You know how I've mentioned 'Posh Corps'? My house is totally a Posh Corps house. It may actually be nicer than where I lived in the US. It's definitely bigger and has newer appliances.
My house here has two spring mattresses - twin-sized and by their powers combined form a three person bed (that's what they say in French, lit à trois places). Someone recently suggested sharing it with my two Cameroonian boyfriends and I experienced a weird sense of déjà vu. When I was in France, I talked about wanting two French boyfriends to save on heating costs. I don't foresee needing two Cameroonian boyfriends to keep me warm so close to the equator, even though I have actually used my sleeping bag almost every night.
My kitchen is a "modern kitchen." I have two sinks, a stove with electric and gas burners, an oven, a chest freezer, and a MICROWAVE. The microwave doubles as a mouse safe house - not in the sense that it's a home for mice, who are in the witness protection program; it is a place to store all my valuables like peanut butter, almonds and Nutella that covetous mouse burglars can sell for many francs CFA in the black mouse market.
To continue describing my home and provide one of many inadequate excuses for not updating my blog, I will share a story:
One of my first nights in my house, the electricity was out and I had not yet purchased my gas tank, so I ate a partially spoiled and leaking watermelon for dinner. Later that same evening, my favorite sister was talking to me on the phone and I was mentally preparing myself to brag about my dinner (ambrosia of the gods) and getting some bleach from the kitchen, when all of a sudden a terribly fast, dark streak sped from the counter to the stove toward me! My answer to my rhetorical remark, "Guess what I had for dinner?," was a bloodcurdling scream. That may have frightened my lady neighbors, who evidently sleep with their ears pointed toward my house. The reaction of my loving sister? "I'm guessing that's not what you had for dinner." No concern for my well-being. No worries about rabid monkeys climbing in my windows.
Since that fateful night, the mouse and I have become friends. As I ate the most beautiful omelette this world has ever seen, my little friend twitched its nose at me and then hid behind my microwave. It was a bonding experience that will last a lifetime.
Of course, the lifetime of the mouse (mice?) will be over fairly soon, because I intend to get a cat.
All good things must come to an end.
No comments:
Post a Comment