You Will Do Wonders This Country Has Never Seen

The Race of Hope is a marathon-distance race up and down the tallest mountain in West Africa.  It takes place at the end of February each year and attracts runners throughout Cameroon and neighboring African countries.  It begins at a soccer stadium in the Southwest Regional Capital of Buea.  Runners have five hours to make it to the top of the mountain following a steep, rocky, somewhat marked path.  Many don’t make the cut-off time and I have heard that no one has finished the race under three hours, which is unusual for a high-caliber race such as this one. I learned about the race when I was a Peace Corps Volunteer but never considered myself strong enough to run the race.  Now that I am back and physically stronger, I am seriously thinking of participating.  However, after returning from my three-day hike up Mt. Cameroon in March I realized that if I was serious about doing the race I would need to find local training partners who knew the course and the requisite training.

A few weeks after I came back from hiking Mt. Cameroon I was walking back from helping Emmanuela weed her family farm.  In a providential meeting that seems to define my experiences in Cameroon, I met a man on the road who was wearing a yellow t-shirt that said Batibo Mountain Race.  If his physique hadn’t indicated that he was a runner I would have thought he was wearing another cast-off t-shirt from a race the person had no idea even existed.  Unlike some t-shirts I see people here wearing from Germany, France, Holland, and who else knows where, this one was written in English with a name of a Cameroonian village, another clue to me that this man was a serious runner.  I stopped him and asked about the race.  After much questioning I found out his name was Kasimo, has participated in the Race of Hope as well as many other races, and runs in the morning a couple to times each week.  I asked him if I could join him for his next morning run. 

A couple of days later I joined him for our first run together.  It was one of the most painful running experiences I have had.  This man is fast.  Kenyan Olympic Runner fast.  Disappears over the hills two minutes after leaving me fast.  Finished second in the Race of Hope fast.  Despite the pain of feverishly trying to keep up with Kasimo there are some great advantages.  Perhaps the best one is I no longer have to greet everyone I pass on the road.  And when you are struggling for your next breath up another steep, muddy hill, this is a cherished benefit. Everyone in Kumbo knows that Kasimo is a serious runner and there seems to be an understanding of the onlookers that he and his training partners are exempt from greeting every child, goat, chicken, mommy, old pa they pass along the way.

 After a couple of weeks of forcing my body to go farther and faster since my collegiate race days, I met one of his female training partners Carine.  I like Carine because she doesn’t run as fast up the hills as Kasimo, but I love her because of her encouraging words and statements about running in Kumbo.  She tells me, “You are a great hill climber and if you continue to run with us you will do wonders this country has never seen.  But you need to learn to open your legs so you can fly down the hills faster.” When I run with Carine and Kasimo we barely talk.  Partly because we have little in common and partly because I don’t have enough extra breath to say more then one word answers.  But when they do talk it always makes me laugh to myself.  Two of my favorite phrases so far are, “We cannot go that direction because the mud will worry us,” and “You need to get a track down suit (meaning running pants) so that the grasses will not be beating your legs.”  Such a true, vivid description of what running is like on the small dirt paths around Kumbo.

When I run with Kasimo and Carine I am struck at how runners are the same all over the world.  We swap stories of our best times, longest races, and aspirations.  We start every run with a dread of what is to come, but a determination to finish.  Yet I am also struck at how different racing is in Cameroon.  I have been warned that when I do the Race of Hope I have to be sure of who is giving me water because people will spike competitors’ water with pepe (the local very strong spice).  Kasimo recently told me about a marathon in September and asked me if was planning on participating.  I asked him when in September it would be and he said they haven’t announced it yet.  To that response my thought was how can you train for a race when you don’t even know exactly when it is?  If the race is at the beginning of September that makes a big difference for training then if it as the end of September.  Also, for Kasimo and Carine they are training to win.  Unlike me who is doing the race to have something to train for and to say I did it, they are doing it to make money.  Kasimo is a farmer and Carine is a mother of four and winning races is a much-needed source of income for them.   

Although we only have three out and back routes, every run is always different.  This is usually due the weather or the people and animals I see along the way.  Sometimes it is due to feelings about life in Cameroon or my own clumsiness, like today.  I was running with Kasimo and after 35 minutes of running up some very steep, rocky, slick hills I was ready to turn around.  He decided to go a bit further and then catch up to me.  About one minute after we separated, I tripped over a rock and fell hard.  I scraped up my knee and hand pretty badly and just sat on the ground for a few minutes fighting back tears, tears from the pain and tears from the realization that my running partner was gone and I didn’t know how I would make the five mile trek back home when I couldn’t even stand.  But in a way of things working out just like they always do here, a motorcycle came up the slippery hill a few minutes later.  Some of the women, who saw me fall while working in their farms, explained to him what happened.  The motorcycle driver dropped off his passenger and told me to get on.  He would take me back to my house.  As we were going up the last steep, slippery hill, the driver told me to get off because there was no way he could carry me up the hill.  As I slowly meandered my way up the hill, there came Kasimo running up the hill.  He had turned around and came back as fast as we did on the motorcycle.  Granted the motorcycle was going slow because of the slick mud, but it still was a machine with a motor!  Kasimo checked to make sure I was ok and I said yes, it is mostly just scrapes and the motorcycle driver will bring me home. We agreed that if I was feeling better we would meet Wednesday morning for another run.  I suppose if I want to do wonders this country has never seen at the Race of Hope, I will meet him for another training run.  

Kasimo and Carine in front of my house.  Check out their track down suits that prevent the grasses from beating their legs and their well-washed shoes to be rid of the mud that worries us.  

Time

Time has a different feel in Cameroon, a different rhythm.  Its position just north of the equator offers little variation in the length of the days; the sun brightens the clouded sky around 6 each morning and closes the day around 6 each evening.  One of the few markers of time progression is the change from the dusty brown dry season to the brilliantly green rainy season and the accompanying slight fluctuation in temperatures.  The bright mornings and afternoon thunderstorms the rainy season reminds me of Colorado summers and the harmattan winds and higher temperatures the dry season reminds me of California summers so to me it feels like it is perpetually summer.

“In Africa there is always plenty of time and fufu corn” is one of my favorite quotes from Barbara Kinsgolver’s novel, Poisonwood Bible.  Cameroonians often joke that they follow BMT (Black Man Time) meaning that they will show up for a meeting or appointment whenever they get there since there is never any rush.  There is always tomorrow.  I know that my sense of time is different from many Cameroonians for a variety of reasons.  One of them because traditionally Cameroonians follow an eight-day calendar with specific days for going to the farm, the market, and rest days called “Country Sunday”, but some of these days seem to vary by the week.  The other day my friend Emmanuela was at my house and I asked her when she was going to the farm to harvest beans and potatoes and she said, “Today and tomorrow and after that I don’t know because I think it will be Country Sunday.”  After she said this I felt better knowing that I’m not the only one who can’t keep track of the Cameroonian calendar.  It also reminded that few Cameroonians think about a future that is beyond tomorrow.  Not that I blame them.  When most of life seems to be lived in reaction to what happens around them-- an unexpected illness, death, or visit of a family member that detracts from saving money for the future; rain that disturbs planting and harvesting of food; and unreliable electricity and transportation that disrupts work; there is little use in planning more then a day, or at most, a week, in advance.

This past week we started recruiting for our control group.  We need to find 200 people to listen to an audio program about malaria.  After we have finished with the control group, we will recruit 200 people for our audio-only intervention group and then 200 people for our audio and discussion intervention group.  Every group will be divided into 20 subgroups consisting of 10 people each and are to come four separate times to listen to a different audio segment.  This arrangement makes sense to me, but I know it is based on my concept of time, schedules, and routine.  It will be interesting to see how it intersects with the Cameroonian concept.

All of this thinking about Cameroonian and American concepts of time reminded me that this week marks six months since I’ve left America.  I remember when I was a Peace Corps Volunteer the sixth month seemed like a huge milestone and to a lesser degree it feels the same this time around. I think this is partly because of what I’ve read about health behavior change and that it usually takes six months to adjust behavior patterns. I do think it is generally true as these past week I’ve felt more acceptance of how I spend my days and finally feel like I have settled into a rhythm of life here.  Without a laundry machine, microwave, reliable electricity, mop, microwave, a car, peanut butter, fitted sheets, I feel like I spend half my day just cleaning and preparing food.  I often resented doing these other chores because it felt like it took away from my real work of writing and analyzing data for my research. However, recently I have been reminded of a quote from one of my professors in college, “What removes us from our labor, removes us from our lives.”   I’m realizing that although household chores take longer then they do in America, they provide a much-needed rhythm for my daily life.  I am forced to let go of my American mindset that productivity is determined by working eight hours a day, five days a week.  I remind myself that I’m not in America and don’t need to follow the American rhythm of life.  I’m in Cameroon and following the Cameroon rhythm of life.  It’s a different rhythm, a slower, more mechanical, less predictable rhythm, but it’s a good rhythm.

To strive or strain for results, or to feel that by now you should be getting somewhere, achieving something, is the wrong approach.  It is important to be relaxed about what is happening.  Time is not important.

Esther de Waal

The mark of a new day--view of the rising sun from my loft window

I No Know Me

 “I no know me.”  This has always been one of my favorite Pidgin English phrases meaning, I don’t know.  Recently I have said that phrase often.  For the past five weeks I have been hosting visitors in Cameroon.  My dad was here for one week, my mom for three weeks, and my professor and her daughter for two weeks.  Whenever I host visitors I realize how much I don’t know about Cameroon and its culture and perhaps have given up trying to understand. Cameroon is so different from America that it evokes all kinds of questions and ponderings.  Many questions for which I cannot provide answers and simply respond, “I don’t know.”   A popular phrase amongst Peace Corps Volunteers and one I adopted long ago is “Why ask why?”  This means sometimes there is little use in asking why things are the way they are because either host country nationals don’t know or even if they do know, you won’t be able to understand.  One of my favorite examples of the former is when I was hiking Mt Cameroon and came to the campsite the second evening.  The place was swarming with bees and one of my friends asked a Cameroonian why there were so many bees.  His answer was, “Yes, there are many bees here.”  So to prevent receiving answers that only restate my question, I have stopped asking many questions and prefer to live life in a state of ambiguity and relying on my observations.

The questions have reminded me of the complexity of culture and how it shapes our values and behaviors without necessarily logical reasons.  My mom had many questions in particular about the ju-jus (people wearing traditional masks who appear for important events in the community) and when she asked some of my Cameroonian friends what the masks symbolized, who was wearing the masks, and what they did at the ceremonies the Cameroonians couldn’t answer.  They just see ju-jus as a part of their life who randomly appear, scare children, and then disappear. 

Similarly, while my professor was here we talked about the cultural beliefs that influence breastfeeding.  When we asked Cameroonians were the beliefs that women can’t have sex while breastfeeding or that babies need to eat cricket and weaver bird in order to develop their voice came from, they too couldn’t answer our questions.  As a result of these discussions and analyzing our qualitative data we have developed a conceptual model to describe what factors we believe influence exclusive breastfeeding in the health district.  Unlike other health behavior models at the center of this model is culture for we believe that the cultural beliefs greatly influence breastfeeding behavior.  Exactly how, “I no know” but we hope to determine this in the next phase of our research project.  Of course this will require asking lots of questions, but hopefully we can ask the questions in a way that are answers simply don't restate the question.  

Here are some pictures from the recent visits:

My American and Kumbo Families

Cameroon and American Project Staff

Papa Jerry and Baby Kate

Mom and I on a motorbike in Kumbo

Fulfillment

“What should I say when people ask if you are happy there?”  My parents have been visiting the past week and this was the first question my dad asked me.  This past week I’ve been thinking a lot about that question as well as similar questions I receive from current Peace Corps Volunteers, asking why I decided to come back.   I usually tell the current Peace Corps Volunteers you will understand after you return to the United States and experience the void.   Indeed, some of the Peace Corps Volunteers I served with have contacted me and told me they are living vicariously through me and wish to return.  My dad’s question took me by surprise and I never gave him an adequate answer, primarily because I don’t think I would use the word happy to describe how I generally feel about living and working here.  If its not happiness, why did I and others want to come back?  Malidona Some, an African writer living in America said, “Every Westerner who visits my village leaves with one thing, and that is the experience of the intensity of human connection and attention.  It is not the magic, the ritual of ceremonies that are done, but an awareness of the human connection that they take away.  That is what makes them long to return again, because that is what they don’t get here.”  And I agree, it is a sense of connection, completeness, fulfillment, wholeness that I searched for in other countries and states after I returned from Cameroon and never found until I came back a couple of months ago.  In Cameroon there is little separation between my public and private life.  I work at my house and people knock on my doors at all hours of the day.  They see me when I first roll out of bed and right before I fall asleep.  Because I am white it is impossible to be anonymous and hide, people know when I sleep, shop, work, eat, travel. They see me and are getting to know me, all of me.  My research colleagues here are some of my closest friends, I hang out at their house, know their families, and they know mine.  Cameroon is a very religious society and it is easy to talk to anyone about matters of faith.  When I return from a trip to Bamenda people say, “Thank God for your safe journey.”  Sometimes I wish I had more privacy, but I know that I if I did, life would be monotonous and the connections with my surroundings wouldn’t be as real or complete.  Due to the various challenges living and working here requires all of my mind, body, and soul thus bringing the serenity I yearn for and have experienced nowhere else. 

I realized months ago, that the actual developed and tested audio program may make little difference, but I believe living here and working with Cameroonians to develop the audio program does make a difference.  A couple of weeks ago Dr. Okwen and I facilitated a workshop about designing and disseminating effective health interventions.  We used our project as a template to increase the capacity 20 community development and media professionals on how to do formative research and then use the media to disseminate their results.  I heard some of the participants say that they will use the skills they developed to address other issues in their communities such as injection safety, hospital waste disposal, birth certificate registration, and education.  It was probably the most fulfilling thing I have done so far as I was able to use my knowledge and experience to increase the capacity of local health workers to design their own health interventions.  So am I happy here?  Not always.  But I do feel fulfilled and complete.      

Some of the knowledge development participants

Connections



Katie, Maureen, Mayor Larry, me, Kathie

Connections happen differently in Cameroon then they do in America.  Perhaps it is from the combination of being an expatriate living in Cameroon and the open hospitality of Cameroonians.  In the middle of February I was at a yoga class and met Chris and Katie.  That morning I was equally surprised to find a place in Kumbo that offers yoga classes and to meet two white people from America.  After asking the usual questions of how long they were here and what they were doing here, I invited them to my house for pizza.  That evening I learned that Katie is from Minnesota, Chris from Wisconsin, they met while attending the University of Wisconsin and quickly understood why they enjoyed the cheese on my pizza so much.  They explained that they do not have a refrigerator at their house and were missing dairy products.  Thus, I wasn’t too surprised when they told me they met the Mayor of Jakiri, a nearby city, who also owns one of the few operating dairies in the country. 




Mborro's deworming their cattle

 

This past week they invited me to meet the Mayor and visit his dairy.  Mayor Larry, as we call him, picked us up in his Toyota 4Runner and during the 45-minute car ride explained that he went to the University of Minnesota and lived in the Twin Cities for ten years learning about the American dairy industry.  I made the connection that this is the same industry that my mother’s family has been a part of since they immigrated to Minnesota from Holland.  In his American accent, he told us that he worked with Land O’Lakes to start a dairy in Cameroon.  The dairy operates like a co-op and works the Mborro farmers to produce yogurt and cheese.  This concept is revolutionary in Cameroon because the Mborro farmers do not tend to settle in one location with their cows, but move around with them to greener pastures. However, the Mborros who are a part of the Tadu Dairy Co-Op stay close the dairy during the wet season and then migrate during the dry season.  This explanation led to a good discussion between Katie, Mayor Larry, and I as we made connections between Tadu dairy and how to bring development from the West that is flexible and culturally sensitive




Processing yogurt

  During the tour of the dairy, we were shown how they produce yogurt, a desired product among wealthy Cameroonians, cheese, an even more desired product among the expatriates in Cameroon, and the equipment for processing milk.  Our tour guide explained that they aren’t producing milk yet because there is not much of a market for the product among Cameroonians.  I knew this, but was particularly relevant as this past week I have als been researching nutritional rickets in Cameroon and making the connection that the cause of the disease is most likely not because of deficiency in vitamin D, as it is typically classified, but because of a calcium deficiency.  I was doing the research in preparation for a health talk I gave for the physical therapists at the nearby Banso Baptist Hospital.  Because yogurt and powdered milk are too expensive for a typical Cameroonian the best local source for calcium is eating chicken and fish bones (which is normal).   Below are some more pictures of the dairy.


  
 

Cheese to sell to the white men




Containers for milk collection







View of the Dairy







 



 



One Year

Friday, May 7, 2010. For weeks this date loomed in the back of my mind. It was the day all of the paperwork had to be ready to submit to the Nestle Foundation for our research grant. I spent that morning finalizing the necessary documents and came home exhausted and wondering if we really had everything together. Not long after I arrived home, my phone rang. “Sister Kate, this is Mr. Peter. I’m calling to tell you that Eunice died today.” Silence. I knew the phone call from Cameroon was expensive and there was no time to ask questions and even if there was, I didn't know what to say. I simply said thank you and hung up the phone. Thus began the long, slow process of grieving the loss of a good friend. 

Eunice was my closest friend when I lived here before in Bafut. She realized that a young female Peace Corps Volunteer would have trouble living in a small village in Cameroon. She made my problems of growing food and taking care of my health and home her problem. She taught me the meaning of my favorite Pidgin English word, ashia. In American English, ashia means, “I see your problem, I share with you.” It is a very useful word and used to show respect, to greet others, or to demonstrate concern and care for another. One day when I was running, fell, and hurt my knee, the first word Eunice said to me was “Ashia.” When I found her hauling water to keep my garden growing in the dry season I would tell her, “Ashia.” During my two years in Bafut, Eunice and I bonded through many joys and challenges. She stayed with me the night after thieves attempted to break into my house. She encouraged me and affirmed my work when often I felt like I was failing as a Peace Corps Volunteer. She confided in me when her husband was unfaithful. She cried on my shoulder when her uncle died. It is common in Cameroon for people to call each other “Brother”, “Sister”, “Aunt” and “Uncle” when they really aren’t related. We called each other Sister Eunice and Sister Kate not just out of respect, but to demonstrate the depth of our relationship.

Working in garden.  I insisted that we planted groudnuts in addition to the corn and beans.

Shortly after I left Cameroon in 2007, Eunice gave birth to her third child. The baby girl was given the name Kate because according to Eunice, “The baby's coming to my life is a surprise just as Kate who came to as a surprise and very loving to me.” I knew that Eunice didn't want to have anymore children, but after I met Baby Kate in March 2009 it was obvious that Baby Kate was her joy.

Eunice and Baby Kate in 2009

Eunice with her sons Lord and Babila and Baby Kate

After I returned from that visit to Cameroon, Eunice emailed me to tell me that she was diagnosed with gastric cancer. She received chemotherapy treatment in Yaoundé and for a few months, she was better. I will never forget the phone call when she told me, "Sister Kate, I'm better! They told me I wouldn't live, but God is in control and I'm alive!" Then in January of 2010, she got worse. She went to a hospital not far from where I live now and had a hysterectomy. She was in the hospital for over a month and each time I would call she would tell me that Baby Kate was with her. Occasionally she would put the phone next to Baby Kate and she would just giggle. Over time the phone calls became more somber as her cancer progressed and she contracted hepatitis B and C. Each time she would ask me to come and take care of her children. In April of 2010 she begged that I would come see her before she died. My mom and I booked flights to visit in June, but we arrived a month and half after she died.

Eunice's grave

Part of the reason that I chose to do my doctoral research in Cameroon was so I could come back to Cameroon and be close to Eunice’s family, to keep my promise to her that I would look after her children. It has been joyful to visit them for Youth Day, Kate’s birthday, and Easter, but also very difficult. I see Eunice’s tenacity in Kate, her broad smile in Babila, and dependability in Lord and wish she were here. I wish she were here to listen to Kate laugh and see how Babila and Lord take care of their sister and other household chores. I wish she were here to see that I did come back to Cameroon and am building on what she taught me about solidarity with others and how to survive in Cameroon. When Peter, Eunice’s husband invited me to attend a small memorial service last week to commemorate the year anniversary of Eunice’s death, I knew I had to be there, but also knew that it would be hard. I knew that it would conjure up everything I learned and experienced this past year in grieving the loss of a good friend—the questions, the guilt, the sorrow, the anger, the disbelief. But I went. I went and cried with Babila and reminded him that it is okay to cry and miss his mother. I held Kate as she cried herself to sleep in my arms. Lord and Babila drew pictures to remember their mother. Babila drew a picture of a tree because, “Trees make places to be nice and my mama made places to be nice.” Lord drew a picture of him helping his mother making frozen ice cream. Kate just copied her brothers and enjoyed the new colored pencils.

Babila and his picture of a tree

But we also laughed and ate good food.  Lord and Babila love to play with my camera and we took a lot of "snaps".  Their reiliency never ceases to amaze me and am honored that they call me, "Sister Kate".

Those who have died live on in me and inspire me with their example and the rich legacy of love from their earthly lives. Their lives touch mine. Their lives make a difference in mine. As part of a family or community we make the dead part of our members so as to receive the gift of their spirits. Loved ones who have died are remembered in worship and prayers, in conversations, with photographs, and by visiting their graves. Life goes on, but with their rememberance enriching our lives.

Henri Nouwen, Finding My Way Home

Laughter

In an effort to balance some recent serious postings I think now is a good time to write about what makes me laugh in Cameroon. 

People’s perceptions of me: I do not think a week goes by that someone doesn’t ask me where I am from.  I usually respond by saying, “Guess”.  Sometimes the person will say the US right away, but other times they will say Germany, Canada, the UK, or the Netherlands, and just today someone guessed Tokyo.  I still am proud of the day when someone said Morocco because of the way I was dressed that day.  Of course, he also thought I was a refugee from that country looking for a job in Cameroon, so I don’t know what that really says about my African style and composure.  However, the funniest so far was when I played the game with a half-drunk man in a taxi in Bamenda.  After he asked me and I said, “Guess” he said, “I haven’t heard of that country, I’ll have to look at my atlas.”

Children:  It is always hard not to smile and laugh when children are around.  Sometimes I laugh at their hats like in the picture below:

More commonly, I laugh at their greetings.  There is a group of children that I pass on my runs.  Without fail they yell out, “Good morning, white man!” but lately they have change their greeting to, “Good morning my friend!”  After I pass by, they resolutely shout out, “Good Bye!”

Awkward situations: Sometimes these situations are just embarrassing like people starring at me when I forgot to greet the Fon (the Northwest version of a tribal chief) properly, or forgetting that pants refers to undergarments instead trousers, but sometimes they are just funny.  For example, last week tile was installed in my house and it is beautiful, but slippery.  A couple of nights ago, right before I went to bed, I climbed the ladder to get something from my loft.  Just as I place my foot on the top rung, I felt the ladder slip from underneath me.  I quickly scrabbled onto the loft floor, but then realized I had no way to get back downstairs.   I called out the window and a guard heard my pleas for help. The next problem was that my house was locked from the inside and no spare keys.  Thankfully, he found an open window and climbed through, “like a pussy cat,” as he said and held the ladder while I climbed back down in my pajamas.  Ever since that night I feel a special bond with Joe.   

Names: Some Cameroon names (and the people, for that matter) are so inspirational you feel like you’ve had your daily devotion after meeting them.  Hope, Faith, Godlove, Blessing, Promise, Favor, to name just a few.  But sometimes it is hard not to laugh out loud when someone introduces himself as Mystery, Danger, Maxim, Spy, or Ma Boy.  I have recently been given a Banso name, Fomonyuy.  It means God’s gift.  I find that having a traditional name is handy when men are proposing marriage and I don’t want to give them my real name.     

Pagne: The market is full of colorful fabrics just waiting for someone to buy and make dresses in all sorts of styles.  Usually these fabrics are just colorful designs, but sometimes I laugh when I see objects on them like lampshades and tea kettles, the President Paul Biya, or food like beans and groundnuts. I’m still searching for the right groundnut pagne.

Lampshade Pagne. 

Traveling salesmen: This is often the best source of humor in Cameroon.  Whenever I travel between Bamenda to Douala or Yaoundé, it is common to have a man on the bus who is trying to sell his magic potion that cures every kind of sickness and disease.  My favorite traveling salesman is a renaissance man.  He first comes on board the bus, gives us traveling advice about where to buy food along the road, and warns us not to put our hands outside the bus. Then he leads us in corporate prayers, songs, and dances.  He gets us moving around on the bus shaking people’s hands and singing.  After that, he gets out his black stone to cure snake bites and his magic potion to cure hemorrhoids, diabetes, cough, and reproductive problems and shows us exactly how to use it on different body orifices.  I have never bought anything from him, but I have bought sesame seeds in the market that promised the same miraculous treatment.  I ate some granola with the sesame seeds. I don’t feel any different.       

     

Joy is the most infallible sign of the presence of God

Teilhard de Chardin