My life in the nursing home.

View of the Church from my apartment.

When I first stepped foot in my new apartment, I was shocked.  It was like being back in America.  In fact, this apartment is far nicer than either of my apartments in Montreal were (though my former roommate Becca so aptly stated, “it isn't difficult to find a place nicer than the Unicorn Brothel”).  With high ceilings, clean tiled floors, broom closets and cabinets galore, real spring mattresses (as opposed to the flimsy foam that sinks down in the middle), hot running water and flushing toilets – I feel spoiled.  I'm living the high live in the Peace Corps.

My dining room.  (Severely lacking decorations)

It’s definitely a big change from my cozy little house in Sanguéré-Paul, where I had a bucket-flush toilet with barely enough water to flush, rationed myself to 1.5 liters per bucket-bath, and could not find a way to keep everything from being covered in dust.  I loved that house and I had actually gotten quite used to that lifestyle; I began to enjoy going about my evenings by candlelight during our frequent week-long power outages.  I was eager for more of the same: I was fully prepared to be sent to a village with no water or electricity.   But now as I’m sitting here at my polished-wood dining room table, fresh and clean after a scalding hot shower, I’ll admit that I’m quite comfortable… I certainly wont complain!

But enough about my super awesome new amenities... 

When I leave my apartment, I’m surrounded by nicely manicured lawns and vibrant blossoming flower beds, and there is nobody else to thank but God himself.  No, but really... I live within a Catholic congregation.  My landlord is a nun:  Sister Albertine.

The central feature of Akono is its enormous Catholic Church, built in 1933 by Alsatian missionaries.  The church is central both in the fact that it significantly shapes the economy and culture of the village, and also in the fact that it literally is in the center of town, towering high above the treetops, visible from nearly everywhere within the village.

A cutesy little grotto honoring "Fada Stoll", the founder of College Stoll.

On the church grounds, other than the elegant gothic-style church (fully equipped with stained-glass windows and church bells that are rung on the hour), one can find the College Stoll – a prestigious (and outrageously priced at 124,000-215,000CFA for non-boarding students, and 354,000-455,000CFA/year for boarding students, while public school is 27,500CFA/year) private school created by a Canadian missionary, none other than Father Stoll himself – lodging for various priests and nuns, a dispensary/small clinic (directly opposite my apartment), and my new home: la Maison Sara.

Maison Sara (AKA chez moi)

The first time I visited Maison Sara, about a week before officially arriving in Akono, my impression was “Florida retirement community meets Cameroon.”  Maison Sara is essentially a nursing home – a concept that I didn’t know existed in Cameroon.  The dozens of bedrooms are filled with elderly Cameroonians, doted on by attentive nurses.  These elderly men and women, who have apparently been abandoned by their families, are found by the Minister of Social Affairs, though I’m unclear as to how they are found or selected to be sent to Maison Sara.

Between living at Maison Sara and living across from the clinic, I’m surrounded by incredibly kind and caring people.  Everyday, I am greeted by octogenarians in wheelchairs and by nurses with smiling faces.

The old folks are great, as old folks always are.  There’s Jean-Baptiste, still quite able to care for himself and always proud to tell me that he has just come from his job of ringing the church bells: 6AM, 12PM, 6PM.  Then there are the two squabbling men who fight for my attention: one eager to teach me Ewondo, the other eager to relive his Maroua glory days by practicing Fulfulde with me.  Whenever I throw a “usoko sobajo!” or a “sey yeeso” into the conversation, the Ewondo man pretends to beat the Fulfulde man with his cane.  I like to think of it as our fun little bit (though I also am taking note that I really ought to learn some more Ewondo phrases before I actually cause a riot!)

The second floor of Maison Sara is not for old folks, however.  This is where my apartment can be found, along with a few other studio apartments rented out to the public.  I only know one of my neighbors on this floor: a friendly male nurse who will be moving out next Monday.

I’m really enjoying life in the nursing home.  I think it suits me well.  Sure, when you leave church grounds, it feels just like Cameroon again, just like any other village.  But once I am back within my little congregation, I am back at home: back in my comfort zone, where everybody knows my name, where old folks will be waiting on the veranda to greet me with smiles and firm handshakes, where the nurses and nuns will be sure to look out for me.  “Vous etes chez vous, chez nous!”  I’m thinking sometime in the future, we can have weekly bingo nights and wheelchair races (is there a category on my VRF for that?); I’m sure I’ll be able to find at least a couple of willing participants!

I’m also fairly certain that there’s a “help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!” button next to my bed, so that definitely can’t hurt...