"Please, can we wash your floor??"

I’m pretty sure that no Cameroonian has ever uttered the phrase “none of your business”. The idea just doesn’t make sense here. Why would you ever want to keep an issue to yourself when it could be discussed, disputed, and argued about with everyone in the relative proximity? This facet of Cameroonian society has driven me crazy on more than one occasion (bus travel, anyone?), but it extends past minor disputes into the idea of personal space and living styles. To put it another way, most Cameroonians are fairly set on what constitutes an acceptable way to live, and by extension, what doesn’t.

            Partially because of this, I’m generally hesitant to invite Cameroonians into my home. It’s not that I’m a slob, but I generally prioritize comfort and practicality over compulsive cleanliness. I keep my dishes washed, my clothes clean, and (on good days) my bed made, but I just can’t see the need to have my floor spotless at all times. This is incomprehensible to all of the Cameroonians that have come to my house. In their opinion, floors should be swept compulsively and mopped (“dry-cleaned”) daily, if not more often. It’s quite inexpensive to hire someone to come clean, but I haven’t yet come to terms with this. It seems unnecessary to pay someone to do something that I’m perfectly capable of but have no interest in primarily for the sake of the few visitors that come by.

            One of the parts of Peace Corps service that I didn’t think to prepare for was all of the time Volunteers typically spend alone. Most of us (particularly female Volunteers) tend to be home before dark, and find ourselves with unprecedented amounts of time to pursue personal interests. Some people refer to these interests (and the way we occupy our time) as “coping strategies”, but I prefer to think about it as time to spend exactly how I choose. I generally spend my evenings in some combination of reading/learning guitar (this one’s new!)/binge-watching TV shows, but I’ve also spent quite a bit of time figuring out how to adapt my love of baking to Cameroon. Ingredients tend to be tougher to come by, recipes are borderline nonexistent, and I’ve only seen three working ovens since arriving in country (two in the homes of Embassy workers). It’s a fun challenge. A few friends and I even managed an apple pie a few weeks ago in honor of the 4^th of July.

            I don’t bake that regularly, but I almost always find myself giving my neighbors the majority of whatever I make. We’re all better off that way. The children in my neighborhood apparently feel comfortable enough with me that they’ve started requesting certain items, and my closest friends have taken it a step further and ask to help me in the creation. I usually let them, and it’s always been a lot of fun. So I didn’t think much of it when the kids next door asked if we could make cookies together sometime this week…until they followed it with “and then we can wash your floor!” Wait a minute. What’s this? I guess we have officially reached the point where my neighbors and friends feel comfortable telling me how they feel about my lifestyle and stepping in to help me as they see fit.

The next day my doorbell rang right on schedule and I looked down to see my neighbors standing outside looking eagerly back up at me. I had forgotten the floor-washing component of our plans (how could they possibly have been serious?) and asked them what kind of cookies they wanted to make. One of the girls, Louise, responded that they would start with the floors, and only after they were acceptably clean would there be time with cookies. After I picked my jaw up from the floor, we got to work. Another neighbor girl, Asmahan, came in to join the fun and asked me if she could wash my shoes while the others worked on the floor. I swear that I am not making any of this up. So the two of us scrubbed my shoes and made my bed (the “Cameroonian way”, which is strikingly similar to the American way). Before I knew it, my floor was gleaming, my shoes were no longer caked in mud (rainy season is rough!) and it was time to begin making cookies.

We decided on toffee bars, and got to work. As I think I’ve mentioned in earlier posts, there isn’t really a baking culture in Cameroon, so every new recipe we try is an adventure. This attempt was more successful than some, and we finished our afternoon with two pans of chocolate-coated toffee bars and a clean apartment. Not a bad way to spend a rainy afternoon.