Limbe!

What a weekend! The ocean has always held a special place in my heart. As a child I remember almost every family vacation was a trip to the beach, and I was always delighted by this. For me, the beach has always been a place where everything seems be ok, and everyone is enjoying themselves. I have countless memories of creating sandcastles with my Dad and brothers. I also fondly remember making sand traps that we would trick our younger sister, brother, and dog to fall into. As I grew older I only moved closer to the ocean, going from Maryland to San Diego. And with every trip I took abroad the beach was always a focal point of the experience, (except for maybe the trip to München, but that one had it's own merit, aye Cal?) So I had many reasons for choosing Cameroon, but a large one was knowing I would be posted in a village with reasonable coastal access. So with ten weeks of training arduously completed I was ready for a sea breeze and some tropical sunshine! What? Not so? I quickly learned that we were not allowed to request vacation or leave our post during our first three months of service as volunteers. Blasts! My plans were foiled again by Corps du la Paix! No matter, having time in village would be good for me, the last thing the community wants to see is a volunteer leaving before they even arrive.
But with integration coming along smoothly, and my three months penance paid, I was frothing (that one's for surfline) to get into some salt water. So after three hours of classes on Thursday and an afternoon spent at a staff social enjoying goat meat that had just been slaughtered less than 24 hours earlier, my mind was now on one thing, Limbe. I packed my bags and informed my neighbors I wouldn't be home for the weekend. I then headed to Bamenda, bought a roundtrip bus ticket, and sat for eight hours anxiously awaiting our arrival. As we neared our destination I saw Mount Cameroon for the first time, towering overhead, it's peak rising over 4000 meters. I think to myself how I have no interest in competing in the mountain race that takes place every year in February. I retired my running career after "Bay to Breakers." I'm sure Scott and Gabe remember how I gave one hundred and ten percent that day, but the race took quite a toll on me. So maybe I'll take a car to the top because I'm sure the views are spectacular. But struggling to breathe at high altitudes doesn't sound too enjoyable, especially while looking down at the ocean and seeing the alternative.
The bus stops and I get into a cab. After only a few minutes of driving, there it is. Beautiful Ambas bay, sparkling on the horizon. The rainforest covered mountains tumble down directly into the ocean. The edge of the bay is protected by many small offshore islands. We continue driving, pass many signs for local beach hotels, and then finally arrived at Tsaben Beach Hotel. Positioned right on the coast with it's own private beach, I couldn't ask for anything better.
Days start with an early morning swim, followed by a complimentary breakfast. Next is a late morning swimming, followed by a lunch of fresh shrimp, fish, or perhaps, barracuda. What next? Some more time in the ocean I guess. Exploring the coast, the volcanic black sand is quite a sight, and a single reminder of Mount Cameroon's volcanic nature. Cold streams empty continuously into the ocean up and down the beach. Just in front of the hotel is a rocky point. All indications suggest that this could make for a nice right hander when the swell picks up. The locals tell me that the season for waves is from February to May, so I'll be sure to be back for that, and likely even a few more times before. The water temperature is perfect, not too hot, while making swimming comfortable from early dawn to late evening. When the sun comes out, refuge can be taken under any of the coconut and other tropical trees that line the coast. Lying down under this canopy reminds me of Fiji and Bali. My evenings were spent enjoying a beer at the hotel restaurant while taking in the views. The setting sun, Mount Cameroon, Semme and Six Mile Beach, Ambas Bay. And oh yes, I can't forget the 3000 meter mountain just off the coast. Bioko island, owned by Equatorial Guinea, immediately sparked my interest. It sits as a massive rock in the Atlantic ocean. Apparently they take the same currency, and it would be nice to brush up on my Spanish, so a trip here is certainly in the works.
Unfortunately, as quickly as the weekend had come, it had gone. The three days spent were just what I needed, but they also left me wanting more. On the bus ride home I began allocating my vacation days and monthly spending allowance for future trips to this tropical paradise. I will also need to visit Kribi which is the other beach town in Cameroon. However, the bus ride is much longer and it's in a francophone region so I'll need to make sure my French is up to par. So while I'm sure I will certainly enjoy Kribi as well, Limbe will likely be the destination for many more weekend excursions to come while in Cameroon.

A Day in the Life

Wake up in the morning feeling like...... a Cameroonian. Although it's only three am, the rooster crow's are like clockwork. Only about three at this early hour. But at four there at now at least nine. And by five there must be 27, as even the late risers are singing their earlier morning song. Six o'clock comes and I hear the all too familiar screams of my young neighbor, which sound as if he is being strangled to death. And the way his wailing disturbs my slumber makes me want to strangle him to death. But apparently bucket baths are very painful when you are a child. Seven comes and I decide it is time for me to rise, or I guess roll out of my hammock. I turn on some dmb, ants marching, of course, and now I'm ready to begin the day.
As always, breakfast is very routine for me and is a meal I enjoy thoroughly. I wash  my plates and egg pan in buckets filled with soap and bleach. I then start the process of preparing a delectable spaghetti omelette. Eating this so often during training got me hooked. I was somewhat surprised to see that they weren't really available in the northwest. But after watching them being prepared countless times making them on my own was simple. Chopping up plenty of fresh pepe (Cameroonian jalapeños) and including heaps of onions gives it the flavors that I will remember Cameroon fondly by. After brekky I begin lesson planning for the little nuggets I'll be teaching later that day. After my physics notes are complete I sit on my porch in my bamboo chair for at least an hour, thinking, but not really thinking about anything. In these moments time almost stands still, but before I know it, time has flown by and it's time for me to walk to school. Along the way I greet my neighbors with a routine "good morning" and "how are you? " In the staff room I quickly converse with some of the other teachers, talking mostly about the weather and how the dry season is coming very soon. If we're lucky the electricity is working and we can watch the news to see the latest on Ebola and other engaging topics. I then march to the trenches, and attempt to teach physics to a bunch of uncontrollable teenagers for three hours. If I make it out alive I leave school and head to the village square to enjoy one of my favorite dishes, water foufou and erro. If I go for only a few days without having this I start to crave it insatiably. I should probably ask them to put slightly less black tar heroin in the fou fou. Once "my belly done flop" I begin the walk back to my house with a very full and satisfied stomach. I politely decline countless offers to join friends for a drink of palm wine and I explain I have classes to teach the next day. I return home and say hello to my landlord/neighbor. Our conversation, as always, establishes many redundancies. "You are coming back to the house?" "Yes, just coming home." "You are from school?" "Yes, I have taught for many hours today." "Good this is good, rain was threatening today but it did not come." "Yes, I think dry season is coming soon." "Yes, it will be here shortly, ok, I must collect the goats, next time." "Ok, see you." I enter my house, prepare for a French lesson I will going to shortly. As evening sets in I do some light cleaning around my house. To close out the day I return to my bamboo chair and play guitar. As the sun sets it paints the sky with a myriad of colors. Eventually Enyoh is covered in darkness. If we're lucky we have power, but the past four weeks were spent without it, so the village is used to getting along with "no light" as they say. Just before bed I'll read something or other, maybe grade some quizzes that I had given that day. As I go to sleep I think about how nice it is to have a day filled with such little stress. I then start to dream about a trip to Limbe which is soon to come.