Some memorable moments of culture shock --

Taxis: I'm not from the city so taking a taxi is something that I have maybe done, oh, five times in my life? And only once have I taken a taxi alone (and that was in Long Island). Here though, taxis rule the streets. Rarely do you see personal cars and even less so do you see big, which is to say American, type cars. Anyways, to take a taxi it is a flat rate (ie: no meter) and while the price usually stands at 200 francs/person which is roughly 50 cents this price is negotiable depending on the distance and/or if you're white (Cameroonians assume all foreigners are rich and unless shopping at a store, the price is usually stated at four times the actual price).  So when you're out on the street a taxi will roll up close to you and then you shout out where you wish to go and your price at which point the driver will say get in or drive away. Often, the taxi drivers will not state okay, but the yes is implied by their not driving away something that wasn't clear to us the first time around when we repeated ourselves an unnecessary amount.

Location too is never specific because of the sheer amount of traffic so it is best to name a general, well-known place. So to get home, we say "Shell Nsimeyong" which refers to the gas station on Avenue Nsimeyong a block away from the apartment. What I love about Cameroon is how local everything is, no longer is there a Shell gas station on the street but OilLibya, but the change was made two years ago and to Cameroonians OilLibya will always be referred to as Shell. Same goes for Score, one of the only two supermarkets in all of Yaoundé. Recently it changed its name to Casino but no one in Yaoundé thinks of it as such.

Anyways, so yesterday we took a taxi from Shell Nsimeyong to Score to then go to the fabric store (an amazing experience). The trip over was uneventful but we were so proud to use our French and after hearing the horror stories about taxis (pick pocketing etc.) each time feels like an adventures. On the way back though, we were unable to catch a taxi until six of us squeezed into this tiny European car -- plus driver -- making for four people in the back and three in the front. Seatbelts too are non-existent. Finally bringing this all together is the driving, there are no lanes of traffic so taxi drivers simply honk to announce there presence. It's actually really nice in that regard since it's never a mean "watch out!" but just a kind of "hello, here I come." Dean B, who is on the trip with us for the first week, described it as a conversation and I think that is very accurate.

Dinner: While tomorrow we start eating with our host families, the past week we have been cooking for ourselves making group dinners of, well, usually spaghetti, for the ten of us. Yesterday though, Jessica, a aide of Mr. Teku's, ate with us too. Jessica is twenty-five and we adore her, despite the sheer amount of miscommunication that we constantly experience with her (whether this is due to cultural or personality difference is up for debate). Yesterday though, we are eating, talking loudly to one another (topic of choice: the merits of being a vegetarian, particularly interesting after seeing what the meat looks like in the market...), and some of us even singing. Finally, Jessica stops eating, looks up, and goes "In Africa, we do not talk during dinner" and gets up and leaves.  We all died a little inside. I guess we're glad we learned this before going to our host families?