landa ban voya bafoussam douala

jean pierre sat down at the table with us after bringing our drink to have fried pork riblets and liver with plantains the group of men walking by in a festive mood had disposable cups promoting the sale of trente trois beer and some ladies dressed in black showed up, with equal volition to drink. down the road on opposite sides of the street were being held a funeral and a homecoming party for all the natives of bandjoun. it always happens that the day i pick to wash my clothes is a rainy day. from now on i will pick nights. today i skipped the potentially four-hour long french-ghomala bilingual assumption day mass-my mother claimed there would be many priests there-i made myself scarce as everyone was dressing up.

last night i went to a first communion paty. they had the boy dressed in an all white robe ornately embroidered then all the family friends and the priests. for a party here you put chairs lined against the walls, one table full of whisky, wine and beer, one table full of food, then people serve themselves in order of age and societal status. first the preacher, then the elders, then the foreigners, etc. it was a magnificent feast counting much fried fish heads, hard-boiled eggs, batons de manioc, chicken necks and wings fresh bread, and atchu with pounded taro.