I Dey fo Town
Let me start by saying that it was not a very difficult decision. I’m sure some of you might think I’m cold-hearted for leaving and participating in the “massive rural exodus,” as one nice lady told me, but to be downright cliché, I think its for the greater good.
So, out of the village, into the city. Kinda.
I have moved to Bafut Central, Home of the Bafut Beagles (I live about 50 yards as the crow flies from Gerald Durrel’s old German-built Cameroonian-standards castle…. My mother really wanted me to move there, but I told her it’s a museum now. “So what,” she said.).
With the help of around 4 very excited palace stooges, I found a lovely little pink duplex behind the palace. It’s a very close walk to the rear gate, but you unfortunately have to go around some “sacred forest” that’s been unchanged for a whole lot of years. I was told that I could go into the forest, but that I would never come out. Haha… he. Ha. Hmm. Damn right I’m not going in there.
The moment I saw the house with its big square front porch, I knew I was going to have a lot of screen to put up. I made mental plans for cane patio furniture and one of those copper dish things that you put wood in. I noticed the wires coming into the house on the left side. My eye was next drawn to the grey plastic piping that rose up from the ground like a hand of God holding recently dated photos of Elvis, Diana and John John drinking pina coladas in Nauru. Sewer ventilation. There’s a toilet inside. Splendid.
After getting the keys from the oafish landlady, we took a stroll through the house. It’s a simply enormous two-bedroom with all the civilized amenities. Walking into the nicer of the two bedrooms, I noticed something scuttle away on the far wall. This was the one problem with the house. It seems that because no one had ever lived here and the house had stood for two years, the door was open for man-eating insects and skinks. The tarantula living in my bedroom was a very clear indicator of this. This was the first tarantula I have seen in Cameroon (my friend Liz is never going to visit), and though it was kind of neat, it would have been neater if it had been outside (far far far away).
No big deal, though… get the landlady to clean the place. I’m sure she’ll take care of it. But like I said before, she’s kind of oafish. As far as I can tell, she cleaned the windows. Upon moving in, the tarantula was still residing in my room. Because the movers were right there (it cost be 10 US dollars and 8 Cameroonian beers to have 4 guys come and take two trucks worth of stuff out of my house and then move it in), I decided to temporarily move into the back room. When I spotted its three inch long legs poking out from between the ceiling and the wall, I fetched one of my sweaty men and had him broom it to death. I ran away from the curling ball of fur and hid on top of the table. They thought this was funny, and one ass said that this one was “smaller than the other one.” “What do you mean other one?!” I asked. “This one is the junior brother to the other one,” he said laughing. He then told me (unconvincingly) that he was joking.
That night, despite my being a hallway away and underneath a poisonous bug net, I slept something awful, but I awoke with new courage. I walked up to the door, and entered slowly with my body contorted in such a way that my head could be looking upward while I inched forward. As soon as my eyes passed the frame of the door, I saw the furry, three-inch legs arched up in 8 inverted “v”s. It For a second, I could have sworn his black, compound eyes were scowling at me. He was directly above my head, not more than a foot and a half. I only wish the next moments were captured on my Cirque de Soleil audition video. I was already violently twisted… my lightning-fast retreat may have included several back flips and perhaps teleportation. Either way, I ended up on all fours on top of my dining table.
After an attic spraying, the mammal-like insect was viciously slaughtered by my neighbor boy, Kennedy. I missed the thing’s quick scurry down the wall, and only caught the crushing broom blows that finished him on the hallway floor. In two days, I managed to abandon a needy community and had some possibly rare creatures brutally slain. I feel my life in Africa has just become blissfully sustainable, though a little bit more Posh Corps.
So, out of the village, into the city. Kinda.
I have moved to Bafut Central, Home of the Bafut Beagles (I live about 50 yards as the crow flies from Gerald Durrel’s old German-built Cameroonian-standards castle…. My mother really wanted me to move there, but I told her it’s a museum now. “So what,” she said.).
With the help of around 4 very excited palace stooges, I found a lovely little pink duplex behind the palace. It’s a very close walk to the rear gate, but you unfortunately have to go around some “sacred forest” that’s been unchanged for a whole lot of years. I was told that I could go into the forest, but that I would never come out. Haha… he. Ha. Hmm. Damn right I’m not going in there.
The moment I saw the house with its big square front porch, I knew I was going to have a lot of screen to put up. I made mental plans for cane patio furniture and one of those copper dish things that you put wood in. I noticed the wires coming into the house on the left side. My eye was next drawn to the grey plastic piping that rose up from the ground like a hand of God holding recently dated photos of Elvis, Diana and John John drinking pina coladas in Nauru. Sewer ventilation. There’s a toilet inside. Splendid.
After getting the keys from the oafish landlady, we took a stroll through the house. It’s a simply enormous two-bedroom with all the civilized amenities. Walking into the nicer of the two bedrooms, I noticed something scuttle away on the far wall. This was the one problem with the house. It seems that because no one had ever lived here and the house had stood for two years, the door was open for man-eating insects and skinks. The tarantula living in my bedroom was a very clear indicator of this. This was the first tarantula I have seen in Cameroon (my friend Liz is never going to visit), and though it was kind of neat, it would have been neater if it had been outside (far far far away).
No big deal, though… get the landlady to clean the place. I’m sure she’ll take care of it. But like I said before, she’s kind of oafish. As far as I can tell, she cleaned the windows. Upon moving in, the tarantula was still residing in my room. Because the movers were right there (it cost be 10 US dollars and 8 Cameroonian beers to have 4 guys come and take two trucks worth of stuff out of my house and then move it in), I decided to temporarily move into the back room. When I spotted its three inch long legs poking out from between the ceiling and the wall, I fetched one of my sweaty men and had him broom it to death. I ran away from the curling ball of fur and hid on top of the table. They thought this was funny, and one ass said that this one was “smaller than the other one.” “What do you mean other one?!” I asked. “This one is the junior brother to the other one,” he said laughing. He then told me (unconvincingly) that he was joking.
That night, despite my being a hallway away and underneath a poisonous bug net, I slept something awful, but I awoke with new courage. I walked up to the door, and entered slowly with my body contorted in such a way that my head could be looking upward while I inched forward. As soon as my eyes passed the frame of the door, I saw the furry, three-inch legs arched up in 8 inverted “v”s. It For a second, I could have sworn his black, compound eyes were scowling at me. He was directly above my head, not more than a foot and a half. I only wish the next moments were captured on my Cirque de Soleil audition video. I was already violently twisted… my lightning-fast retreat may have included several back flips and perhaps teleportation. Either way, I ended up on all fours on top of my dining table.
After an attic spraying, the mammal-like insect was viciously slaughtered by my neighbor boy, Kennedy. I missed the thing’s quick scurry down the wall, and only caught the crushing broom blows that finished him on the hallway floor. In two days, I managed to abandon a needy community and had some possibly rare creatures brutally slain. I feel my life in Africa has just become blissfully sustainable, though a little bit more Posh Corps.
posted by K at 3:47 PM
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