Pillow Talk

In my month abroad, I’ve found several things that Americans and Cameroonians don’t see eye to eye on. Normally these are just bumps in the road, and take only a quick explanation before things are moving smoothly again. Wait, you eat oranges differently? Well, here’s how we eat them. Oh, this is what you call a ‘prune’? Huh, that’s not what we call those. You’re driving on the wrong side of the road why? Oh, those potholes. I guess that’s fair.

But last night I ran across something that was met with absolute confusion, and even with my poor, toddler-like language I could not successfully explain why Americans hold such an event so dear.

The American ‘sleepover’.

Charla, my bff here, slept over at my house last night. We tried jointly to explain exactly why you would have someone sleep at your house if they absolutely did not have to, but nobody really caught on.

Was her family out of town? Did something happen to her house? Does she need to stay here for several days? What do you mean just overnight?

We had a great time and played music, talked about boys, and laughed our butts off. My host-father’s only comment this morning was that these ‘sleepovers’ we like sure involve a lot of giggling. She’s allowed back, however, and next time he says he’ll buy us sachets of Bailey’s. This of course is only one of the many way my host-father is the coolest Cameroonian on the planet.

Aside from him, though, I’m pretty sure both family think we’re dating now.

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