No More
So after a brief nap I awoke and quickly “bucket” showered and dressed. I wanted to do my best to catch the first Moungo Voyages vehicle out of town. Need to get to the cyber café to send out a few emails. As I’m walking down the steps of the apartment building, I’m realizing just how heavy my bags are. It was impossible for me to carry both at the same time, so I took one down and went back for the other.
It didn’t dawn on me until after everything was packed, but I’m hoping I haven’t gone over any weight limits for the airlines. I don’t think I have, but if I have, what is the consequence? Are they gonna make me leave something? Are they gonna make me pay extra? Actually, I’d rather pay a small fee to take care of everything; otherwise, I’ll be in a bind, especially if Akilah isn’t at the ticket counter with me.
Well on the ride down the mountain from Foumban, I began noticing some sites I’d really never paid attention to. What was I thinking of on those rides down? Couldn’t have been taking in the sights or I would’ve noticed all of this. Oh what I would’ve given to have the van stop so I could take photos of the mountain scenes, the mist over the trees and open fields. But then it hit me, for now, no more.
No more trying to get people to understand that an informal economy is not conducive to development. No more being stopped by gendarme and having to endure the piercing glares. No more of having to produce an identity card because someone thinks I may be a “spy.” No more having to sit by quietly and say nothing after being stopped three times within fifteen minutes. No more.
No more being stuffed in a seven-passenger van with eighteen other adults. No more enduring the cries of a goat during what should be a one-hour drive home. No more slyly nudging people because you’re trying to make more room on the row for you to sit. No more holding your breath because of the pollution coming from the gas truck in front of you, or the eerie smell of Batons de Manioc. No more.
No more having to wear the same pants for twenty-one days straight. No more red dirt smudging my pants and shirts. No more red stained footies making you feel as if you have no care for your outer appearance. No more having to wear a hat because I’m scared to wash my hair as a result of the “amoeba’s” and their affect on you. No more.
No more walks down the road and having every other person stare at you as if you’re an alien from outer space. No more walking into a market and having the prices automatically rise because the “white man” walked in. No more walking from boutique to boutique because no one has “oef” or “pain.” No more.
No more having to give funny looks to people who find it really necessary to stare over your shoulder while you’re doing something confidential. No more having to beau guard your rightful place in line, because some woman thinks her appointment is more important than what you have to do.
No more having to explain that African-Americans aren’t “rich” and we’re not here to give money to everyone who asks. No more having to explain that I’m not able to help someone get a visa to enter American. No more trying to explain what it’s like being in “our country.” No more, yep no more of anything that will make me feel like I’m a stranger lost in the world.
On the ride in from Foumban we were stopped twice by the gendarme; once for an identity check. It was good that we weren’t delayed too long; I just wanted to get to Bafoussam and do what I need to do. We actually arrived within an hour. A bit too shocking for an hour ride that has been known to take as long as three hours after all the stops and pickups.
When I arrived at the case, “the guardian” assisted me with my heavy bags. Akeyah, Amy and Todd were at the house. After catching my breath, Amy, Todd and I headed over to the cyber café to send out a few emails. When we arrived we found out there was no connection, but that didn’t matter for us, we were willing to wait in line for the one computer that was operational.
I was a little pressed to send out a message so I could make certain I had a ride home from Dulles airport. In all my planning for the trip I never made certain someone would be able to pick me up from the airport. So I sent out about five emails to different people, and then took care of a few details on some websites.
I was done in about thirty minutes, but the woman, who came in after I began, tried to tell me I owed for forty-six minutes. Actually she wanted me to pay for a full hour and then I would be credited the difference. Considering I’m on my way home, and I have a thirteen-minute credit I have yet to use, I had no intentions of paying for more than what I used.
She got a little frustrated trying to talk me in English, so she told the young lady that worked there to do it. I repeated the same thing to her, I have no intentions on paying for time I did not use, so either tell me what I need to pay or don’t receive anything at all. In the end, even after a young man tried to communicate with me for them, I gave 600 CFAs and then called it a day.
Back at the Bafferie, Amy and Todd decided to go out for dinner with Amy’s colleagues from Fokué, I decided to wait for Akilah and try to meet them later. While waiting for Akilah, I did some work – to kind of get myself reoriented to home life – and the guardian looked over my shoulder as I did. This was his first time seeing a computer, and he found it very amazing.
By the time Akilah arrived, she had to take a short rest break before we headed out to eat. We decided to eat at Oasis since I couldn’t remember the name of the restaurant where the others had gone. While there I finally had an opportunity to watch MCM Africa, a video music-type channel. It was good to see some familiar music videos and be exposed to some new ones.
Just as we were ready to leave Oasis, it began raining. Akilah remembered that when she inquired as to the start of rainy season, most people would just say March. If that were the case, then it would explain why we received a brief bit of heavy rain on the first day of the month. We were all to pleased to have to watch MCM as we waited.
Once the rain slowed to an almost drizzle pace, we walked down the street to the cyber café so I could pick up one of my CDs from Pat. I’d given him one to copy earlier, but he left to go home and copy it. When we arrived there the shop was empty of all but two workers and no clients; but neither was Pat. The young man there used his limited English to tell me that he had not arrived, but he would be there in the morning. That was cool since I need to check on some email responses.
We headed back to the casse for the evening and sat up talking for a while with Becky.