Villageoise

After spending a year immersed in a francophone province of Cameroon, it has become clear that the most offensive insult to lance at someone, whether it be for putting their shoes on the wrong feet, greeting you with their left hand or refusing to pay a decent price for a kilo of Chinese mackerel, is villageoise. So that is why many host country nationals are at a loss for words when I inform them of my choice to move from the decent sized town center, to a rural satellite village.
It is true that this move has come with a few complications, including no running water or electricity, both of which I had fairly consistent access to in my previous location. Not only is there no market in my town, there is not even a boutique within 2kms. However, here and there small entrepreneurs haven taken the initiative to sell essential provisions, including warm beer, cassava whisky(for rainy mornings), kola nuts and with luck a little palm wine.
On a more personal level, my daily routine has changed in the following ways. I have space for gardening and farm demonstrations, I am working on setting up my traditional kitchen, so that I can learn the art of Cameroonian cooking, I'm developing a finer palette for palm wine, and I am constantly impressed by the generous and warm natures of country folks in Cameroon.
I should mention that I am living in the house of a village elite, it is much more spacious than the former house, which gives me the opportunity to welcome larger groups of farmers in for banana bread and palm wine after church on sundays.