Sick...sick...SICK!

I am totally sick. Body aches, wheezing cough, the works. I've been getting sick gradually over the past few days, but today it is coming to a climactic ending (hopefully). I kept dancing really hard with the kids even though I was sick, pumping myself up with ibuprofen and caffeine. But now it's time to rest. I'm in bed.

I suppose I'm writing because I need sympathy...knowing someone will read this and feel sorry for me makes me feel better I suppose. I need a Mom and chicken soup!

I'm just praying that it's not malaria. The elbow, hand and knee aching is making me slightly nervous...those are the telltale symptoms when I get malaria. I should probably just go get the meds for malaria and see if that makes me better. If it does, it's malaria, if it doesn't, its not. Malaria has so many forms and variations you can never be sure. As long as it's not cerebral malaria I'm not worried (you either die or end up crazy for life with that fun strain of the disease).

So I'm in my little room slash library right now, breathing in the mildewy smell that's always here. I've lit a candle and I'm listening to the Out of Africa soundtrack for probably the five thousandth time. It always calms me and makes any situation seem more "epic" than horrible.

All day yesterday, last night until 12, and this morning I've been the cleaning dictator. Our house is so infested with mice. We unloaded the pantry last night...I held back gags from the smell of rodent urine. But I bought these little square bucket things to re-organize everything in there. It's the BEST feeling to know where everything is in this crazy house. We have collected SO much junk over the years.

We labeled, organized, stacked and packed and it was so therapeutic for me. Decorating and organizing are two ways I relieve stress (apart from dance). We filled box after box with clothing, pencils, toys, you name it. I decided to figure out what to do with all of it, and the best solution was to deliver it to all of our "outside" families and the children of our employees. We got rid of like ten huge boxes filled to the brim with stuff that will be put to good use. We also filled tons of large garbage bags with useless broken crap and stuff that was destroyed by the mice.

AHHHHHHHH that was the best feeling. Goodbye clutter!

Yesterday I found out something about Joel's abusive past at his former orphanage that still has me angry. The woman owner's grandson, Bebeto, was a bully to all of the other kids. He'd get school lunch money, none of them would. He'd regularly blame others for things he did and they would be beaten.

Raissa was laughing as she told this story--even after four years it is a process of teaching kids about what constitutes abuse. Joel also smirked as she told the story.

Well, one night Joel was sleeping very deeply as he always has, and his mouth was open. Bebeto proceeded to urinate into his mouth. Joel woke up and had been subjected to yet another child-to-child abusive incident.

Raissa and Joel thought this was funny. Undoubtedly, in their former world and the typical Cameroonian child's world, this is hilarious. But, of course, this is not funny and it is disgusting abuse.

I was just discouraged looking at Joel last night and knowing that the first six years of his life were spent as a helpless victim of whatever came his way. I was angry inside. I have been pretty good with the anger since I've been back. It's just driving and being outside of the house that get me steaming.

Yesterday I was in the center of a traffic jam too ridiculous to even begin to describe. I happen to be white and driving a blue bus that says Japan on the sides, so I became the focal point for the other drivers' anger. Racist shouts and shaking fists and the works were all going strong. The favorite phrase is, "Is that how they drive in Europe?"

Oh, hell, I could come up with SO many good replies to that one but I don't. I want to remain in one piece.

I try and smile and be obnoxious to these people instead of returning their anger or yelling back. But it takes all the self-control I can muster. I just get tired of not ever, ever, ever being able to just stroll or relax when I'm in public. Apparently in other African countries you can do this with ease, but not in Cameroon, or at least, not in Yaounde.

I just finished reading the book Fahrenheit 451. Great book, excellent reading for someone like me who lives under an African dictatorship (or anyone in the world of today, for that matter). I the palace yesterday and remembered, once more, that I'm not in Kansas anymore. What kills me is that this sort of thing (abhorrent palaces) is accepted as normal--just as the injustices inflicted upon the people in Farenheit 451 were accepted as normal.

"On va faire comment?" Is the phrase in Cameroon.

"What can we do?" Cameroon's equivalent to "Hakuna Matata."

I do NOT believe in Hakuna Matata. I belive in "DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!"

I'm done writing and I'm pretty much convinced that this is no longer a cold but Malaria. The bones between my hand knuckles and my finger knuckles hurt--that's not a good sign. Hakuna Matata! Errr, wait, I'm going to a pharmacy right now. Bye.