Sunday Run

Today I met the Melissa, Satan's Intern, and ran a new route.  Mel is very nice, and a talented worker, but she's evil -- in the best of all possible ways -- because she tries to run me into the ground whenever we hit the road.  I could claim a variety of excuses:  she ran for a Division I school for a couple of years; she's half my age; I'm out of shape.  But, instead, even as I curse her while trying to keep pace without exploding my internal organs, I admit that I'm inspired by running with someone I just can't keep up with.

Yet.  Of course, as on today's run, if she's run 10 miles the day before, and stayed up all night partying, I have an outside shot.  Here's today's run (You can follow along here; I'm still trying to copy these Google Map images to the page, without success. Hints welcome.) :

KM 1 - After meeting Melissa, we coast downhill past several supermarket, and find Yaounde surprisingly bustle-y for 7 on Sunday morning.
KM 2 - We pass one of the major traffic rond points, Nlongkak, and run through a cloverleaf that includes the only automotive underpass for miles around.
KM 3 - Ste. Anastasie park on the right; Old Mahima, our main supermarket, on the left.  We are early enough that the people who sell fake license plates aren't out yet.
KM 4 - The Lake.  It's an unnatural green, tinted by the runoff from the hills around it.  The Prime Minister's residence is somewhere on the other side.
KM 5 - Huffing and puffing up a long, twisty hill for the last kilometer, we're at the top, where the American School of Yaounde sits empty for another month.
KM 6 - What goes up ... a winding slope around the lake, past one of the Defense Ministry headquarters.
KM 7 - Boulevard of the 20th of May, the official promenade for big events.  The Hilton, the nicest hotel in town, is on this stretch.  We run by empty bleachers, and the screens where tonight fans will watch World Cup final.
KM 8 - There are a lot of supermarkets in this city, and that sharp curve was around Casino, the priciest - and nicest.  We pass a cathedral, before we hit a commercial zone (and an unpleasant uphill). I am running, mon ami. Why would I buy a soccer ball right now?
KM 9 - I'm winging it now, but it comes together.  We pass the park yet again, then run by China's gift to Cameroonian sports, the Palais du Sport. It looks like a mini Bird's Next from the Beijing Olympics.
KM 10 - It's all uphill from here on out.  I warn that there's a rise for a third of a mile, but I'm optimistic.  We have to dodge people at an impromptu taxi stand at the Total gas station here.
KM 11 - We stop at Tsinga plaza, where an exercise school of about 40 people is gathering for calisthenics on a hard, brick courtyard.  Melissa and I are going in different directions, so this ends the official part of our run.

It's a good way to start the day, and I was very happy to be back home by 9, in time to shower and take a nap before the rest of the world was fully awake.  I like making up new routes, and will have to do that again.  I'll also have to be sure Satan's finest is good and tired before we head out.

More Than a Mommy

It's Mother's Day, and our girls joined in a musical celebration of their mom's ... maternity.  

Here are the girls after they joined Dad in a tribute to Mom, to the tune of Tavares's disco smash, "More Than a Woman."

Mom I’ve known you very well

You see me growing every day

I never cleaned my room before

But now I put my toys away

You’ve always been here in my life

Telling me what to do

You’re always working day and night

You show me what I need to do. 

Here in my room I found my paradise

I get to laugh and play with you

And if I don’t listen, I get a time out

I’ll stop acting like a baby

I will act all right 

I’ll grow up to be like you and I’ll be just fine

You are more than a mommy

More than a mommy to me

More than a mommy

More than a mommy to me 

You read me stories yes you do

Of moons and dinosaurs 

You do so many things you like

You even like to mountain bike

You cook, you shop, you play your games

You teach me how to paint and write

I know when I do something wrong

You’d teach me how to do it right

You are the best Mom I could ever have

You’re the only Mom I’ll ever know

And if I stub my toe, I know your kiss will heal

Say I’ll always be your baby

Say that you’ll be my mine

We will be together every minute of the time

You are more than a mommy

More than a mommy to me

More than a mommy

More than a mommy to me 

Fallen

It’s so bad that at this point I can’t even apologize for having fallen off the blog wagon. It’s May in Cameroon, and we’re already contemplating a triumphant return home for a few weeks, even as we plot out more sight and smells to see and ... well, smell.  

Watch this space, as I’ll be back-blogging for a bit to share the past few months, before taking off without signaling into the rond point of the future.  

February update

Hello, and happy March (almost). As most of the US is digging out from the snow, or has just stopped trying, we're happier here in Cameroon, because the dry season is finally coming to an end. Oh, mind you, even when the rains start, it will still be hot, but at least we'll get a break from the drilling sun and blazing, arid air. Yes, there's a downside: yesterday, Fatimah's tennis tournament was canceled. But if ever there was a city that needs a cleansing purge, its name is Yaounde. Also, there's a crippling water shortage, and while we're ok, up to 75% of the city doesn't have running water.

Aaliyah's continuing with school, and learning more and more. Each  week the teacher leads the class through a series of drills based on a series of something. We started the year with colors, and now we're up to W in the alphabet, and discussing a lot about recycling. Which, as Aly would explain, is when you use something more than once. Her swimming lessons are continuing, and she's making her way across the pool without anything to support her. It's a little scary to watch, actually, but so impressive.

Fatimah, as I mentioned, is taking tennis lessons -- the first time she's ever played! She and I have played a few times and we're about even at this point. But I played 30 years ago on the courts in back of the Burke estate, while she's learning and getting better every time. She's also taking aerobics twice a week, working more than part-time advising students on how to study in America, and in the thick of the play group rotations in the expatriate community. Oh, and she has a family. Whew! Fatimah took us on a work trip to Rwanda last month.

Zana is her own person now. She wants to do everything Aaliyah does, of course, but she also has her own defined likes and needs. One of her favorite things to do is to hop up from bed and roam the house at 9 pm, looking for someone to play with. She laughs, tells funny stories, and knows how to put crayon to construction paper. She's more  of a Dora the Exploradora girl in a Backyardigans household.

As for Steve, the struggles continue with the French: As Steve Martin said decades ago, it's like they have a different word for everything. The job is going well, and I have a niche in the Embassy that I'm trying to broaden to the American community here. I took us all on a work trip to Equatorial Guinea last month, a tiny republic off the coast of Cameroon. That's a passport stamp you don't see that often. Last week I ran 20 miles in a race. It took me 8 hours, but that's because the Race of Hope runs up and down Mt. Cameroon, the tallest volcano in the region!

We've joined the Skypeverse (FAMSBRAbroad), and we're continuing with our blog at http://famstecam.blogspot.com, though we're not updating as often as we'd like. Hope you can follow us there, or drop us a line. Look for Roysters and Mateen coming to country near you in May.

Steve, Fatimah, Aalilyah & Zana

Race of Hope, Part Deux

So I'm halfway up this mountain, right? And it's starting to hurt ...

Hut 2.5 started to separate the finishers from the rest.  By the time I got there, a half dozen runners were sleeping, flat on their backs, as the volunteers and soldiers assigned to assist made sure they didn’t roll back down the side of the mountain.  I had been walking for some time by this point, alternating 100 walking steps with 100, then 50, then 20 running strides.  But I passed on through - I figured that I’d only been out 3 and a half hours at that point, and if I hit a fourth wind, I could make up for my earlier sluggishness.  An hour later, though, with Hut 3 within screaming distance, I encountered a man walking down the mountain with a backpack.  Turns out he’d been manning Hut 3, and after a cold, lonely night on the mountain waiting for the runners, it was close enough to noon that he was calling it quits.  

He gently suggested that he wasn’t going to make it. Since he had been part of the race course, and he was going home, he probably had a point.  I sat and talked with him a bit, lightening his load by wolfing down bread and water, sharing some with the few stragglers still behind me.  In the end, though 4 more passed me, I called it quits, picked up a volcanic pebble, and began my descent.  

Even in defeat, the scenery was breathtaking.  The mountain is its own habitat, sequestered from the world below by its sheer elevation.  I chatted with an American who’d come from Nigeria to run the race.  We compared notes, then started to jog down ... and I couldn’t.  I was stuck halfway up a huge-ass mountain, and could no longer run.  With nowhere to go but down, those runners who had passed me and completed the ascent, passed me on the way back, leaving me once again at the back of the pack, this time above them all.  

Hut 1 had been a festival, volunteers gaily sharing water and cheers to those who’d dared climb so high.  Now, hours later and on the way down, it was a ghost village, with straggler voluneers packing in the last few empty water bottles. And on I trudged.  A gentle rain tapped the broad, flat leaves overhead as I re-entered the forested approach to the foot of the mountain.  At the lowest point, I stopped to relieve myself (at least I’d managed to stay hydrated) only to have a resident appear and scold me for going too close to a water well (I didn’t know it was still in use.  Really!).  I got lost trying to return to the roadway, then teamed with fellow tortoises for the last four twisting miles  to the stadium, and an unnoticed return.  I joined with a young girl who had made it to the top, and she and I entered the finish area together... and I roused the few standersby to clap for her as she crossed the arrivée line.  She deserved it... maybe in time, I will, too. 

Steve, Brad and Pedro

I found Brad and Pedro, who’d gone a little past Hut 1 before deciding this was a silly idea and returned to the start.  They’d made some friends, had some beer, and were baking in the sub-Sarahan sun.  I’d decided not to take my camera with me, fearing its weight would slow me down.  Hindsight, since I'd missed some spectacular scenery and could have shown a whole lot of people running past me.  

I ran about 20 miles, and returned to the start about 8 hours after I left.  I gave everything I had, but I didn’t make it.  I took a piece of the race and the mountain with me.  Who knows:  one day maybe I’ll put that pebble on the very top of Mt. Fako, and look down, and there will be someone behind me.