Finally... My Mom Comes to Cameroon

Apologies to everyone who had anticipated a running commentary of my mother's visit to Cameroon. I was the busiest I had been since training trying to make sure she didn't accidentally sell me off to a Cameroonian speaking in dialect, get her lipstick stolen out of her pocket (that's all I let her carry) or burn down the house with her battery operated curling iron. Here are a few of my favorite moments….

Emerging from the on-ramp, Sue's excitement gets in the way of her sense when she inadvertently gets into the "diplomats and residents only!" customs line. Thankfully, I had warned all of the customs agents ahead of time that CORNELIUS, SUSAN does not speak a lick of French and that she has "much fear."

Moments later, when leaving the baggage claim, we purposefully enter the "Diplomats and VIP" line. It's amazing what you can get done by saying "Etas-Unis" with enough force of voice. Sue learns valuable Cameroon rule… there aren't too many.

Sue makes "observations" from Hilton balcony of the African people in the car-washing trade. She is amazed. I sleep in and order room service and then sleep some more then we venture out. This is the last morning that she makes written observations.

Returning from her first walk around the block in Yaoundé, my mother realizes that her pretty pink wedges are not so great on Cameroonian red mud. She clings to me and gags as we come through an alleyway and pass a dumpster. I laugh. She recalls earlier seeing a man walking on his hands pass the same way. She ponders the fecal-oral route problem while immediately washing her shoes at the hotel.

We get back to Bafut and have "Christmas," where my mom releases the contents of 5 of the 6 bags she brought. The 6th bag, containing mostly meat, is somewhere between Amsterdam and Cameroon. I am overwhelmed and need to lie down.

Sue has difficulty with the schedule. Our first day in Bafut is a Sunday without any market or country activities to entertain. After an exhausting trip to Yaoundé, I find sleep at 830pm and don't wake up until 9am the next morning. Around 11am, I am in the mood for siesta. Sue has been up since 430, thinking about bleaching the walls and tarantulas. She does end up bleaching things before she goes.

Despite my insisting it's a bad idea, Sue consistently handed packets of cookies to the annoying children who hang out behind my house and say "Auntie Rose, I beg for biscuit" over and over and over all day. They are still coming over, nearly two weeks after she has gone. They stick their hands under the bottom of my door and there is one boy who says "Auntie Rose. Bis-cuit. Auntie Rose. Bis-cuit" over and over until I open the door and yell at them.

Sitting and having some beans and fried balls of dough in Bafut central, a man comes to greet us. He is sweaty and has just walked from Akofunguba, my old village (about 15-20km away). As usual with the Cameroonians, he is extremely enthusiastic about meeting Sue and believes that she must be my sister. He welcomes her and tells her he hopes she will have "a pleasant journey." An astounded look comes over my mom's face and she replies, "you have a job with GM?" As in General Motors… as in… this guy has no idea what she is talking about. I realize my mother is truly Midwestern.


In the wake of Sue…

People are still asking me if my mother is gone. I tell them yes, she has gone back to her home. They get all convoluted and sour faced, click there tongues and even cry out. There is one old guy that has asked me twice if she has gone back.

I have made crab cakes.