a monthly tradition). Halfway through that evening, my school’s Discipline Master announced that the students would feel his hangover (on their asses) the next morning.
I'll only add that the Grant's whiskey flows freely in Ndélélé, day and night...