buea

The prevailing odor is a hybrid: diesel exhaust, cook fire smoke, massive mildew, mothballs, body odor and  unidentifiable spices, all in fluctuating proportion. Catbird understands why, though.  Rattly old cars, thermal inversion, poverty, rainy season, and cold water hauled from a community spigot in a big plastic antifreeze container in the foothills of Mount Cameroon.

The ultra-quick-dry-fabric pants and blouse Catbird rinsed on Tuesday night are still not dry on Thursday night.   And the cold shower that first night (though we've had plenty of hot since) increase her compassion for hygiene challenges.

Actually, once she got past her middle-American conditioning for deodorant and scented shampoos, Catbird realized that much body odor is just that: natural odor of the body.  Consider the sweet, salty smell of a clean horse barn.  Catbird loves this smell from her youth and most of what she's getting more like that. Sure a few street people bring tears to the eyes, but that just reminds her of the drag in Austin.

Human odor is not so much offensive as it is foreign to Catbird's experience.   Catbird herself is not likely to go native any time soon--at least not as long as her clothes and the hot water at the Residence Hotel hold out. But she is developing a tolerance.

 Catbird may smell okay but she is the most under-dressed woman on campus.  Even the women cleaning out the drain culverts by the side of the road with their little bundles of sticks are wearing bright colors, big earrings; most are wearing skirts and blouses.  Catbird brought some nice things to wear, but this relentless rain, rain, rain and subsequent mud (it does remind one of Indiana spring--without the peonies and fried green tomatoes) have kept her in baggy quick-dry fabric travel slacks and waterproof hiking shoes.  Can you say frumpy?  Catbird can say comfortable.

When school starts on Sunday, though, Catbird will put on big earrings, her new black skirt, a bright blouse and sandals.  And will pray her feet don't go out from under her.  On campus, even the best walkways are mossy and slick, and today all are generously puddled.

The University of Buea campus has sweeping grounds between buildings so there is plenty of walking to do.  The campus sets back from the road and has lovely flora and fauna which make this place an oasis.  The rest of Buea is one long road up the mountain with shops and shacks and stalls leaning shoulder to shoulder and pushed right up against the edge of the pavement.  Trash and construction debris and chickens and children and food grilled on oil drums and pedestrians crossing and hailing rides make it colorful and chaotic.   And a little intimidating.

Catbird really had no idea she was such a Victorian prude about civilization until landing in Cameroon.  There are no words for the smack in the face of chaos that is the Douala airport.   Catbird can only say she came away with a very powerful understanding of how much she values the order of her own culture, no matter how schizophrenic it may be.  The beauty of signs explaining purpose!  Public facilities designed with at least some understanding of egress, entrance and traffic patterns!  Oh, and a nod to the layout that serves the function of the space.  Even (and it pains Catbird to admit this) the wonder and glory of security personnel who help keep things in order.  The accepted, though occasionally bucked, tradition of waiting in line...ah.  It's the little things that bring it home.  

Tonight 18 dewy-eyed fellow facilitators for the school arrive at Douala Airport.  Catbird is waiting up for them though they won't arrive until midnight.  They might be whiffy from their travels, but Catbird won't mind.  We'll be like war buddies.