Host family....

Well, I love mine. I really can't say enough about how wonderful they are. My host mom has completely taken me under her wing -- bringing me to the market, helping me practice my French, and teaching me how to cook (if nothing else, I will be a decent cook after this). The first day, I got there and after unpacking and organizing my room a bit (where I have a double bed, I would get my first double bed when I come to Cameroon), I helped make plantains (note bena: you can't peel plantains like you would a banana, a knife is necessary) and was taught to cook chicken on a wheel drum like the street vendors -- arranging the charcoal and then using pieces of rubber sap to light it. The next day, was Marche au Fundee (biggest market in Yaoundé -- very overwhelming and if I ever feel I could properly describe the markets here I will, but I'm lost for words to describe the vibrancy). Then we did a lot more cooking, none that actually takes place inside the kitchen. Rather, we sit outside on the uh...patio? But that isn't really accurate. Anyways, I used mortar and pestle to grind up the okra, helped gut a fish, made tomato sauce from scratch -- list goes on, but point here is that I'm learning to cook which is a feat in itself and I'm learning without all the American conveniences. I was telling my host brother about how excited I was to learn how to cook and he was like "You don't know how?" (Okay, I feel spoiled) and then when I said my Mom or Dad did the cooking usually he said how do they all on their own? (uhh...I'm a brat) and then as I tried to explain myself I ended up saying that food in the US was more ready-made (great Anne, fall back for being a brat is that you're AMERICAN). That said, food in the US is more ready-made. At the grocery store, you can buy chicken breast cut and ready. Here, you buy the chicken in the market and it is ALIVE and man is just holding it upside down by its legs. Anyways, long story short is that I'm currently in some extreme version of Home Ec.

Beyond my wonderful host mom, there is the father who is so easy to talk to, and the six children (three of them their own and three who are unrelated by stay with the family). I spend a lot of time with Melanie and Helen who love looking through my stuff and listening to my iPod (they love, truly LOVE Michael Jackson, even telling me how they cried when he died) meanwhile they teach me pidgin and show me how to braid -- yesterday, I even had my hair braided into corn rows (!).

Okay, so everything is great. Better than great. But I have to say there is culture shock and then there is what feels like fear factor. The first night, the Mom pointed to the grilled chicken and asked if I ate what I thought was bone when I told her no, she goes "Oh, no chicken foot? Do you like the head then?" Later, as I went for the smallest piece of chicken, my mother goes "I didn't know you liked the throat!" Luckily, I think the look on my face showed how clueless I was and she offered me a chicken wing instead. Okay, but all of this is small beans compared to the FLYING cockroach in my room. It's 2:30 AM, and after seeing a cockroach on the toilet seat -- miserable enough -- I am half way asleep when I hear this flying, clicking sound that keeps hitting walls. Only partly kidding when I say this is the worst thing to ever happen to me. I just stayed in bed, fully huddled beneath the sheets praying the stupid thing didn't decide to land on my bed. Okay, but the bug sitch. is much better now -- I have insect repellent, close the windows (screw Cameroonian weather), and bought a mosquito net that really calms my fears. So all is good.