June 30: Is equality good?

I am like a teenager with my driver’s permit in hand. Freedom! I try to get to the downtown area but get hopelessly lost, which is not a bad thing. I am really out to explore. I will have to try getting to Casino again.

I tell my cook/cleaner to stop calling me ‘ma’am’. He uses this polite honorific because that is what is expected of many an employer. I say that we are all human beings and equal. Am I setting him up for failure? Will future employers not appreciate the “insubordination” I am instilling in him?

June 29: Licensed

I get the green light--I am now officially allowed to drive. Along with this permission comes many rules. But I am happy. I now am able to go to the supermarket on my own, shop on my own, stop at a cafe.

June 28: Parallel living

I continue with Lawrence Hill’s Any Known Blood. This book seems to speak to me. I had bought this book without knowing its contents for my mission in Haiti last year but due to the crazy schedule, the book was never opened. I absorb myself in its rich prose. The stories about French immersion in Trois Pistoles (a town of 2000 where I studied for 6 weeks) and a Cameroonian refugee. It even touches on condo living in Toronto’s Harbourfront. Lives within its pages parallel mine.

June 27: Demanding

My iPal’s battery gives up its ghost. I get all of one good use out of this new toy of mine, after lugging it across the Atlantic. This means reverting to tinny computer generated music once again.

I continue to be cooped up at home, watching the house across the street going up at a rapid rate. Only one man is wearing a hard hat. The others are climbing up rickety ladders, bricks dangling from frayed ropes, no safety hats, no safety glasses. Scary really.

I meet with Dr. Mbam Mbam at WHO. I lose all my shyness and ask for all the data that I need. He obliges.

I pass by the Greek orthodox church and all the other surrounding embassies in Bastos.

This neighbourhood is filled with lots of monied expats. I have yet to see much of the local neighbourhoods.

June 26: C'est la vie

The road comes to a standstill. A procession is just ahead. Frustration for the expats who have been here for a while--captivating for me. The chance to see the fascinating world outside. We are heading to Club Noah, which, though open to all is a hidden spot with minimal signage. It is operated by the father of the famed Yannick Noah, the last Frenchman to win the French Open, and now a well known songster. His son is making his mark playing basketball. I walk--my first chance to get some exercise in. I test out my newly purchased walking poles and find them to be light and sturdy with nice handles and straps. If only I can walk a bit further.

Rain pours down--the first of many storms, I suspect, as we are head into the rainy season. We swim, we eat a simple lunch, then head back. I have just enough time to clean up before heading out once again.

I meet May, who is a line dancing teacher. No, I would not say that I have much interest in line dancing, but anything that will get me out of my apartment for a few hours’ diversion is welcome. And the exercise and networking is a bonus. We dance for a couple hours along with expats--the Vietnamese consul and her husband, the wife of the IMF chief in town, the Belgian consul, and a German couple. We balance off our calorie output with some Malay style coconut filled crepe rolls and watermelon. I am invited to a potluck luncheon. Great! I am getting a good start integrating into the community.

June 25: To market, to market

No computer, no going outside my gates. I am feeling quite cooped up today. I finally start reading Lawrence Hill’s Any Known Blood. I had bought the book to read in Haiti but was too busy during that mission. Today, being bored out of my wits without my computer drove me finally to its pages.

Yannick and Marcel comes to take me out in the afternoon. I am paying them for the privilege to exit my doors as I am not allowed out unaccompanied. They find someone with keys to the office. At least I will have computer access for the rest of the weekend.

I visit Casino, a branch of the French supermarket chain. The selection is quite impressive for Cameroon. I still cannot find my favourite chocolate--close though--I find Cote d’Or. I even find Cyprian halloumi cheese. After a visit to this sterile market, I head to the open food market where sterile it certainly is not. I gingerly make my way around the piles of decaying produce to the various food stalls. One thing noted: I will not be starving these next few months. However, one visit to this market is enough. I will ask Yannick to shop from now on.

June 24: Unplugged

I left my computer’s cord at the office. How am I going to survive cooped up inside my home with no access to the outside world? I contemplate life with only my iPod for the weekend. I constantly check Skype to see if any of my friends are online. Unfortunately, with the time difference, they all seem to be asleep.

June 23: Funny looking food

Today is a purple food day: locally grown mangosteen and an eggplant-like vegetable called safou. Same texture but with a bit of tang. BTDT. I will not need to eat these again.

I meet with the Canadian ambassador today. The meeting goes well. Not only does he pledge to financially support a program, but I also get an invitation to celebrate Canada Day at his home. I will have to go shopping for some appropriate formal wear. I am quickly realizing that this mission in Cameroon is not anything like emergency missions in Haiti. Sitting in the meeting is the consul who is happy to meet another Asian Canadian. That makes 4 of us in Cameroon, she informs me.

June 22: Melts in your mouth, not in your hands

I pass around my big bag of M&M’s. These may not be the best chocolates, but I am ensured that they will not melt into a puddle in a tropical country. It is bad enough that my bottle of Off has spilled and dissolved through layers of plastic. 

June 21: Summertime and the living is easy

Does the day mark the beginning of summer or winter? I check the map for the equator. I am still north of the line. Whew! Good to know that I have not missed summer and am not heading into winter.

I forget once again about voltage. In today’s age, why are electronics still being produced without dual voltage compatability, especially products designed for travel? I detect that distinct electrical burn smell. I quickly unplug. Then I read the voltage instructions. Did I just destroy my newly acquired iPal? The battery still works, but I have to drain the battery to find out the damage.

June 20: Left luggage

I continue to note things that I could have brought with me--my unlocked phone, my voice recorder, and more--things I can easily live without but living with would be so much easier.

I am fettered by the lack of local currency. Francis, my driver, tells me to wait until I get to Yaoundé to access local cash. I would have preferred at least a bit of local currency. I eat a pricey buffet breakfast at the hotel. I really have no choice. Luckily, It appears that Cameroon cuisine have lots of vegie choices, at least in the hotel buffet. I find some non-starchy nutrition --beans, tomatoes, fruits.

We drive from Douala to Yaoundé. These cities exude different vibes. Douala is bustling with commerce. Yaoundé, the capital city, is calmer, filled with large embassies nestled among its greenery and hills.

Either I am getting a very generous per diem or life is dear here. A visit to the well stocked supermarket seems to indicate the latter. Pricey President camembert, sweet butter from Normandy, Cote d’Or chocolate, and Bonne Maman jam. My fears of not eating well seem unfounded. I even have my own cook and cleaner, Yannick.

June 19: De-stressed

I do not get my upgrade. Despite this, I sleep well. I am already asleep by takeoff and awaken only to disembark. The bird’s eye view of Zurich would have been pleasant but for the fact that I cannot keep my eyes open. The short layover is just enough time to freshen up for the next leg. One hour into the flight and I am flying over continental Africa. I am excited at my first foray into sub-Saharan Africa.

I quickly get into third world mission mode: I refuse to get stressed with the slow moving lines. I exit the airport. No one is waiting for me. Luckily, I have a local contact number. My driver mistakenly thought that my flight is arriving at 10:45 p.m. rather than 6 p.m. Yet here I am in Cameroon in one piece.

June 18: Gearing down

Looks like the Festival of Road Closures is on this weekend. I pass by 3 venues on my short trip to Bathurst and College: the 1000 Tastes of Toronto, followed by the Much Music Awards, and finally the Tastes of Little Italy. Likely there are other sites scattered throughout the city. I declare my love for George (the restaurant, that is), then consume a bit of Canadiana before my departure: a good dose of poutine. I toy with the 1/2 kg tin of maple syrup that seems to be standard in each Canadian delegate’s kit. No, I do not have any more room in my heavily laden bags.

I get to the airport, confident that with so much time to prepare for my trip that nothing has been forgotten. Of course, that is not the case. I am allowed access into the lounge despite the lack of my forgotten Aeroplan card. The place is unusually busy--beyond capacity. No seats, no plates, coffee machines no longer dispensing. Still I cannot complain. This will help me adjust from my privileged life to that in a developing country.

June 17: The last supper

I get serious and formal for some good humour. I attend McGill’s annual Stephen Leacock luncheon to celebrate one of Canada’s wittiest personages. I am surrounded once again by McGill med graduates--class of 1980 on my left and class of 1960 on my right, along with the other McGillians filling Royal York's ballroom. We chat about attendance in Leacock’s lectures at the university (way before my time: he was professor from 1903 to 1936). Apparently, absenteeism was a rarity in that class.

I am briefed on the upcoming mission. One big glitch: my vaccination card is in the Red Cross office in Ottawa and I need it for entry into Cameroon. Some scrambling ensues.

With my departure on June 18 and my return on September 24, I will be missing all of summer in Toronto. Maybe I should give thought to staying longer. What is the use of returning to Autumn's greyness?

I pack in lots of socializing. I meet with John, a longtime friend who is in town from Florida visiting his parents. We try the Asian version of candied apple--a skewer of frozen candied haw fruit. Refreshing.

I literally say goodbye to him and walk across the street for my next social engagement, dinner with another friend. I give thought to what I would like to consume prior to my departure and opt for a big platter of stir fried snow pea shoots in garlic.

June 16: Stockpiling chlorophylls

I spend the morning looking at high end kitchen cabinetry. My interior decorating project will need to be put on the back burner once again. I suspect that I might not be able to restart this project upon my return. I would feel too guilty spending huge sums of money on myself when the equivalent amount could mean survival to so many people.

Israeli for lunch, Moroco's chocolates and good conversation for dessert, tapas for dinner. I get as much food variety as I can. I savour the fig and beet cress salad. Elaine confirms my suspicion that green vegetables will be rare in my diet for the next 3 months.

June 15: The pH of lime juice

Today turns out to be phone day--catching up with friends from around the globe.

I get a Skype call bright and early from Daniel in Australia. Such a rare treat. Since our last chat he has embarked on fatherhood. For the 5 months in Paris in 1994, we conversed solely in French. We now function with Aussie and Canadian accented English. In 2001, we made good use of our overlapping stints in London. Hearing Handel’s Messiah at Westminster Abbey and dining at Michelin starred Rousillon were shared memorable moments.

Next Skype call: Craig and I go back even further--we met 30 years ago in Mr. Price's Chemistry class. Fate has it that our worlds meet. We have run into each other on the streets of Vancouver and Toronto no less than 5 times. Craig is a displaced Vancouverite currently living in Boston. Tonight he will be watching the hockey game within the safe confines of the Canadian consulate. Consular roles include protection of its citizens from dangers outside its walls. I just did not imagine this extending to overzealous hockey fans.

My errands take me to Kensington Market. Third attempt to eat at Agave y Aguacate. I watch the chef rush in, late again. The lineup begins. He starts preparing each order from scratch. Sample the tartness of the lime. A touch of salt...a bit more salt...a drop more of lime. A bit of showmanship? A bit of neurosis? The end result is a delicately flavoured Sikil Pal, a traditional Mayan pumpkin seed dip.

I head to the large outdoor screen by the Air Canada Centre to watch game 7 of the Stanley Cup finals.

.

I watch only 4 minutes of the hockey game, but what significant 4 minutes they are. A shorthanded goal. Score 3-0 for Boston. End of 2nd period. I head home and contemplate a Luongo shirt burning ritual.

June 14: Self-gifting

I breakfast with Alok and Shawn, McGill classmates of yore. We share news of our classmates, scattered around the globe.

I spend 2 hours at Bay Bloor Radio shopping for a father’s day gift. Instead, I buy a gift for myself. A Tivoli iPal should be perfect for my upcoming mission.

My visa arrives. A departure date is finally set. I am leaving on Saturday.

June 13: Losing hope

My visa has been processed and is on its way from Ottawa. “Just confirming with you that you are going for a 6 month mission.”

“Huh?” I had only agreed to a 3 month mission ending in August, which will finish off my “Year of the Right Brain” nicely. I give much thought and finally decide to go for 3 1/2 months, returning at the end of September.

Once again, I am well aware of the ban on personal blogging while on mission. In addition, I suspect that I will be inundated with work once I reach Cameroon. Yet I hate to disappoint you, my readers, and will try to post a photo or two.

I have very little hope for Canucks in Boston. I stop wearing my Canucks shirt. I skip watching the hockey game. Instead, scores are reported to me from Vancouver during my long conversation with my parents. Even they are getting hockey fever. I doubt the existence of a Vancouverite not following the game.

June 12: Arabian Day

This year, Luminato is highlighting middle eastern art. Beirut39 turns out to be a very intense interview session with 4 accomplished young Arab writers. Jian Ghomeshi mediates--I don’t think anyone else could have navigated among the 3 strong women and one milder man through that mine field.

I have a full afternoon of socializing--coffee then more coffee (...tea in my case). I meet with Miss Suzette,a “laughter coach”. We have been two ultra-frequent users of Apple Shop’s One to One personal projects sessions--she on her book and I on my DVD. My project has been long been finished.

(See blog entry September 28, 2010.)

http://theyearoftherightbrain.blogspot.com/2010/10/september-28-aiming-for-perfection.html

June 11: Audience participation

Luminato seems to be encouraging audience participation. Gone are the dance sessions under the KPMB designed ballroom installation. No attempt to break the Guinness record of mass guitar playing this year. Instead, I doodle on cars and inject my image into Raj Kapoor’s cinematic clips.

I pop in to see Luminato’s “Habit” where reality TV meets avant-garde visual arts. A skeleton of a house is built and furnished. Actors go through a script, ad libbing and adapting to this looped theatrical presentation.

June 10: Free creativity

Still no word yet for a departure date. I had expected to be on my way to Cameroon by now. I don’t complain. As long as I am still around, I will get to experience some of the city’s summer activities. I join in some of the Luminato festivities and fulfil my festival volunteering obligations. This arts festival is only 5 years old but has already made a mark in the international art scene, offering high quality art in various forms: music, theatre, installations. Most events are free. This year’s lineup is stellar once again: the uncensored “One Thousand and One Nights”, Ann Patchett, The Canadian Songbook, Malcolm Gladwell.

I join in the Luminato volunteer rally and opening celebration. I am not in the mood for indie rock Beast so head home and crank up Vivaldi’s Double Concertos instead--my standard Friday evening music of choice.

June 9: Non-Italian macaroni

My larynx gets checked out. Good news: nothing too serious--just laryngitis. The ENT doc prescribes voice rest, just as I had self-prescribed. I am cleared medically for my mission. Now, I await news of my departure date.

I perform some more research into Toronto's dining scene: koshary at an Egyptian eatery. I have such fond memories consuming this yummy blend of lentils, rice, chickpeas, macaroni and caramelized fried onions while visiting Cairo in 1997. I even stocked up on koshary for the trip back to Israel. (For those heading to Egypt, my fave koshary joint is just outside Felfela's in Cairo.) That was another eventful year in Egypt. Four days after my visit to Thebes, 64 tourists were killed at Queen Hatshepshut’s tomb. We watched as the news unfolded in a Tel Aviv lounge. Stunned. All of us in the room had Thebes in our itineraries.

June 8: A thorough grilling

My voice is making a comeback. I converse, but sparingly so. I spend some more quality time with the Pollocks and Rothkos. Experiencing the Abstract Expressionism exhibition with D is so enriching--I see the art with a whole new perspective.

Rosemary and I do BBQ. I, being vegetarian, am not too good with the grill. Thanks to Rosemary, the vegie burger with fresh dill is tasty. We watch the hockey game--pretty sad to watch, really. The Bruins are out-skating and out-scoring the Canucks.

June 7: At the crossroads

Toronto is really just the crossroads for some of us. May and her sister is back from their personal humanitarian project in Cambodia. Shawna is busy tidying up before her trip to Kenya. I am awaiting my final details before heading to Cameroon. Elaine is talking about a return to Africa. We take this rare chance when all are in the same city to catch up on our adventures.

A few hundred dollars made such huge impacts on lives. May and her sister had noticed an old woman who was shunned by the monks while waiting hours for a bag of rice. The two buy rice, then show the woman’s photo around the village to find her. During the delivery, they notice and address other needs--stabilizing a rickety ladder to prevent fall, getting roofing material to stop the ongoing leak, buying a bicycle for the middle-aged daughter. For less than $400 they make a huge difference in this family’s life.

And this is the bonus project. The Full Tummy Farm project is close to completion: the fish farm, mushroom house, pigs-- sustainable sources of protein and income for 49 orphans in Cambodia. What the two have accomplished in 8 weeks is so inspiring.

June 6: Weighing in

I weigh in--my suitcase, that is. I am 8 kilos over. The rule of removing half of what you plan to pack does not apply to Red Cross missions. I cannot easily head to a store and purchase what I forget. What am I going to give up? The mosquito netting? My inflatable bed? Sheets? The standard Canadian Red Cross issue Pelican case weighs 10 kg empty. I’ll take a chance that a flash flood or similar calamity will not pass through my lodgings in Cameroon.

June 5: Lava lamp lover

Toronto’s entertainment scene can be overwhelming. This weekend, the city is host to the Riverdale Art Walk, the Blues Festival, the Short Film Festival, to name but a few. In the end, I do the easy thing and skip all of the above. Instead, I revisit Ontario Place prior to its impending closure and renovations. On its grounds is the first IMAX theatre. I admit I am fascinated by 1960’s fashion and architecture: lava lamps, modular furniture, miniskirts and boots, Moshe Safdie's Habitat, Buckminster Fuller. I like the futuristic vision displayed during this era. I was disappointed when the Expo ’67 lighting fixtures were changed to more functional lamps. I loathe to think what unique 60’s features will disappear with the Ontario Place renovations.

June 4: Pulling up in a yacht

Commutes cannot get shorter than this. I attend morning meetings just 1 1/2 blocks away. Then the evening plans were just a further 2 blocks. I have survived three months without my own car and am beginning to dream of my own wheels. I certainly will not be needing them for the next 3 months while on mission in Cameroon. The weather should still be nice enough for cycling when I return in September. I will try Zipcars, more taxi rides, and car rentals as needed. Then if all fails, I’ll go back to car ownership.

I hang out at Corus Quay’s newest eatery--Against Grain has been open just 4 days. A yacht pulls alongside the quay--pretty classy way to arrive for dinner. I sip water nursing my vocal cords among the “beer lovers”. Despite my nonfunctioning vocal cords, I immerse myself in some lively conversation with Janet, John, and Patrick. We sit by the outdoor gas firepits watching the boats pass by. What a nice way to while away a summer evening.

June 3: Eclipsed

I skip through the turmoil-filled Arshile Gorkys. My mood just cannot tolerate them today. Instead, I stare into the deep black of Still’s abstract work, the perfect salve for my racing mind. All thoughts are eclipsed by one: I am going to Cameroon. Official word just arrived from the Red Cross. I leave...soon. (No date set.)

I think of the many pre-departure errands. First on the list is to ensure that my vocal cords are intact before I go. I visit Nadine, one of my colleagues and ask her to refer me to ENT--stat, which she kindly obliges. Next, the TB skin test to update my medical files. Then the visa application, the legal paperwork, the people to notify, money issues, the...the list is long.

June 2: Getting the scoop

Gingerly, I blow through my vocal cords. A hint of sound emanates from me. I do not dare speak, lest I delay the return of my voice. I can do much without a voice: painting, reading, watching a movie, cycling. Yet, this voiceless state is cramping my style--I miss the long conversations.

I cycle by Allan Gardens. This garden has been on my to-do list since moving to Toronto, even before it was featured in Atom Egoyan’s film, “Chloe”. I have passed it on many occasions, meaning to stop someday. That day has finally come. I make a conscious decision to stop and explore on this year of creativity. The conservatory is a pleasant spot, as long as I ignore the drug deal going on around the corner.

I continue on to my original destination: Ed’s Real Scoop. My fellow foodie friends have been telling me about this place for a while. To stay on top of my Toronto dining knowledge, I must stop by for research purposes! Ed’s produces great locally made ice creams serving interesting flavours such as pumpkin and PB&J. However, the flavours are a bit too blatant for my taste: the blood orange is a bit too tart, the cherry is too much like bubble gum. Still, I thoroughly enjoy the chocolate hazelnut and coconut scoops. The verdict: Hollywood gelato still reigns on top of my Toronto gelato choices.

Jun 1: Icing in June's heat

Finally, I pay my first visit to MOCCA. Luckily, its two small but stunning Contact photo exhibitions continue for another week. Why did it take me so long to get to this great little gallery? If it weren't for Elaine's endorsement, I would still be missing this little gem.

I see Fred Herzog’s vignettes 60‘s Vancouver, glimpsing remnants of my childhood, though these scenes predate my arrival to the city by a decade. I spy downtown East Side, Main Street, the now defunct Army & Navy store. A juxtaposition of Viviane Sassen's African desert scapes with Scarlett Hooft Graafland's polar scapes. In Sassen's montage, the rich blackness makes facial features subtle within its outline.

Nearby is the well-stocked Designer Fabrics. Once again, I search through the racks for the perfect bedroom drapery fabric, and again, I walk out without.

I rush home. The media is all abuzz with pre-game chattery. How will the Canucks fare against the Bruins? I pretend to be a diehard fan as I don my allegiance-on-a-shirt and head to nearby Maple Leaf Sports Bar to watch the puck drop on its 3 storey high TV screen. After 2 and 1/2 periods, I leave--this scoreless game looks like it will not end anytime soon. I miss the spectacular goal in the dying seconds of regulation time. Oh well--there will be more games yet.