I've Got the Magic in Me

15-10-11

They say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but what about a woman’s? Food is central to life, and America uniquely appreciates diversity of food. It says a lot about America that food-wise, we rely so much on other cultures to color our cuisine. We’ve shrunk down the full world into the bits and pieces of tastes that fit our palate, and it’s one of the things I love the most about America: there is always room for something new at the table (literally and figuratively.)

Before coming to Cameroon, I heard that Cameroonian food wasn’t good—too starchy, too tasteless, too repetitive. Some days, or really for long stretches of days, I’m inclined to agree: it’s easy to complain about food you didn’t grow up with and that just doesn’t hit your need for comfort. After a long, frustrating day, there’s nothing I want more than tomato soup, grilled cheese, and a giant bowl of Moose Tracks ice cream. Despite that, since being here, I’ve found there are those days where the food is nothing less than magical: perfectly spicy, packed with just the right combination of vegetables, and makes you feel positive about life. Tonight was one of those nights, and this is my ode to Poisson Feu.

So, why do I always find myself writing about food in every entry? Probably because food is so indicative of life-style: how and what you eat tells a story about who you are. When you actually think about it, it’s pretty amazing. I’m in Cameroon, eating Cameroonian dishes—heck, eating papayas that come from a tree in my front yard and eggs that come from the hen house just in front of the papaya tree in my front yard. No matter how hard I tried to do so in the US, it just wasn’t possible to eat this fresh and organic. Even though I’m living my dream (food-wise), I still find myself whining about this food, that food, and the other—a metaphor for my life at large in Cameroon. I’m hitting a point with Cameroon where I’m viewing it for what it is, instead of what I want it to be or what I think it should be: the rose-tinted glasses are becoming more transparent.

There are lots of things that are imperfect about Cameroon, just as there are lots of things that are imperfect about every country in our beautifully diverse and mystical world. I’m not an expert, and I’m not in the place to tell you everything that’s wrong with Cameroon—I would never venture that on the US, either. What I can say, though, is that my experiences in Cameroon have plenty of imperfections as well, little things that just don’t fit my desires. Our electricity has been off since the election, meaning that there’s no such thing as a cold drink anywhere (and after playing soccer or studying French, that’s all any of us want) and I’m literally getting dressed in the dark every morning. It’s frustrating to feel like the Captain Obvious of language, I’d love to have a personality and to be able to crack jokes in French. Having little siblings that want to touch everything, and don’t want to let you stir your own hot chocolate. The flip side to that reality, though, are those truly magical moments… just like the moment when you first taste Poisson Feu. Moments I see ducks bathing in the giant puddles in the road, chickens wandering around the backyard of the Peace Corps Training Center, teach my siblings what Rock/Paper/Scissors is, seeing the unbelievably clear night sky, finding within my training group another camp counselor who knows the same hand claps I do, doing laundry while grooving to American music. These magical moments are everywhere in Cameroon as long as I choose to see them, and with Poisson Feu at my side, why shouldn’t I?

PS. Update—electricity came back on today (the 16th.) What an excellent birthday present J