The Year of the Right Brain

January 27: Come to my room

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January 18, 2012:

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January 9, 2012: Doctor/photographer

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After all the trouble of arranging my schedule to spend 6 Mondays in a row in Toronto, George Brown College cancels the course! I don’t think they have any idea how difficult that was! I pour over the school calendars for all sorts of programs in town. The only course that fits into the Monday night slot is Introduction to Tea. The bonus is that the class starts two weeks later. That works out well: I attend the Reframe the Pap exhibit at the Gladstone Hotel where my colleague, Dr. Sheila Wijayasinghe shows off her photographic and artistic flair. The exhibit raises awareness and funds for the Immigrant Women’s Health Centre.

http://www.blogto.com/events/50423

December 15: Sounds of the Season

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I toy with the idea of giving the yearly CBC program a miss. Finally, I drag myself out of the warm comfy bed at 5:20 a.m., quickly don warm woolies and bike the 3 blocks to the CBC building. Glenn Gould Studio is already near capacity. I snag one of the remaining dozen seats as Matt Galloway starts up Metro Morning. Nothing quite like hanging out with a bunch of CBC groupies. Lynn and I were locked in a bidding war for Q tickets--finally we decided to just take the other person if one of gets the package. End result: we were outbid by another Jian Ghomeshi fan.

December 14: Memorable Messiah moments

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I mouth along while Tafelmusik performs the Messiah. Odd: the first time I hear a man sing the alto parts. The soprano hits the high notes with finesse. The bass did not do as well with the low notes. This is becoming a tradition: first at Church of St. Andrew and St. Paul over Easter while in Montreal, offered free to benefit impoverished students like me. Top of the list of memorable Messiah performances has to be listening to Dame Emma Kirkby’s voice soaring over Handel’s tomb in Westminster Abbey.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_tiyDiIo4dg

Then there was the Handel Festival in Dublin to celebrate the 375th anniversary of the Messiah’s first performance. The dance performance to Al Green’s soul version of the Messiah last year was like no other. Then the sing-along at Massey Hall--now I can say that I’ve sung at Massey Hall (along with thousands others). Tonight’s performance is well-polished, notes soaring to the rafters of Koerner Hall.

December 11: Fancy frocks and frilly hats

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December 3: kriskindlemarkt, Toronto style

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November 21: Celebrating

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With Jonathan's superior camera skills, I leave the photo taking to him...

November 17: A breather in very breathable space

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October 26: I miss you!

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Here I am almost 2 months after the official end of my Year of The Right Brain. I have often thought of you, my readers. Apparently, you have been thinking of me too. I hear loud and clear from you that my blog entries have been missed.

I also miss the writing, the photo taking, the view of the world with the intent of reporting at day”s end.

It isn’t as if I don’t want to continue this blog. My life, which is usually quite crazy, upped a notch in early September. I finished my assessment report, for which I have been deployed by the Red Cross to Cameroon. Then as a bonus to the mission, I

applied and received funding to implement two projects. The first project involves developing a school hygiene program in Limbé’s primary schools. I make time for this--lots of hard work but certainly fun and gratifying. I worked literally to the last minute, transferring files on the way to the airport.

I return home to Toronto, but do not stay long--just long enough to drop off my bags, do my laundry, and head to my Vancouver home. My parents have been waiting long to see me. Skyping can only go so far in replacing a visit in person.

I immerse myself in art once again. A visit to Boston to the Museum of Fine Arts, Isabella Gardner Museum, Peabody-Essex Museum in Salem. I spend time with Craig and Carolyn. I meet up with David and Helene. I return to Toronto to see Chagall’s colourful tableaux.

Theatre going, dining with friends and fellow foodies. My first work shift. I am adjusting back to life in Canada. It is good. But then so was life in Cameroon.

P.S. I am back posting entries written during my Cameroon mission. Check them out (June 19 to August 31). These will be done in increments.

October 14: A day in the museum

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August 31: A storied life

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Here I am at the end of my Year of the the Right Brain. No, the year did not quite pan out the way I had planned. But then life is meant to be full of twists and turns. Albeit, my life in any given year tends to be less predictable than most.

I did not plan to work so hard for the last three months of this year. Nor did I expect to find myself missing work so much.

I did experience art in many ways. I enjoyed the classes in creative writing, improvisation, and mosaic art. I made good of my AGO membership, both in Toronto and in NYC. I discover the joy of sketching.

No, I did not end up getting my writing project off the ground. Instead, I have enjoyed writing this blog. Will I ever get back to the writing project that was the original impetus to take this year off? Maybe. Writing this daily blog has allowed me to keep words flowing. I find that now, my thoughts are crafted into sentences almost naturally. Instead of completing the writing project, I write a 100 page treatise on the cholera situation in Cameroon. This may sound like all work, but putting words onto paper, even with this drier topic, has been a pleasure.

I enjoyed experiencing Toronto--exploring new neighbourhoods, new restaurants, different art scenes. I did not, however, spend as much time in Toronto as I had hoped.

The year was not meant to include extensive travel. However, starting off the year with a train trip halfway across Canada was a great way to set the tone for the year: to take time for this one item on my life’s bucket list, to slow down and reflect, to view this great country I call home.

I did take my yearly “fight the February doldrums” vacation in Europe. It coincided with quite a bit of turmoil in my life due to my father’s illness. Despite this, it was still filled with lots of great new experiences. Attending to my father’s stroke and my mother’s anxiety regarding my father’s health continues.

I also finally realized my dream to fly off to New York for a weekend--a very long weekend. I get a good dose of art. I explore--Cooper Hewitt Design Museum, the Frick Collection, the New Museum, Neue Galerie, MOMA. I pop by High Line repeatedly for a break from NYC’s bustle. I opt out of fine dining in famed restaurants and head instead for good honest yummy food: Lombardi’s, La Esquina, Blossom.

Ironically, the year off was also a year of less book reading and exercising in the gym. I take time to focus on my physical health. Unfortunately, treadmilling and walking worsened my physical woes. Luckily, cycling did not seem to aggravate so it became my main mode of transportation and exercise.

In some ways, the expanse of time during the year actually made me do less each day. Instead of feeling that I have limited time to get all the activities in, I end up spacing things throughout my year.

It may have appeared that I was going through a midlife crisis: completely overhauling my life and heading into a new direction, ridding myself of car and furniture, running off to Africa. Yet, this is not really the case. These things were planned for a long while. Only with the extended time off work was I finally able to attend to these things.

How has this year changed my outlook and plans for the future?

I have learned that I do enjoy working in northern Ontario. I find it the perfect balance between city and country life. Work and play. Bustle and quietude.

I plan to return to work in northern Ontario, maybe at a lesser scale than in the past. I garner much gratification from my humanitarian missions and will continue to seek postings overseas.

I will make up the half completed improv class. I will get that sailing course in someday. I will take classes even if working in the north means that many sessions will be missed. After all, taking the year off did not seem to improve my attendance record.

I abandoned my interior decorating project to head off to Cameroon. I will soon return to a home void of furniture. I will be obliged to spend part of the coming year completing this project.

Most of all, I will take time to deviate from daily routine--to stop at that garden that I pass by every day, to taste that new food, to see beauty in my surroundings.

I HOPE THAT YOU, DEAR READERS, HAVE ENJOYED EXPERIENCING THIS YEAR WITH ME.

THIS BLOG WILL HAVE A PROLOGUE

August 30:

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August 29: Last minute holidays

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Late breaking news: today is a holiday celebrating the end of Ramadan.. So is tomorrow. As this is dependent on the appearance of the moon, I discover this just before 8 a.m. I have to work anyways as I have a very tight timeline. The whole office did not find out about the holiday designation and shows up for work.

August 28: 90 minutes of agony

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The day went off kilter when I get a call from my massage therapist. She is sick and unable to come. I call another. That was the first mistake. When she arrived, I arrange for 90 minute session. Second mistake. I forgot that I didn’t really like her massage style. Turns out that the session was 55% agony, 40% bearable, and only 5% pleasant. I could not wait for the end but she gives me a bonus 15 minutes which, for the first time, was not welcomed. She should have clued in when I tensed my muscles. If not, she certainly should have figured it out by the time of the reflex kick when she hit a sensitive spot. She finally ends the session. I get up, dizzy, headachy and sore. That was probably due to the clenched jaw and all. Lesson learned: a bad massage is worse than no massage at all.

August 27:

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August 26:

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August 25:

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August 23:

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August 22:

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August 21: Impromptu jam session

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August 20:

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August 19:

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August 18:

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August 17: Parting is such sweet sorrow

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August 16: I've got it on paper

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August 15:

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August 14:

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August 13:

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August 12: A light moment

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August 11:

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August 10:

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August 7: Climb every mountain

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August 6: Wedding crasher

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August 4: So not right brained

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http://www.ifrc.org/en/news-and-media/news-stories/africa/cameroon/cameroon-cholera-continues-to-claim-lives/

August 3: Tiptoeing in CAR

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August 1:

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July 30:

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July 29: Chadian igloos

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July 29:

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July 28:

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July 27: Accidental tourist

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We head out of Maroua. The expanse, dotted by trees. This Sahel desert region has much greenery. The road is supposed to be worse than last night’s.

Again, I see a truck crashed into a ditch by the side of the road. This scene is becoming such a common one.

I see domed houses. I tell my Cameroonian colleagues that some Americans think that all Canadians live in igloos. They remark that Europeans think they all live in mud huts. One more thing we have in common.

Each group of fenced off boukarous signify one family--the head of the household plus a boukarou for each of his wives. The minimum number of wives is 4--some richer men have 30 or so. The compounds vary from mud bricks to concrete. Even then, there is some expression of individuality--mud spikes, sculpted mud.

I rather like the dry heat here.

We reach Waza mid-morning and take a detour into the reserve. A lion was spotted this morning by some tourists. Given the short time I have, I am totally contented to see giraffe roaming. My first giraffe in the wild (and second and third and ...). Some lion’s footprints were spotted. Colourful birds. A pleasant diversion. I would have been ecstatic if I had spotted a lion but am quite content even without. After all this is not a vacation.

We arrive in Kousseri. I am bombarded with the dry desert heat exiting the car. We stay in a pretty fancy place--local and not full of foreigners. It turns out to be a great place to network. The region’s head of MOH is here. The cholera coordination head of region is here.

Even with a few hours, we are able to accomplish much.

July 26:

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July 25: I need contingency plans

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My planned trip is unravelling a bit. The aquatabs and ORS did not go up in the car. Nor did the T-shirts and polos that I had ordered as gifts for the chiefs and others we meet. M. Tsimi informs me that since he was not given the agenda, he had made other plans and is not able to meet with us today. Then we almost miss the flight because of a truck accident.

I don’ t know what traffic fatality rates are here in Cameroon but I suspect the number to be high. I see some awfully crushed truck cabs. Undented unscratched vehicles are such rarities here.

We do make the flight--sans snacks--as they were confiscated at security. My coconut and madeleines should make a great snack for the security personnel.

July 24: Semi public transport

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I decide to do minimal work and just rest for the day.

I meet with Gonzalo, Is it Spanish time or Cameroonian time he keeps? In any case, we have a pleasant afternoon--part business, part social. He updates me a little bit about work in Garoua.

July 23: Cameroonian Thinker

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I try to get lost in the car once again with a bit less success: I am beginning to master the city after all.

Last line dancing class today, at least for a while. Class feels so much like the childhood games we play. The farmer in the dell, musical chairs. Or reality TV. Each week, we have one less participant.

I return home and get all dolled up for an evening out with Vincent, Philippe, and Felicienne. We visit a local cabaret, Bois d’Ebene to hear some great local musicians. One guy seems to be very well known--he is asked to give an impromptu set and obliges. One woman with a huge deep jazzy voice sings Edith Piaf. One woman swings her hips African style. Men and women alike stare, mesmerized. How does she do that?

July 22: Modesty

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I lift a chair. Quite deceiving. The wood here is lovely: dense and richly hued.

I thought that I could put the finishing touches on the proposal and hand it in by 10 a.m. That was not to be. To get all things done, it takes a long time. I get to the Canadian High Commission at 13h20, ten minutes before closing for the weekend. I am told that the ambassador already asked about it in the morning.

Next on the list: buying a couple tops with long sleeves for the predominantly Muslim northern Cameroon. Danielle obliges, taking me on a shopping expedition. I buy a long flowing traditional dress, This will be cool to wear, yet modest.

July 21:

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July 20: Telecommuting

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Emilien makes Fian N’dole, a local dish with ground peanuts and mushrooms. This is the first real Cameroonian dish I am trying. The flavours are interesting, and certainly more palatable than the rest of the local foodstuff I’ve tried so far.

I stay at home to work this morning. Better WIFI, no interruptions, access to my own clean toilet--really all positive and no negatives. Well... one negative...access to my fridge is a bit too easy.

July 19: Fun errands

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I drop by the Canadian High Commission to discuss the project. The woman in charge of the fund surprises me--she is in charge of funding projects of NGOs and such but does not seem to know even the basics of the Red Cross. Where is her head buried? How can someone who is involved with donating funds to various NGOs be not aware of the existence of the Red Cross? We are, after all, the granddaddy of all humanitarian agencies, now 153 years old. The federation itself is now about 92 years old.

I go grocery shopping--not because I need to replenish my food stock, but because it gives me a chance to mingle with people. I do not meet anyone I know but the constant buzz is a nice change from echoes in the house. This house is humongous-- about 10,000 square feet. I am its only inhabitant at the moment. My boss is away in Central African Republic.

July 18: Paper work

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I try to mobilize all parties needed to get a project proposal done in 7 days. Except that at the end of the day, I find out that I need to complete it in 4 days. I gear up a notch.

Emilienne shops for food at the market but at the end of the day, I am still served leftovers. I think we have a communication gap. At least she doesn’t cook with cups of oil nor does she cook vast amounts at a time. She is also much cleaner in her prep. However, she doesn’t have the flair of taste that comes with natural cooking abilities. I am grateful for May’s homemade hot sauce, which gives my meals a bit more flavour.

July 17:

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Lan and Vinh is my connection to the outside world. They invite me for a walk towards Mount Febe. This is my first opportunity to walk through the centre of Bastos. The slower pace allows me to check out my surroundings a bit more carefully.

We are joined by Greg and Carolyn, two Canadians working with VSO.

July 16: Get lost

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My day’s agenda: to get totally lost and find my way back home. I drive the car up and down hills just trying to familiarize myself with the city. Roads that twist and turn do not have signage. Most do not even have names. I do come across a church and attend a service. I find the Italian bakery and its gelato selection. I take a wrong turn and end up in the marketing throngs. I ensure that doors are locked and windows closed. A policeman directs me to pull ahead. I inch forward timidly. A taxi sitting just right of me slides backwards while I am moving. Scrape. I dare not get out, fearing my safety. People outside take a glance at the damage and do not seem fazed. I reach home and check passenger side of the car--big scratch, no dent. This car just joined the 99% of Cameroonian vehicles with visible damage.

Lovely afternoon with Vinh, Lan, and Kordula. May, our instructor, is in Vancouver. Eliane is on her way to Shanghai for her next placement. Vinh does a great job teaching. My feet are finally going where they need to go...sometimes. The coordination may come yet. I grudgingly end the pleasant visit to head for my next outing.

The husband of an outgoing ICRC delegate is playing a gig at Awale. My first foray into the Yaoundé restaurant scene. We, all the expats at IFRC, meet up with those in the ICRC. A nice break--no shop talk tonight. I eat couscous--not the heavy Cameroonian version but rather the fluffy Morrocan style.

July 15: The morning after

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I am dopey. A good reason not to party on a Thursday night. And I had nary a sip of that free flowing French champagne. I have to put to paper all my observations from the recent trip. Otherwise, much would be lost. I write. But my brain is on zombie mode. Neither right nor left are working that well.

July 14: Red and white and blue all over

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Bastille Day. Denis invites me to join him in the celebration at the French ambassador’s home, a beautiful 1960-ish style building nestled on a beautiful estate overlooking the city. This property likely dates back to colonial days.

This Jekyll and Hyde life of mine. I am in the rural areas, meeting people living in squalid conditions, eating poorly, wading through garbage, and assessing latrines. Then I return to Yaoundé to fete with ambassadors and the power figures of Cameroon society. Soirees are considered part of my work. I network with the Egyptian ambassador, the Korean ambassador, the Canadian high commissioner, the Dutch international development agency rep, the Spanish consul, the British High Commissioner.

July 13: Cultural exchanges

2011-07-13T10:43:00.000-07:00

You know the story about the man at the fork who always lies? We need to look at it from a different light. He means no harm. He is just trying to be polite.

I keep telling myself that I need to live within the culture. Untruths told may not really be lying but a form of politeness. A Cameroonian clock ticks by much more slowly. I spend 2 hours chasing down the latest national data on cholera for a very important meeting. Old data may have drastic consequences on our credibility. I speak with the keeper of the data, telling him that I am in a hurry. I need numbers before a 12:30 meeting. He would not provide the numbers over the phone, so I rush into his office at 12:15. He is not there. He saunters in 5 minutes later and says he cannot find the key to access the data. At 12:45, he finally turns on his computer. That was when I find out what he was trying to do. He checks his email inbox. He did not get an email from one zone to complete his latest data collection. He shows me that the data has not even been collected--at 12:50! And the data is far from processed. If he had only told me over the phone that the data had not been collected...

I move to my boss’ home. It certainly is big enough for the two of us. Yet sharing a home with the boss have its drawbacks. It means functioning in French for a few more hours every day. Yannick moves my things--but not all. None of the food was transferred in the move. After a long work day, I return home to no food. I eat peanuts. So much for looking forward to that big meal after a week of French fries.

July 12: Cameroonian pyramids

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We finish our work one day ahead of schedule. I hope this will not cause problems for Mme Lobe. A bit of added value: I stop off at the chefferie of Bafout on the way out. Pricey tourism-- I am doing my part funding this chefferie. Cameroon is certainly off the beaten track as far as mass tourism goes, and this tourist site gets few visitors. Besides, I think one of my roles as a Red Cross delegate is to sink some money into the economy by spending.

They eat small wild felines, snakes, rats, porcupines. I get adventurous vegetarian style and pick up some red aubergine. I manage one taste of the raw bitter vegetable.

July 11: Odd drinking vessels

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After all the garbage I had been wading through, nothing is as bad as the rotten fish odours permeating through our car for the past 2 days. Marcel did not get around to eating his fish before it spoiled.

We finish up early in Foumbot and head to Foumban. We meet with Dr. Sideke, who, along with being the president of the local Red Cross chapter, happens to be the brother of the sultan. As a prince, the locals know well that he cannot be seated next to him. I, on the other hand, have been given the honour. However, h opts not to let me know that he is prince.

The sultan is away on business in Yaoundé. Pity...it would have been a nice part of our work.

We visit the local artisans. The prince barters away. The artisans cannot argue. I will return home with a stool and headrest, purchased with an un-princely sum. I continue on my personal tour at the World Heritage designated sultan’s palace of the Bafoum kingdom. This is the prince’s childhood home. The prince requests the guardian of the museum to show us around after hours. Fascinating! Mbue Mbue, one of the sultans, was a giant of a man. He was over 2.6 metres tall, with corresponding proportions. I can probably wear his bangles as a belt, and I am not a thin woman...

I see an enemy’s skull fashioned into a drinking vessel. I see all the various headdresses. I see the thrones fashioned for the last 3 sultans. I see all the various objects that are still being used in the biannual Boum processions (next to be in December 2012). I see a headdress made of the mandibles of enemies. I need to keep on the good side of the prince.

July 10: Bamiléké architects

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We travel into the West region. The square sliced white bread in the anglophone Southwest region is displaced by French style baguettes. The rolling hills, the pyramidal rooftops peak out of dense tree groves--a hallmark of Bamileke architecture.

A recently upturned oil tanker sits in the ditch. Another truck’s cab is crushed. The survival of the two drivers is unlikely. I am astonished by the number of accidents we see--4 in one day. But then I should not be surprised--anarchy rules on the roads.

I overhear M. Lobe’s conversation with his wife, “I will return no later than Tuesday.”

I do not understand. The earliest would be Wednesday. He explains, the other 2 Camerounais nodding in agreement. They tell their wives they are coming home before they really return.

“Won’t they worry?”

“No, this way the place will be ready for the return and the wife will not be running around trying to get things done before the return.” One does not enter quietly. A lot of noise is made at the gate. This is to avoid confronting anything (or anyone) that might cause problems...

July 9

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July 8: Experiencing the rainiest place on Earth

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I awaken just before our 6:45 a.m. meeting time. I am at the foothill of Mt Cameroon next to the Gulf of Guinea. Here I am in the rainy season only a few kilometres from the rainiest spot on Earth. I can imagine the beauty of this spot on a clear day. Instead, the low clouds and rain envelop me.

I get a glimpse of Mount Cameroon peaking through the clouds. This active volcano is the tallest peak in West Africa.

I think I’ve created a monster! M. Lobe insists that we head to Wovia to observe the villagers toileting into the sea!

I pick my way carefully through the ‘wasteland’. The path is a multifunctioning toilet, garbage dump, and pathway.

Umbrellas saves lives in thunderstorms, I am told. This way the current passes through the body instead of taking a direct hit. Pretty twisted logic. The aim is not to get hit at all.

July 7: Mission within a mission

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We head out of Yaoundé.

Yesterday’s derailed schedule continues to affect today’s. Things that need to be done before departure could not be completed by the time the office closed. Marcel returned to the office at 7 p.m. and was unable to complete his part. I was not aware of all that needs to be done, so end up waiting this morning. We pick up Annie. I discover that she is no longer coming. She bails out saying that she has a headache and then tells Marcel and M. Lobe that her boss assigned other work for her. I suspect it is because she is scared of all that I demand of her. I saw the seething anger in her yesterday evening when I kept her at work until 6:15 p.m. A pity for her, but really of little consequence on our mission. M. Lobe, on the other hand, seems to revel in the knowledge he has garnered over the last few days and seems ready to put in some good work.

July 6: Test drive

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I head out on my first foray into the field. to Obala, with my Cameroonian counterparts in tow. This is a test drive of what to expect on my upcoming field missions. I learn to slow down even further. The visit is enlightening--more than with cholera. I am introduced to bitakola, medicinal nuts that soothes the tummy. Then I pick up one of the elongated leaf wrapped ‘bobolo’.

My imagination is stretched far to see if there is anything pleasant with its taste and falls short. This delicacy is prepared by soaking casava over 3 days, then pounding it into a mash, then assembling into long shapes, wrapped with a special type of leaves. I bite into the lightly fermented gummy starch--I guess it must be an acquired taste.

July 5: Life's short, and then you die

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Serge’s wife died this morning. Too young. She was only 23.

She dies of sepsis this morning after battling with ill health for a year postpartum. Life is certainly too short here.

July 4: Medical training--the accelerated program

2011-07-04T10:36:00.000-07:00

The novelty of driving in Yaoundé is quickly wearing off. I am tired of taxi drivers turning in front of me when I have the right of way. I am tired of them cruising the streets then suddenly stopping to pick up a passenger without any signal. Each trip on the streets feel like Russian roulette.

I find out who of the local counterparts are assigned to work with me. I have a communications person and his secretary. I will have to mold them into cholera experts in 2 days. Med school distilled into 6 hours!

July 3: In line

2011-07-03T12:41:00.000-07:00

I am tired, nauseated, and headachy. Is it the heat? The humidity? Am I dehydrated?Am I coming down with something? I spend a good part of the day in bed. My feet are staying in line a bit more during line dancing.

July 2: Creative cooking

2011-07-02T00:48:00.000-07:00

That man over there? That is the prime minister walking among us. Francis and his son accompanies me to the top of seemingly never-ending Mount Fébé. I finally reach the top, just about at the limit of my endurance. The country seems to be active and fit. Exercise is encouraged. Smoking is not commonplace. Yet the conditions lead to continuing low life expectancy--55 is the median age. Just these 2 past weeks, 6 of the national Red Cross staff had funerals to attend to. Culprits are likely poor diet, difficult living conditions, and virulent diseases.

‘Just go straight ahead until you see the Hilton,’ my instructions for the Casino supermarket. No, it isn’t as straightforward as that. After many a false turn and a near accident, I arrive for a quick walk around.

I am attending a potluck. I get creative with my limited kitchen. I make vegetarian crab cakes with potatoes and beans.

July 1: Red and white and fancy all over

2011-07-01T00:29:00.000-07:00

Happy Canada Day!

I wear red and white. Back home, Prince William and Kate are in Ottawa.

I am certainly not a monarchist, but a glimpse of them would have be fun.

I celebrate Canada Day at the ambassador’s home with other Canadians, diplomats, and expats. I revel in the rare English conversation mixed with French here and there.

Ambassador Jean-Carol Pelletier leads me by the hand to show off the cake. I see the lovely women flirt with him along the way. He, the gallant single Quebecois, flirts right back. Yes, I thoroughly enjoy hobnobbing with them all.

June 30: Is equality good?

2011-06-30T04:53:00.001-07:00

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

2011-06-29T22:57:00.003-07:00

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

2011-06-28T13:25:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-27T13:48:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-26T12:59:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-25T12:38:00.000-07:00

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 sterility 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

2011-06-24T12:27:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-23T12:19:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-22T14:12:00.000-07:00

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. 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

2011-06-21T12:05:00.001-07:00

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

2011-06-20T11:58:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-19T11:20:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-18T10:40:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-17T05:23:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-16T05:40:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-15T14:43:00.001-07:00

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

2011-06-14T05:49:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-13T05:21:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-12T14:07:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-11T13:37:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-10T18:40:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-09T18:41:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-08T06:17:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-07T06:16:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-06T06:14:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-05T20:50:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-04T20:43:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-03T21:08:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-02T20:37:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-01T10:22:00.000-07:00

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.

May 31: The heat is on

2011-05-31T09:41:00.000-07:00

Oh glorious heat. You are finally here!

I ditch my original plan to visit MOCCA for a long leisurely bike ride along the Harbourfront to Humber River. I view Ontario Place’s 60‘s vision of futuristic achitecture. This place is slated to undergo ‘revitalization’. I will miss it. I continue on past Summerside Bathing Pavilion and Palais Royale to Humber River. These estuaries and ravines leading to Lake Ontario form the main geographical feature of Toronto. The rich habitats attract birds--and May is high season for migrating birds.

I am not the only one playing hooky today. The Waterfront trail is busy with cyclists, bladers, strollers. I pop over to Harbourfront to continue my heat worship. Patios are filled to capacity with people heralding this year's first 30 plus degree day.

May 30: Bold strokes

2011-05-30T19:17:00.003-07:00

I am at day 7 without a voice. Recovery is painfully slow this time ‘round. Really, I am resting my voice completely. Yet, each morning when I attempt to make a sound, all that comes forth is barely a croak. At this rate, I will have to get a colleague to scope my larynx soon.

Plans for this year’s creativity include dusting off my acrylic paints. Finally, I get around to this--something I can easily do without a voice. I am surprised. I quickly finish off a painting I started about a decade ago. I cover the lifeless stilted paint strokes with bolder strokes. I continue on to my take of Haida style art. No matter that my whale resembles a seal. I am less afraid of creating something displeasing to the eye. No longer do I feel a need to produce a masterpiece. I revel in this freedom.