Food/Rain

Last night it rained hard all night. It was really calming at first, but we have a metal roof and after several hours I could feel the beating rain poking into my bones. Maybe it is like what being at sea is like, tossed about in a torrent. Nighttime is the hardest for me.

This morning I got up early and made my favorite things: hot cocoa and a tomato sandwich. I read some Pema Chodron. She reminds me how important it is to do spiritual work and be a warrior of your own inner life, for the good of the whole world. Being here is like being on a weird vacation. The weather is pretty nice, except Rosa told us this morning that the rain last night was minor - sometimes it rains like that all day and night for days. For 2 months.

If I consider this time my personal growth time, which will make me stronger in everything I do – it starts to sound a lot better. I have some fear and shame around staying in the house, being the white lady/wife who doesn’t like to be disturbed, doesn’t like to be part of daily life here. Part of my hesitancy to enter into life here more is that I am still grieving my old life.

We are nearly out of food. The supply situation here is abysmal. Like I said before, all the veggies come from Cameroon. Except Atangas (these large purple grape-looking things with a huge seed and meat that when boiled softens and becomes bright green and tastes like yogurt and feel like they help stomach aches. You eat them with salt and although I suffered my first try, I will really miss them now that they are almost out of season). I can get frozen chicken parts from South America, canned meat and tomatoes, a variety of stale cookies, and frozen things that have been in a cycle of being frozen and not for weeks.

For the last week, I have been enjoying the cooking variations of tomatoes and beans. For both lunch and dinner. There were some cans of tuna that I was adding to sautéd onions, garlic and sometimes an habañero for Simon, then beans or jarred veggies (gross) and tomatoes or tomato sauce poured over rice couscous or just by itself. We also got a bunch of potatoes so I attempted a tortilla Espanola which actually didn’t turn out so bad and some potato leek soup that had cubed bouillon for stock and tasted like Top Ramen. Who ever let that stuff be called Top Ramen anyway?

We can get more stuff in Bata, hopefully this weekend. They have 2 actual supermarkets – it is the biggest city in the country – and one makes fresh bread. If we don’t go I am not going to be able to take it anymore. S is being very accommodating, even though he doesn’t like to go in to Bata every weekend. It’s about a 2 and a half hour ride and people drive so crazy. But my new friend Sofia is there and she knows all the yummy places to eat out. I really appreciate nice food.

It’s silly I know, but I sort of imagined that my Africa would be like The Power of One. Serengeti, green in the rainy season, gold in the dry season, choruses of Ladysmith Black Mambazo playing in the background, tall dark black people with long necks who spoke Zulu, big, crazy cities and farm houses that were hot as hell where you had to wear safari hats to keep the sun off and drink gin and tonics to keep the mosquitos at bay. Or alternately a big bustling city on the ocean where the tall dark skinned stylie people spoke French, where there was music blaring from everywhere and people danced in the street and laughed at me for trying.

Africa is huge, so maybe those places do exist. But it is not here. Evinayong is one of many small towns that exist along the small roads through the jungle. It is bigger than most that only consist of houses on either side of the road and the communities that extend behind them. I’ve heard Rosa say that the people live to sing and dance, but the most that I have heard with my own ear is one church song, a young neighbor girl who sometimes sings while she is hanging the laundry and a very rambunctious boy who shouts American pop songs in gibberish clearly enough that I recognize which ones he is aiming at.

At the moment, hormones are exacerbating all these feelings. I miss my creative friends and productive life. I sometimes hate it here. I feel like I am wasting my vital energy. But maybe it will be like the Atangas, the first part will be super unpleasant and then I’ll learn to crave it. Here’s to hoping.