Left-over Roadkill Casserole

This week's entry is a collection of fresh and semi-fresh paragraphs that I've written that just didn't seem to fit anywhere in previous entries (hence the title). Some of the thoughts are half-baked or of questionable palatability. Highlights and lowlights of the week were the staff Christmas party, indigestion from the staff Christmas party, working extended holiday hours filling in for someone, watching a LOT of movies by  myself, and spending Christmas evening eating and playing ping-pong with American friends. Nothing noteworthy enough of filling an entire blog entry, so instead enjoy this steaming heap of miscellany (sans photos this week, sorry).

The other day I was flipping through channels on the waiting rooms and found an episode of American Pickers. It's one of my favorite shows (behind Love it or List it) so I stopped to  watch. It didn't take me long at all to realize that it was dubbed over in French! Not sure why, but it just struck me as funny that that show would have any appeal to people who aren't from the U.S. I guess it's especially odd in Africa, where people have so few possessions, to imagine them watching a TV show where guys go to houses and dig through piles, even buildings full of stuff that people hoard! Quite a dichotomy.

Turns out making friends here is hard. Let me rephrase that: Making authentic friends here is hard. By no fault of my own, my white skin shows up to Cameroonians as dollar signs. Often times total strangers come up and are nauseatingly friendly, offering to take me places, wanting to meet again within the first 10 minutes of talking with them. Usually I see it coming and evade them, although it's difficult and awkward to blow them off or refuse when they ask for my phone number (I've actually told people I don't know my phone number). Girls will bat their eyelashes and make conversation. Eventually they get to the hard hitting questions though: Are you married? Do you have a girlfriend? Their intentions are obvious enough. Sometimes I fib a little and allude to having girlfriend. Makes things easier, and my conscience is clear. My future may be brighter than theirs, but my current situation isn't all that affluent: In the U.S. I don't have money, I owe money! Why do they think I left in the first place? (Joking, but also kind of not joking). Also worth small mentioning is the disparity in the cost of living here vs. in the U.S. Back when I still liked country music, there was a popular song about how you find out who your friends are. I didn't realize it until coming here, but that song has markedly shaped the way I define a friend. Somebody who's willing to drop everything to help you, expecting nothing in return, save for the knowledge that you'd do the same for them. I think the underlying issue is (not my past appreciation for country music, but) that few see me as a person just like them. I'll raise my hand and say I've done the same to others. Not proud of it, but now that I know how much it sucks, I'm working on it. There's one particular storeowner near the hospital whose name I don't even know. I'd call him a "friend". At least, our relationship is clearly defined. I enjoy talking with him, and I sometimes buy things. I'm a customer. He's a business owner. He's said before that he has nothing to offer me because he doesn't have the means. I like learning from him about Cameroon, he likes learning from me about America. It's simple: no games, no hidden agendas, no strings attached. He's the type of person I'd do a favor for because I like him. I imagine he might do the same for me. It's a start. Of course I trust my superiors at the hospital, and my coworkers to an extent, but outside of that and some other foreigners I've met, there aren't many friends to be had. It's discouraging, even heartbreaking at times, but it's something I'm coming to terms with. You really can't put a price on friendship. But boy, they're gonna keep trying.

I've noticed that around the holidays the taxi drivers here have gone from generally dislikable to total jerkwads. It's been impossible to flag a taxi, even empty ones wouldn't even stop to see where I'm going. The ones that did pulled over ask obscenely high prices to take me anywhere. Took 20 minutes to get a taxi to the Harris's place on Christmas Eve (for 400 francs - two people's fares basically), and I straight up had to walk all the way back from church this week. The few drivers I've ridden with lately have been quite unpleasant. My theory is that since it's Christmastime they feel deserving of some sort of a "Christmas bonus" and as such are self-entitled to charge extortionate prices. Kinda sucks the joy out of Christmas.

I'm toying with the idea of writing my daily journal entries by hand this month, just for fun. To see if it makes my journaling better or worse, or just different. I'll probably jot down less than I'd type, since typing's way quicker. I also would miss the ability to go back and edit and reedit all the time if I wrote by hand. I do that a lot. We'll see how that plays out I guess. Maybe I'll just commit to a week at first and then decide later about doing the whole month.

I've been keeping a list of stuff that I really miss in the U.S., hoping that I can look back on it and really appreciate it more when I'm home. Among the things on the list (in no particular order) are rock climbing, carpet, the taco truck near my house, driving, grilled cheese sandwiches, baths, baseball, comfortable chairs couches and mattresses, veggie meat, and feeling safe going out after dark. I'm worried that I will have picked up some bad driving habits when I return from all the taxi riding. If I get back and honk incessantly for no apparent reason, point, hiss, and whistle at hitchhikers, and am incapable of downshifting to first when slowing to a crawl, somebody stage an intervention. The hitchhikers and my transmission thank you in advance.

TL;DR Christmastime was a perplexing whirlwind of eat, work, party (Not to be confused with Eat, Pray, Love). And on New Year's Eve I ushered in 2016 by drooling on my pillowcase. Nothing really interesting happened in between, so I just threw in recent-ish paragraphs that I was saving for a place they'd fit better. Lightning round: Les Cueilleurs d'Amerique, African hucksters everywhere, taxi drivers with the charisma of a rhinoceros with hemorrhoids, flirting with writer's cramp, stuff I miss, and bad habits.