Best. Day. Ever.

Thursday morning I woke up 10 minutes before my alarm went off, got up and went to go meet Katie at the base (training center) for our 6am morning run. Katie is my super badass friend from Chicago who runs marathons... for fun. I'm more of a 1.5-miler myself, so long as those grueling 1.5 miles are run on a treadmill at 6.0 miles per hour and set to the tune of a bumpin GaGa/ GirlTalk/ Jay-Z playlist on my iPod. Soooo yeah me, the non-runner, and my running buddy, the marathoner, have been going on 20-30 minute morning runs this week. Needless to say, she's been toning down her intensity for my sake, but it's been really awesome for me! Ha. So as I am walking to the base, I run into Charla's grandma setting up her shop on the main road. Charla's grandma is probably the cutest and sweetest old woman ever, and she has a roadside stand where she sells food, namely nut balls. Nut balls are basically the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. Ever. Grandma calls them "caramels" but the more endearing title of "nut balls" has stuck with all of us whiteys. They are basically little balled up clusters of caramelized honey and crushed peanuts, and quite possibly where the phrase "little pieces of heaven" derives from. So all week I had been asking Gma when she was going to have more nut balls, since she's been out of stock. She hadn't had time to make them this week, but promised that she'd have them soon. So this morning, as I am on my way to meet up with Katie, I pass by gma's stand and wish her a good morning, and she gleefully informs me that she has nut balls for me today! That was all the motivation I needed to tough out that mornings run. After the run, I hurried home at 630, took an oh-so-refreshing bucket bath, dressed, and then sat down for breakfast. I unscrewed the ovaltine container, having accepted my caffeine-deprived fate many moons ago, and was ready to spoon out the earthy pseudo-chocolate-flavored granules, when I noticed that the ovaltine container was actually full of nescafé packets! 10 whole packets of caffeinated gloriousness! I squealed with delight, ecstatic to discover that my many mornings of ovaltine consumption had finally paid off in the best imaginable way. I relished each sip of my nescafé nectar-of-the-gods instant coffee, admiring the way it enhanced the flavor of my morning omlette and baguette. Once I was fully satiated, I packed up my bag and headed off to go see Charla's grandma about some nut balls. It took everything in me not to break out into a skip upon spotting the lime green-lidded container full to the rim with nut balls, but I managed to maintain a steady pace as I approached gma, albeit probably sporting a crazed smile and glassy eyes. Charla's gma put down the sandwich she was making for another client when she saw me and started filling a plastic bag with nut balls. I told her I wanted 200CFA's worth, so she gave me eight and then threw in an extra, therein solidifying our status as BFFs. I tucked away my treasures and continued on my way to la base. Nurse Ann was scheduled to give a Med talk first thing Thursday morning, and what a talk it was. Nurse Ann was wearing her sassy face, as per usual, and the PowerPoint slide behind her informed us of the days subject matter: STIs and HIV/AIDS. For the next two hours, we listened in horror as Nurse Ann described in great detail the perils of sex, flashing graphic image after graphic image before our eyes, and doling out solid advice such as "Semen in mouth. Dangerous. Just don't do it." and "Don't bite down when using your dental dams." Other highlights included a condom relay race, where teams raced to properly roll on and off condoms on generously proportioned rubber penises, and generating a list of non-STI-transmitting activities (i.e. hugging). What a way to start up training for the day! The rest of the day consisted of dubs language classes and then our weekly GM (general meeting). After GM, I went home and suited up for fútbol! By the time I had walked all the way home, changed, and then walked all the way back (in the midday heat mind you!), I had passed glistening (without collecting $200) and had moved right on into downright schvettayyy. I kid you not, FOUR people asked if I had just gone on a run, to which I replied "nope just a leisurely walk to my house and back..." I had no choice but to get in on the soccer game, if for no other reason than to justify my profuse perspiration. We were quite the melange of trainees/ trainers/ staff, Americans/ Cameroonians, skilled soccer players/ otherwise skilled athletes/ and me, a category of my own. I had such a blast playing though! Once I had sweat to the point of no return, I decided to call it a day and headed home. For dinner, we had boiled plantains and a delicious peanut fish sauce (don't knock it til you try it) followed by the BEST! PINEAPPLE! EVER! Oh my gosh it was so out of this world good. Better than Costa Rican piña if you can imagine. My mom informed me that Bafia is known to have the best pineapple in Cameroon. Omnomnom. We have been without power for most of this week, so that tragically means no Fille de la Jardiner soap opera. Last I saw, my sweet Alfredo had fallen out of his wheelchair. I am sick with worry not knowing if someone helped him up or not. I anxiously await the return of our power simply to get my soap back in my life. Other than that life without power at our house has gone swimmingly. I am well-versed in oil lantern use by now, plus I came prepared with my trusty head lamp, which I used this morning to apply my mascara. Skills. I have been literally getting dressed in the dark, but it's whatevs because so has everyone else- no shame in the game. I busted out a shirt that I hadn't yet worn this week, and got at least twenty compliments on it. We are all pretty much well-versed in one another's extremely limited wardrobes now that we are three weeks in, so a new piece of clothing is a show-stopper. Also, I have been living without access to a full-length mirror for three weeks now, and it is doing WONDERS for my self-confidence! All I have is a 6 inch round mirror that I brought with me, and the one mirror in the bathroom at the training center thats shoulder-height. Out of sight, out of mind. Holla. So yes that was my BEST! DAY! EVER! I'd like to thank Nescafé and nut balls and Nurse Ann for making it possible.

In other news, I had to throw in the towel on my laundry strike. My perspiration rate paired with my unparalleled ability to spill food on myself pretty much maxes me out at two weeks. However, when I finally did laundry yesterday I realized that two weeks worth of dirty clothing is a week too many. Even with the help of my sister, I spent hours slaving away over mud, spilled peanut fish sauce, and residual morning run sweat. By the time I finished, my inner left wrist seared in pain where I had used it as a washboard. You see, Cameroonians have this very methodical and precise way of washing their clothing, which consists mainly of this one movement which employs the inner left wrist as a washboard of sorts, creating copious amounts of friction which my fragile wrists are clearly incapable of supporting- ESPECIALLY when doing two weeks worth of laundry. My sister praised me for learning the method so quickly, thereby making me extra zealous as I proudly displayed my new skill to the world, and now I literally have battle wounds, which serve as vivid and painful reminders that laundry is a WEEKLY activity, if not bi-weekly. Lesson learned.

And on a final note, I am now obsessed with riding motos. They are my fam's only mode of transportation apart from walking, which suits me just fine. My mom is a pro at hailing a moto. We can be two city blocks off of the main road, and with a hiss and a flick of her wrist, she has magically summoned three different motos vying for her business. Relevant cultural note: to hail a moto, you either hiss, fold your fingers into your palm, or do both at once. Moto drivers have a supernatural sense of hearing, which allows them to hear a hiss over the roar of their moto engine. Another relevant cultural note: when riding a moto, you sit back and rest your hands on your knees, or if you must, grip the metal frame on the back of the seat; you do NOT wrap your arms around your moto driver and cling to his windbreaker-clad torso for dear life... Like I did the first time...

That's all for now. Stay tuned americanos.

xoxo