Week 10: Small small catch monkey

Saturday saw the first day for Martiel to start working off his debt so my apartment was about as clean as it’s ever been. The day was spent transcribing elements from some maps at the University Geography department and reading through some older masters theses. Sunday maintained its position as a family day, filled with visits. After picking up Richard's samples from the University lab, Bertrand and I chewed the fat a bit before heading into the quartier to visit with the Nanas and take some pictures of the baby.

Monday I resumed my research efforts at the hospital Ad Lucem, collecting the first half of the available data while early Tuesday was spent finishing up the clinic Integre Fontehm. Emerging from the rather dingy clinic office I saw fit to take advantage of a beautiful day to explore the northern outskirts of Dschang with an eye out for public watering holes. I did make discoveries of a couple public wells installed by the city council, and hope to take advantage of Antoine’s municipal connections to look into their management program.

That evening Francois from the Sister’s hospital stopped by for a visit, further impressing me with just how nice a guy he really is. His situation brings to mind a somewhat novel application of the clichéd observation that “all the good ones are married.” I’m consistently finding that the Cameroonian men with whom I would most like to foster a friendship are married, with associated social habits not quite up to my bachelor’s schedule. Alas, I’m a single man living the married life with none of the companionship and all of the Saturday nights spent watching movies on the couch.

Nathan Spence came to visit on Wednesday, and together we passed a highly enjoyable day, complete with some cribbage at the evening’s close. In a highlight moment from my week, Spence informed me of a Cameroonian expression that translates to “small small catch monkey,” a local twist on Aesop’s “slowly but surely wins the race.” This has quickly become a personal favorite of Cameroonian phraseology, right up there with “ah footi nah,” (northern dialect for “who farted”).

Thursday I headed back to Bafoussam with Spence, though my style was somewhat cramped by the onset of a 24-hr bout of an all too common traveler’s discomfiture. Still, with a roll of TP in my pack and frequent pit-stops, we managed to take a small tour of the city, grabbing a pair of excellently priced speakers for my apartment and discovering that the head sister at the hospital had misquoted the price of an incubator to the tune of about 1000 US dollars, square one appears to be my home away from home as far as this incubator is concerned.

Friday was a day of reading and recuperation, though by evening I felt well enough to join my French comrade and his entourage for a drink, whereupon I shared my recent discovery of my new favorite phrase and learned that traditional Cameroonian folklore also has a moralistic tale involving the tortoise, though in this version the lesson learned is that the slow moving (interpreted as pompous) turtle gets the ax for his pains (I’m afraid the particulars escape me). Numerous toasts were made as were plans to spend the next day in pursuit of aquatic sport.