Une Journée de ma Vie

This last week I hopped in a bush taxi and drove up to Nkongsamba, a larger town just 30 minutes outside of my village in Manjo. I had a package awaiting me at the post and also looked forward to doing a little bit of shopping in their market which is a bit more plentiful than the daily choices my market mamas sell in village.
When I know that a package or even a letter awaits me at the post I am filled with anticipation and excitement like a kid on Christmas day. So as I arrived at the post and realized my package was being held ransom by the women in the post office for a total of several hundred US dollars you can imagine how quickly deflated and distraught I become, knowing that the value they were asking me to pay was much more than the worth of the package. Now I have to say this has never happened to me, I have never once had to pay what was being called a “typical customs tax” and this may have to do with the fact that listed on the inventory of the package was that electronics where packed inside. So please don’t think that if you ever were to send me a package in the future I would run into these problems, just make sure you list magazines or chocolate rather than anything that may be of value;) Anyway, I quickly began to question the women demanding the money and asked for all of the official paperwork as to why I was suddenly being taxed when neither myself, nor any of my friends had ever been taxed for receiving a package, let alone at a ridiculous price of several hundred dollars. When they refused to allow me to make copies or to even take a closer look at the “official papers” I quickly realized the issue at hand was more of an issue of where the money would be going. As they say here, someone was trying to “mange l’argent” literally translated to “eat money” a term used to describe issues of corruption that unfortunately are all too common place. When I mentioned my suspicions and frustrations with viewing issues of corruption in this country (while trying to be careful that they didn’t think I was specifically blaming them)the women became very argumentative and quite retaliatory telling me if I see corruption as a problem to “rentre chez moi” or “go back to where I came from.” I literally was so frustrated at this point I thought I was going to cry and decided I needed some time to calm down before I could decide what my next course of action would be.
So, from the post office I walked to the boulangerie in town that has a small café to sit down and have a cup of tea and begin to calm down. When who would walk in but my village fou(crazy) who had apparently followed me up to Nkongsamba and then into the café where he sat down next to me and began yelling loud enough for all around to hear how he had filed paperwork at our town hall for our marriage. Oh my goodness could this day get anymore ridiculous!?! After ignoring and pretending I didn’t hear him speaking to me, my crazy finally left and I took the long route back to find a bush taxi so we wouldn’t end up in the same one. After arriving back in village that afternoon I must admit I treated myself to a few hours of silence and solitude on my balcony reflecting on the crazies and the corrupt who each in their own way create a colorful and captivating life for me here in Cameroon.