And I did make an honest effort. I went to the market armed with my shopping list and my camera. I asked the tailor I've been going to, if I could take a picture of her in her shop. She said she wanted me to come back Tuesday (I guess she wanted to wear an even more beautiful pagne outfit). I left her shop and asked this little girl, if I could take a picture of her bean stand. She said sure, but she didn't want to be in the picture. Then, I walked up to the guy who has a shoe frip (like a thrift store). He has these shoes hanging down all tied together like a bead curtain or something. Really cool. I asked him if I could take a picture. When he asked why, I said that my mum was harassing me for pictures, because so far my pictures are just of ankle infections and cats. (Mentioning your mom here is almost a surefire way of getting market ladies to like you, sadly it doesn't seem to work as well with the menfolk...)
He said sure and I backed up to take my picture, preparing to take 50 million to get one clear picture (I am really not good at taking pictures), when all of a sudden, this guy comes yelling at the shoe guy. "What's she paying you? You're letting her take a picture? She needs to motivate you!" (motiver=bribe) "She's going to go back to Europe and sell that picture for a lot of money! She's going to be rich! What's she giving you?" At which point, I step in and start - yelling is the wrong word - speaking up for myself. "I'm not European! I'm American! I'm a volunteer; I'm here to teach, not to make money! It's forbidden for me to make money! Anyway, no one would ever buy one of my pictures! I'm taking these to show my family what my life is like here!"
But the damage was done. The shoe guy looks at me and says, "Yeah, what are you going to give me?" What I really wanted to do was give him two choice words in English and a hand gesture to match, but instead I said, "I'm giving you nothing!" and stalked off.
I'd like to say that I made a great exit, but when you promptly burst into tears, when the spice lady asks you what happened...it tends to ruin the effect. Don't you hate when people are nice to you, when you are just trying to be mad and keep yourself together? Well, we'll see how the shoe guy feels about a good old-fashioned American boycott. So there.
To continue in the vein of Beth expressing herself well in French despite high levels of stress...
The other morning after possibly the worst night of sleep that I've had in country (including the night of the mice and the night of the mystery thing falling from the sky), my neighbor woke me up. I had spent the night before tossing and turning and being wide awake every few hours despite the use of Benadryl. I woke up before 5 and read for a while and managed to fall asleep again around 7. It was my day off.
I was having this wonderful dream, rivaling even the infamous Candyland dream. I had taken a hot shower and was using a fluffy warm towel and walking on the beach (not sure why the beach was between the shower and my wardrobe, but whatever). It was sunny and breezy and the sun was hot. I wasn't wearing sunglasses or a hat and I wasn't squinting. It just continues in that vein, but basically paradise.
I wake up to my neighbor POUNDING on my gate. I get up, get decent, unlock my two front doors and open my gate. My neighbor isn't even there anymore! His cousin is standing there and says to me, "Alain wants to take out the car."
I ask him very politely, "Where is Alain?" I might add that I did nothing to minimize the crazy bloodshot eyes, wild bed head, rumpled clothes and grinding teeth.
Alain finally moseys over to greet me and ask me, if he can get out the car. In reply, to his "ca va? I say "Ca ne va pas. You woke me up. It was not the first time. You know I don't sleep well. This house is in the middle of three bars. This is exactly why I don't want the car in the compound in the first place and it's constantly messing me up. The last time he wanted to put the car away, he said that he would return at 11 and I waited until 2, so I left late for Bertoua. Eleven needs to mean eleven! And we need a new system, where he gives me at least a day's notice to take out the car."
The whole time that I am going on my grammatically correct tirade, he's standing there (bad word) SMILING AT ME. You know - the you're-so-cute-when-you're-mad smile. There is nothing in the world that makes an already angry person feel like steam is coming out of their ears like that look. I spent the entire rest of the day in a funk.
And now to end this thing on a positive note... Using some Legally Blonde logic ("Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people don't shoot their [neighbors]. They just don't!"), I decided that I would start working out. It makes you feel better, it takes up time and it relieves in Mambo guilt that you might be feeling.
I have honestly not been having the best of days, but do you know what? I am in a great mood. George farted in my face and I just laughed about it (and promptly put George down and left the immediate vicinity). I got a new schedule at school today and griped about our new crappy schedules with a coworker and I was sorta pumped to gripe with someone. I still have ringworm, but I also made some beautiful eggs over easy this morning and didn't break the yolks.
I'm having a good day and ain't nothing gonna spoil it.
...not even accidentally gifting a stranger 10,000CFA of phone credit.
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