l'hopital

I went to one.

Though my last entry was filled with romantic description of the grand north of cameroon, i can now soberly assess the situation. Deserts, like dairy desserts, make me sick. Not sick in the same way exactly but not really that far off.

anyway, the last week in ngaoundere was spent fighting a terrible upper respiratory infection. when i first arrived in the town, a glorious dust storm was blowing through from the Sahara. It added a mysterious haze to anything more than a few blocks away, and apparently, to any lung cells within my body. The result was a charming cough, a runny nose, a gradually increasing fever, and mild insanity.

in the midst of my sickness, it seemed a wise idea to travel to Waza national park to look at giraffes. Though I saw many wonderful beasts, I did it from the top of a metal rack on the top of a metal bus rolling through a hell of spiked trees, dusty air, and blazing sun. It was worth it, but it came with a price.

For example, the abovementioned mild insanity. Were there really mice touching my feet? Why was my mosquito net so intriguing to me? Did my host mom really try to put the moves on me? ...that will, i hope to allah, remain a mystery. Also, were there really children chanting my name as I passed that one morning?

how did they know my name?

anyway, after many strange and wonderful conversations and many strange and terrible nights sleep...it has PASSED. doctor says im good and healthy and i feel the same.

I felt the end as I returned to cosmopolitan Yaounde with its delightfuly moist clean air. With every breath came relief. I never would have thought I would say that Yaounde has clean air until the event happened that I lived in a much smaller place that uses wood and paper for heat, cooking, garbage disposal, etc.

i love feeling normal.

above normal even. I am learning more and more french and can use it in more and more creative ways. for example, consider a situation wherein your host cousin comments that your hair looks like a girls:

"lydia": Your hair looks like girls hair
"ben": do you like the bible
l: yes
b: me too. have you heard of samson?
l: thats a story, whats your story?
b: i was born on a mountain and i learned to eat by fighting and killing huge serpents that lived there.
l: fine. why do you have long hair though?
b: i got tired of fighting snakes. I flew to the ocean and learned to catch fish with my hair. I use it like a net. like this. my hair gives me more power.
l: ashhh (cameroonian slang for "bull shit" or "yeah right" or "come on")



Otherwise, I am totally buried by research on microfinance. My poor brain was already full of useless french words, now I have to learn banking terms in two languages. that said, it goes well. I am somehow allowed to work in a bank in order to learn about how microfinance works (NOT LIKE YOU THINK BRIGHT EYED DREAMERS) and interview workers whenever I want. If I hadnt already worked with so many of the people who are currently reading this, I would say confidently that I cant imagine a better group of people to work with than the people at the bank.

but i have worked with so many of you already, so I know it not to be true.

YOU ARE ALL MISSED SWEET FRIENDS. ONE MONTH.