aaaaand.... she rebounds

Second week at post, finished. I’m doing much better since I last wrote. That first week was probably the toughest, but I’m feeling much better about village life now. First off, my house is much more in order. I’ve finally got some basic furnishings (a dresser, a bed, a bookshelf, a table and two chairs), so now my things are more organized. After three long months, I’m no longer living out of a suitcase… finally. Even though my living room and kitchen are virtually empty (and the other two rooms in my house totally empty), I can at least sleep somewhere, put my clothes and books somewhere, and sit somewhere. Huge improvements over before.

New and improved room – with dresser and carpet!

I also found some “magic chalk” that kills cockroaches. I had heard about this elusive chalk from other volunteers during stage, and had mentally noted that I would probably need to get my hands on some, though I was baffled as to how – was I really supposed to go to the market and ask for “magic chalk” and expect to get a straight answer? But, happily, I stumbled upon it at market, so now I wake up every morning to find an assortment of beetles, roaches, ants, and other creepy crawlies on their backs, still twitching a little, though definitely dead (the chalk apparently targets their nervous system). I prefer them dead to alive, so this is good.

Things are looking up in the realm of work, as well. Beginning with that second week, I began to work in earnest with Magloire on my job at the Centre d’Accueil Pour les Jeunes or CAPJ (literally: “Welcome Center for Youth”), the organization I’m officially partnered with. We spent an hour one day going over Magloire’s vision for the center, and I think this was my turning point, where things started to look up.

Magloire envisions that CAPJ will be, essentially, a youth center, with several objectives: (1) to provide youth with activities that focus their free time so they avoid risky behavior life drinking all day, unprotected sex, etc; (2) to educate youth about HIV/AIDS and/or other health issues that they identify as important; (3) to provide practical training and education to youth that can open them to more opportunities for their futures (for example, computer information classes). As he envisions it, the CAPJ will have several branches of different programs, one being the Centre d’Écoute. The Centre d’Écoute will basically be a peer educator program about HIV/AIDS and STIs, but he hopes to create programs in information technology (with computers), a design program, and others as well. This is all very exciting. At the moment, as far as I can tell, the CAPJ doesn’t have any youth involved in anything, nor are any programs really set up. This means we’ll be starting at square one by recruiting kids to be a part of the Centre d’Écoute, but once we start working with them, I can see how this CAPJ could really come off the ground and be an exciting way to engage youth and provide opportunity to improve their lives.

One of Magloire’s other visions is to create an Association of People Living with HIV/AIDS (PVVS, in French). This is challenging to do discreetly, because there is a lot of discrimination against people who are HIV+, despite a fairly widespread and accurate knowledge of how HIV is transmitted – for example, people won’t shake hands with someone who is HIV+, even though they know that this won’t cause HIV transmission. Generally speaking, therefore, people who are HIV+ usually don’t want their status broadcasted, especially in small villages like Ngambé Tikar where everyone knows everyone’s business; many HIV+ people try to keep their status hidden. To create and advertise publicly an organization for people living with HIV/AIDS would be like creating a flashing red neon sign that said “look! Here’s all the people in your community who are positive!” No one would join such an organization and willingly open themselves to discrimination like that. Magloire wants to use the youth center as a way to create a PVVS Association, but keep it hidden. This way, people won’t need to specify that they’re going to a meeting for PVVS, but they can say they’re going to a CAPJ meeting. It’s fairly ingenious, since the CAPJ will already have several branches of activities, so this could just be another one.

In any case, when Magloire explained this and I finally understood a bit more what my primary project will be here with the CAPJ, I was ecstatic! It’s all right up my alley – training peer educators, doing education about health (especially HIV/AIDS and STIs), working with teenagers, working to create an HIV/AIDS group – it’s really exciting. What is fun and exciting about working with an organization that is not yet formed is the chance to build it from the ground up – there are no rules; instead we get to create the rules, to set the standards, to reach for the stars. It leaves me feeling optimistic each time we talk about CAPJ, even though I know there will be many obstacles to its eventual success.

The Centre d’Accueil Pour les Jeunes with Magloire and Lydie, another woman who is involved at the center (and her kids)

This is the actual building, that is, the CAPJ itself. There is a lot of work to be done; Magloire wants to expand it and spruce it up quite a bit – add cement floors and all that jazz

I’ve also started to discover some secondary side projects that I think will be worthwhile – the principal of the local high school asked me if I wanted to teach an English class four times a week. I politely declined, because my job is not as an English teacher, but I think it could be a worthwhile side project to come in maybe once a week or every two weeks and lead conversational classes for more advanced students; I could even sneak in some sensibilisations about health topics by doing them in English. Another avenue for side projects is working with the health club at the high school; since they’re on holiday break now, I haven’t met with them yet, but I’m hoping it will be fun/worthwhile. Magloire has also created Club de l’Amitiés (literally: “friendship clubs”) at both of the elementary schools, which are comprised of elementary school students who do sensibilisations and animations about HIV and AIDS. Magloire said he created them because he thinks it’s never too early to begin talking and teaching about HIV, STIs and AIDS (I wish you could see how my heart nearly burst when he told me that). I’m hoping to work with these students as well. Other work includes going to the pygmy campements to see if there is some work there that may or may not be incorporated into projects at the CAPJ.

I’m also hoping that I may be able to find some work to do at the hospital. The hospital here is pretty spiffy – it is clean and appears to be well-run, and it has a doctor (I think most hospitals this rural do not) and a microscope, so they can do HIV, malaria, and other testing (again, I think microscopes are a sign of a well-run institution, since they are also hard to come by). Perhaps I could do rounds with the doctor, or provide some other sort of support. Who knows?

Another task for me is finding a tutor to begin learning the most commonly spoken local language here – Tikar. Peace Corps will reimburse volunteers who hire tutors to learn local languages for the first six months of service, so I really want to take advantage of this to learn Tikar. Thus far, I’ve learned just a few greeting phrases, and I have a long way to go. I recently found out the name of a man who teaches (taught?) Tikar at the elementary school, so I think he would be a good person to hire as a tutor.

In any case, I’m happy to find myself with my hands full with long-term home improvement projects, work projects, and the ever-continuing goal to meet people and make friends. Emotional state much improved: now at a seven or eight.

Two Years? Really?

One week at post! That should feel like an accomplishment, and in some ways it does, but I also feel incredibly overwhelmed most of the time. This manifests itself in bizarre, wonderful ups (teachings some lady friends of Magloire’s how to make banana bread; telling jokes and people actually laughing) and some horrible, I-want-to-do-nothing-but-cry downs (what the hell am I supposed to do now?; this house sucks and I’m poor and cannot even afford to buy a chair).

I think on a scale of one to ten, one being the least happy, and ten the most, I average roughly a three or four at the moment. Ralph and I texted back and forth today, and he put it well when he said “I go from confidence to terror in a typical day.” I wrote back, “roughly the same for me, except I go from terror to more terror.” The main contributors to my unhappiness are (1) my housing conditions (2) work conditions and (3) already bummed about those things, it’s easy to start missing family and friends from the states and even other PCVs here who I’ve made friends with.

I’ll start with my house – I should describe it a bit anyhow. It’s four modest-sized rooms and a large living room, with a small front porch. One of the four rooms will be my kitchen and one is my bedroom. As for the other two, I don’t, at the moment, have the money or werewithal to begin to know what to do with them. The roof is corrugated tin, supported by wooden beams, which are on top of cement-covered mud-brick walls. From inside the house, in three of the rooms, you can see the corrugated tin roof; there is only plafond (or wooden ceiling) in my bedroom and the salon. This does not make me happy. For one, I think it is a security risk, and for two, it makes it too easy for bugs to get in.

Aside from that, though, my house kinda sucks because it’s very lacking in furniture and the PC settlement allowance was nowhere near enough for me to set up my house. I am living modestly indeed – at the moment, don’t even have a table and chairs and my settlement money is all spent (though I do have two stools)! My “kitchen” is thus rendered virtually useless though without bidons to collect enough water to do dishes, I suppose this is a moot point. I guess I never considered how nice it was to move into dorm rooms that already had basic furnishings: a stove, a sink, a countertop. My house was E-M-P-T-Y when I moved in. Just walls and floor and some ceiling. I guess I should be happy with what I got. I’m trying to be, but really, it sucks.

This is my room during the first week. Pretty much all of my belongings are in this one room since I have nowhere to really put anything

The one thing I am optimistic about is my front porch. My front lawn is really nicely shaded by five big trees and my porch will be perfect for lounging in comfy chairs or even a hammock. I dream of when I can afford these things and then sit out on my porch with a cup of tea on the misty, foggy, cool mornings here in comfort and face the day a happier person. Here is a photo of the back of my house. You can see three of the huge trees towering above the house, which are in the front yard and provide that wonderful shade.

My latrine and washing area are in back of the house, up a small hill, from which I have a lovely view of the village, since I lived kind of outside the main area. It is weirdly nice to have such a lovely view of village while squatting down and shitting.

The view from the latrine

I am getting used to the latrine and bucket bath, though the scarcity of water makes it harder to stay clean. That is, there are plenty of water sources in village, but I don’t have water containers yet to gather and store a lot of water at my house. I have two neighbors: the people who live next door to me and one of the mayor’s two wives across the street. My other neighbors are vast cornfields and two papaya trees next to my house, which is pretty sweet – free fruit! My next-door neighbors have goats and chickens that roam freely all over both our front and back yards, shitting everywhere and generally being a nuisance, and a pig and a turkey penned up in back.

Don’t let the ropes fool you, these goats in my backyard are not tied to anything.

The noises of my life are birds chirping in the early morning, wasps buzzing in and out of my window during the day (I think my house used to be their home) and grasshoppers singing in the evening, punctuated by the grunt of the pig or the occasional gobble-gobble of the turkey. One day, recently, I was laying down in my room reading. I had left the side door to my house open and a goat wandered in. When I noticed him sniffing around my bedroom door, I shrieked in surprise. He stopped cold, looked at me (I think noticing me for the first time), and took off out of my house. It’s these kinds of occurrences that make me feel like old MacDonald on the goddamn farm. That and the incessant cock-a-doodle-doo from the neighbor’s roosters (do they ever sleep?)

So having spent the better part of the first week trying to take care of some matters concerning the house, I’m starting to think about beginning work, or rather, what Americans would consider “work.” Really, just being here, meeting people, and trying to learn, observe village life is my job too, and I have been doing that. When I talk about beginning my work, I mean doing needs assessment with the various community groups. Magloire and I talked today about working with the health club at the local high school. Before we can start working with them, though, we need to meet with the responsible of the health club (ie the teacher in charge of the health club). By chance, we ran into him today and I was disappointed to discover that school vacation begins this coming Friday and we won’t be able to begin working with them until the beginning of January. Magloire says we can work with other groups in the meantime, which is fine, I guess, though I am confused about where to find these groups.

I guess what is unsettling is knowing even where to begin. Of course, I understood coming into Peace Corps that this would be part of my job: finding work, finding my way. I even asked for it. But really, it is a bit terrifying. I’m used to having an agenda everyday. Even during stage, there was ostensibly an agenda. Here, really, the first and most persistent question in my mind each day is: “what the hell am I supposed to do?” Magloire has been very helpful. Without him, I would probably spend the better part of each day crying. When we walk through town, he’s introducing me to people, trying to help me get to know people, the village. Sometimes, though, (okay most times) I feel like he is babysitting me – like I am a useless lump without any capabilities to do shit on my own. But then, without his constant aid, I kind of am a useless lump.

Oy. I wish this would get easier fast. I am already sick of this “character-building” bullshit. Before coming here, whenever I thought of Peace Corps in the abstract, I kind of knew there would be trying times, but I really had no idea how they would be difficult. Now here they are, staring me in the face, and the only thing comforting me is that I know it could be worse. That is, this sucks. I sincerely wish this didn’t suck, but I feel powerless to make it not suck. Well not powerless, so much as I know it’s going to take a lot of time before it’s better. Meanwhile, all I can do is sit and wait (figuratively and actually) until things improve. This is how I am sure that this is not the worst it could be, though: because I can envision and see that time will make it better. I think I will know the worst if/when I encounter it, because then I will not be able to see even a glimmer of hope for things to get better. I think that will be when my will is really tested. Probably, right now, this is just normal, beginning-of-service jitters.

I hope.

Small small make house

So the next day in Bafoussam was actually far less painful than I thought it would be. Abba’s homestay mother had offered to meet us in Bafoussam and help us bargain at the market so we wouldn’t get ripped off. I managed to get many of the essentials (a cookstove, marmites, frying pan, cups, plates, silverware, a cake tin, a colander, mixing bowl, casserole dishes, a bucket, and a large container for storing water) without having to do any of the bargaining; plus her mother knew which stuff was quality and which was knockoff, so I think we got good stuff at a good price. Bargaining still stresses me out a little, so I was happy to get most of that done without having to deal with the headache of it. Plus, Abba’s mom was hilarious bargaining – she would make these priceless faces of disgust at certain price offers, and sometimes just wait around for five or ten minutes until the vendor gave the price she wanted.

I left Bafoussam the next day very early – I had the travel agency come and pick up my things at the hotel and then I met Magloire in Foumban. We left my things at his house while I got the remaining needed items (mattress, bottle of gas, sheets, pillows) in Foumban. Next we bought out an entire bush taxi (not cheap) to go straight to village, without the usual stop in Malentouen. Here are some photos from the trip:

The driver next to the bush taxi loaded down with all my crap. Notice that over half of the backseat is stuffed to the brim. Some things never change – I’m even a packrat in Africa.

This is right at the beginning of the dirt road after leaving Foumban. Notice the tiny dirt path snaking up the mountain in the distance. We would later mount that exact path in the bush taxi.

The “road” to village – it really is gorgeous. Breathtaking. Despite the fact that the road is really no more than a rocky dirt path.

Magloire helping to push the car out of an unexpectedly deep puddle (pond?) that the driver drove right into, causing flooding on the floors on the front seat. I was astonished that the engine wasn’t ruined by this.

We arrived, finally, in village on the 8^th around 5 PM – only about an hour and a half left of light in the day. The house would prove to be a much bigger headache than I imagined. My house was locked when we got there. Magloire ran off to see the landlady, but she didn’t have any keys. I climbed in through one of the windows to enter the house, and was kind of frightened by what I saw. The place was filthy – dirt and garbage littered all the floors. The wooden ceiling hadn’t been installed throughout the house, as it was supposed to be (my boss had given a rare 6-month rent advance so the ceiling would be done), and none of the door locks really worked. Also, the place was infested with wasps, ants, beetles, caterpillars, cockroaches, spiders – well, you name it, it lives in my house – and pigeons were living in the ceiling where there was ceiling (the living room area). Determined not to cry, I set up my still plastic-covered mattress on the floor, got out my sleeping bag, flashlight and some candles and set up camp while Magloire swept and washed some of the floors. That first night, I was a little on edge. I’ve heard enough stories form other PCVs to know that the most common crime is theft/robbery, and with all my possessions in one place, without a means to lock the house, I was freaked out.

I called my boss, Kim, the next day to discuss the issues with the house. She seemed upset that the ceiling wasn’t finished and called Magloire and we got to work taking care of things. The first thing was getting proper locks on the doors, which was surprisingly simple. Next we needed to get a carpenter to install wood panel ceilings throughout the house. The way Cameroonian houses are built here is with mud bricks, which are then covered with cement. The walls are topped by a corrugated tin roof on wooden support beams. Often this leaves a gap between the tin roof and the top of the mud-brick walls open to the outdoors. Wooden ceiling is thus installed in the house to deter thieves. The wooden ceiling was installed in my room and the living room, but not throughout the house, as it was supposed to be and the wooden shutters needed replacement (and the windows screening), so these were additional matters that needed addressing.

I pulled water from the well that is, thankfully, across the street, set up my stove and began boiling some water for drinking. Magloire and I started de-weeding the area around my side doorstep, and I started to feel better about the house.

Yesterday, we went and spoke to the head of the sawmill. He has been very helpful. When I came for site visit, he said he would have two beds made and a table and chairs, all ready to go when I arrived. Even though these things were not ready when I arrived, the only thing that remained was to varnish the bed. With luck I will get to pick these things up today and I will finally have a bed to sleep in. He also said he’d be happy to send over a carpenter to fix the ceilings and wooden window shutters, which might need replacing before I can set up window screens. Also, Magloire and I are going to talk to the mayor, hopefully today, about running a power line to my house, so I can have electricity from 6 PM to midnight, when they run their generator. All in all, I’m still living in a dump, but things are looking up.

What is abundantly clear, however, is that my house is going to need a lot of work before I call it a home. In America, I think safety and/or health codes would prohibit someone from living there. Magloire and I keep saying that petit à petit (little by little), it will get better. But I have yet to get a good night’s rest sleeping on my feather down sleeping bag which causes me to sweat profusely. So until some very basics regarding the house are taken care of, I’m not starting my work. Which kind of sucks, but I think I would cry if I had to work all day and then come home to this mess that I’m supposed to call my house.

Small small catch monkey.

Onward ho

Today we left, no longer as trainees, but as official Peace Corps Volunteers, for our respective posts. Yesterday was our swearing-in ceremony, which was almost a bit anti-climatic because it was pretty boring and there was an almost palpable feeling of “thank GOD we are done with training.” After the ceremony and a catered lunch, I went home to finish packing.

That afternoon, the Peace Corps drivers came by everyone’s house and collected their luggage and brought it to the training site, and told us to be at the training site today (the 6th) at one of three times, based on which large city we were going to. The crew of five people headed towards Bafoussam (myself included) were scheduled to leave at 8:00 AM, but by 8:30, the people who were supposed to leave at 7 AM had just left. Needless to say, we finally got out of Bangangté at around 9:30, and after traveling all of about a third of a mile, the van in front of us (headed for Bamenda) broke down, and we had to stop. Fortunately, this was a short-lived stop, and in about 5 minutes, we were on our way again. We arrived in Bafoussam at about 10:30, and Abba and I checked into our hotel and unloaded all of our crap. We then set off right away to take care of necessary money issues – namely, we had had Peace Corps wire the majority of our money to Bafoussam so we didn’t have to worry about traveling with it, and we needed to the find the Express Union where it was wired to.

Well, we asked about five people where to find the Express Union, and each sent us searching in a different direction than we had just come from, only for us to discover that they had directed us to yet another Western Union, not an Express Union. We finally hopped in a cab and found the Express Union. The process of picking up our money was not overly complicated, and the next step was setting up a bank account at the bank of our choice. This would (apparently) not be so simple.

We arrived at the bank around 12:25, and asked where to find the person who could help us set up bank accounts. When we finally found him, he told us to come back tomorrow morning. However, we don’t have a ton of time in Bafoussam and need to do shopping for household stuff tomorrow, so we persisted, and he started us on the epic and unending process of setting up a bank account. We should have been suspicious when, about a half hour into the paperwork, he said, in English (I guess he thought he didn’t understand French very well) “this is very difficult, very difficult.” He then proceeded to spend the next three long, torturous hours filling out the paperwork for three of us to open bank accounts. Which was shocking considering he was doing something for those entire three hours, but god only knows what and why it took so long. As far as I could tell, there were about two quite basic forms – asking for our names, addresses, phone numbers, place of birth, parents’ names and a signature. I don’t know how it took three hours to fill out those forms, but it did. And I was starving, tired, and irritated that I had forgotten to bring something to do during that time. After opening accounts, the plan was to deposit some of our money into the accounts. At about 3:27, I asked him what the bank’s hours were. 8 AM – 3:30 PM. Fantastic. He had just finished with my account, so while he finished up Ralph and Abba’s, I went to the cashier to deposit some money.

I thought he needed to finalize something else with us after the deposit, so I went back to his office after making my deposit. By this time, Ralph and Abba had finished with him, so he was alone in his office. I was absolutely thrilled to have this conversation:

Me: Est-ce qu’il y a des autres choses à faire?

Him [with a sly grin]: Tu veux épouser un Camerounaise?

Me [grossed out and not wanting to encourage where this was going]: Non, pas de tout

Him: Est-ce que c’est parce que les Camerounaises sont pauvres?

Me : No. Est-ce qu’il y a des autres choses que je dois faire pour le compte?

Just what I wanted after an exhausting day of wandering all around a hot, smoky, crowded city – an offer of marriage from a complete stranger. Glad this day is over.

some fotes

Because we're living in a lap of luxury here in the case in Yaounde, replete with hot showers (third one in three months!), a washing machine and dryer (!), TV and movies, and most importantly, FAST internet. Picture posting time!!!

This is me and my host sister, Abigail. Also known as Sassy McSasster.

Me with the homestay siblings: (from left: Abby, me, Patou, Yoyo)

A nice lady making beignets. Some of my favorite food. yummmm.

I went on a bikeride yesterday through the West Province with some other trainees. We left at 8 AM, finished around 2 PM, completely, 100 percent exhausted after tackling some incredible hills, like this one. By the end of the day my legs were like jelly, but we'd seen some absolutely breaktaking sites...

...like this.

Happy World AIDS Day Eve

As part of PST, all of the health trainees have had to work with one of five community groups throughout training to develop a final project to be done at the end of training. I was working with a community group of people living with HIV/AIDS, and today, we carried out our final project as part of World AIDS Day (December 1). We went to a local high school with a banner we had made that said (in French): “Protect yourself. Don’t be scared to get tested.” The banner had a picture of one person looking nervous and anxious on the left with question marks are around her head. On the right, we drew a picture of several people dancing together, some with a “+” above their head and some with a “-” above their head. Our community group had identified several messages as important to get across: 1) that people who were HIV+ and people who were HIV- needed to work together to reduce discrimination in the community; and 2) that it was important for people to know their status so that they could then begin to take care of themselves properly if they were HIV+ and they could continue to avoid contracting HIV if they were HIV-.

This banner was meant to illustrate these ideas – that people who are seropositive and seronegative can live and work together happily, and that people who know their status (whatever that status may be) are able to live happier, healthier lives. Below the poster, we had a blank space and we wrote above it, “I promise to live positively with everyone without discrimination.” When we were at the high school today, we asked students to sign it, and after they signed it, we gave them a pamphlet about HIV that we had made. Meanwhile, another group of trainees had worked with a health club in the high school itself, and they led some animations, or activities which were meant to teach about HIV – and many people in the high school participated in those.

I have been dreading this for awhile, because I thought it would be disastrous, but it turned out surprisingly well. For some reason, prior to this, I expected that animations here would be a lot more challenging than any similar work I’d done in the US – they’d have to be really well planned to do any good; furthermore, I thought that they wouldn’t be any good if they didn’t reach or impact a majority of the audience. I’m also accustomed to learning taking place in a classroom, according to a set schedule and set times. However, today, we came during the high school’s lunch break and did this (what seemed like very random) AIDS day animation, and the events turned out not just okay, but pretty well. While to me, it’s really bizarre to go and do animations about HIV during students’ lunch period, it’s actually not that crazy here.
I think this was an important lesson for me, because it helped me realize that my work here won’t be so different from my work with Peer Health Exchange. When doing peer education with PHE, I always knew that any time we taught a workshop, we were probably only really reaching a minority of students – some students just don’t care and aren’t that interested. That’s okay, though, because you teach for that minority of students who do care, who do learn, and who, in turn, make the world a slightly better place. Today, I learned that the same was true here. While I know that not everyone understood everything that happened today, some kids may have learned something or thought about HIV in a different way.

I’ll close with an anecdote that made me happy. A current volunteer has been here this week, helping us out with our final community group projects, and she said she heard two girls at the high school talking to each other about our banner. One girl asked the other what the banner was all about. The second girl replied, “well if you sign it, it means that if you get tested and you have HIV, we can still be friends.”

business matters

I've been bored lately with training, and spent half of yesterday making a map of my village on the computer. Check it out!Also, the next few days will be busy as stage is coming to a close, and everyone will be trying to go to the cybercafé, so I expect it to be difficult for me to access my email. Here is a schedule of events for the next few days. Don't worry, I'll be alive, just a little more MIA than usual.

Saturday Dec 1: Celebratory dinner with trainees, trainers, and homestay families
Sunday Dec 2: Trainees travel to Yaoundé, stay at the Peace Corps office for two nights while setting up banking and doing "bridge to post"
Tuesday Dec 4: Trainees return to Bangangté and homestay families
Wednesday Dec 5: Swearing-In Ceremony! Country Director, APCDs, and all of Bangangté will be there! woo hoo! By the end of the day, we will officially be Peace Corps Volunteers, no longer just measly Trainees.
Thursday Dec 6: Volunteers depart for their posts

My schedule after that is a bit hairy right now, as it appears to be quite the challenge to find a route to my post that doesn't involve me crossing rivers in very unstable canoes, only a problem when you consider that I will be traveling with the 80 lbs of stuff that I brought here plus the about 100 lbs of stuff that Peace Corps has given me (many books, an enormous trunk, a bike), plus whatever other items I will have purchased to set up my home (e.g. kitchen supplies, food, huge gas tank, a camping stove) so I may or may not be staying in Yaoundé, Bafia, and/or Bafoussam for a night or two before finally arriving at post. Suffice it to say that I should finally, somehow, get to post around Dec 8 or 9. Once there, I don't know how soon it will be before I can get to the internet.

Take home message: if you don't hear from me in about a month (or more), don't worry. That's normal. Hopefully, I'll talk to you... soon (but remember that soon is a relative term).

Bon appetit

I made dinner for my homestay family tonight. I had brought up the idea Monday night, saying “you know, Papa, I’d like to cook for the family sometime.” He replied, “well, we’ve been waiting. You said you’d do it so long ago, I didn’t know why you didn’t do it sooner. You can do it whenever you want.” News to me. I wasn’t aware I’d promised any such thing, though at that moment, a conversation about me cooking for the family wafted vaguely through my memory – I wondered if we’d had some miscommunication in French. “This weekend,” I promised, “Saturday or probably Sunday.”

So I found myself buying ingredients in market on Saturday. I had in mind a fairly simple meal, easy to make up on the spot without a recipe: fresh tomato sauce (with onions, garlic, green peppers) and pasta with a side of green beans with sautéed onions and garlic. I ran into a snafu this morning, though, when my homestay mother informed me that they had just run out of gas for the sole gas burner that they owned. I had a sneaking suspicion that this was an attempt to get me to pay to refill the gas container, though I kept this to myself. “I can wait to make dinner until it’s refilled,” I said. She didn’t respond. Whether or not the gas was gone, though, I knew that if I wanted to make dinner tonight, I’d have to use the traditional method of cook-fire. Seeing as how I’d already bought all the ingredients, and dropped about 1500 CFA on them (enough to feed me lunch for about three days), I wasn’t about to not make dinner.

So at around 4:15 this afternoon, I dragged my ass out of my room and began chopping with a dull knife, using a marmite lid as a cutting board. I prepared the green beans first and quickly discovered that cooking with a fire is not as easy as it may seem. The onions got burned before the green beans were fully cooked, so I had to take them off the fire, a little too crispy. No matter, I continued with the pasta – had my little sister put some water on to boil. The pasta cooked quickly, I got my little brother to scoop it out of the water with a large spoon, since I didn’t see any strainers available. Both my sister and brother questioned me at this point: was the pasta really done? Yes, I answered; in America, we often ate pasta al dente, I said. I could understand where their confusion stemmed from however. The only pasta I’ve eaten in this house is more than thoroughly cooked through, almost to the point of mush. This hadn’t really bothered me though, since it was usually mixed in with a general mush of a meal – potato, pasta, and a tiny bit of vegetables. I knew the pasta cooked al dente might be new to them, but wasn’t that the point? Cultural exchange.

The final step was the tomato sauce. I chopped up 14 small tomatos, four small green peppers, three onions, and a couple cloves of crushed garlic. Threw it all in a pot and let it simmer. My little sister laughed when I asked for sugar – but really, doesn’t good tomato sauce have at least a hint of it? As the sauce cooked, I started to worry that maybe I had underestimated, not bought enough. Usually my family only eats once or twice a day – dinner is often a big meal. What if there wasn’t enough food?

Silly me, I shouldn’t have worried.

About two and a half hours after I began, dinner was finally ready. I tried to gather up my various family members to eat. I was starving – my hair and clothes reeked of smoke, my hands were sooty and greasy from fanning the coals of the fire with a grimy plastic lid when the fire died down, my eyes still watered from breathing in too much smoke. I knew that we’d have to wait to eat until my father showed up. Where was papa, I asked? Taking a shower, my sister said. Should we wait for him, I asked. Yes, my little sister said. But I’m hungry, I replied. Then eat, she said. I was tempted to start, but I knew I should wait.

A half hour later, my entire family gathered around the table in the living room (save my mother), ready to eat dinner together. I was kind of pleased with myself – I thought the food looked delicious and moreover, my cooking had brought everyone to the same table to eat together for the first time since I’d been in their home. Usually, everyone eats in random parts of the house, the living room reserved for the most important people in the house (my father and I, obviously). I had not once before eaten with my siblings. My father happily asked me to explain what was for dinner. I showed him how I shoveled beans on my plate, then pasta, and then doused my pasta with the spoonfuls of tomato sauce. Pleased, and definitely amused at me, he followed suite. Then my siblings.

My homestay father gushed about how good it was, finished everything on his plate – “I didn’t know you were such a good cook! You should cook all of our meals!” My siblings didn’t serve themselves very hearty portions, and my sister (the youngest) didn’t finish what she had on her plate. I was again nervous that I hadn’t made enough – I knew they were saving some for my mother who wasn’t home yet. I shouldn’t have worried though. My mother’s response confirmed my sneaking feeling that the food was just a tad too foreign to them, and quite unappetizing.

When my homestay mother came home, my father pointed to the food and told her that what was left was for her. She lifted the lid from each casserole dish and examined the contents, perhaps unaware that I was watching her with anticipation. After she looked at the last dish, the tomato sauce, she made a face of disgust. She then sat down, added a scoop of pasta and about three pieces of chopped tomato to her plate, took two bites and proclaimed herself finished. “You didn’t like it?” I asked. “I’m not feeling well,” she said, “I don’t have an appetite.” Hmmm, I thought, my bullshit-meter buzzing in my ear, that sounds like something I would say when I don’t want to eat that fish head that you put on my plate. I guess Cameroonians and Americans politely decline food they find repulsive with the same innocent words.

As it turns out, I didn’t need to worry about there being enough, because there was a ton of leftover tomato sauce and green beans. The only thing they finished was the pasta. I asked my little sister if she didn’t like the meal. No, we all liked it, she said. But their hungry bellies and all the leftover food told a different story.

Despite the hard work, and the fact that no one liked my delicious, nutritious, vegetarian meal except for me (and maybe my homestay father), I was really happy I did this, and at least fairly amused at their response of disgust to my most simple of American dishes. For one, I hope the thought may have crossed their minds: “this food is very foreign – hmm, I wonder if Rebby ever thinks that way about our food?” Second, my little sister Abby seemed very tickled with the whole process of me cooking. From the beginning of homestay I’ve wanted her approval, in some bizarre fashion. But she’s a bit of an oddball, often grumpy, hungry or both, and asking me to buy her food. Her most recent development is running and hiding from me when she sees me walking down the street, though I cannot fathom why. Whenever she is asked to do a chore, such as cleaning dishes or cleaning the floor, or being sent to fetch something, she usually dawdles a bit first, sulking, scowling, knowing she has to do it, but wanting to refuse. Eventually, she’ll do as she’s told, frowning the entire way. Lately I’ve felt a bit defeated, like she just has a permanent scowl. In any case, tonight, she smiled and laughed with me (at me?) as she helped me cook dinner. And she did it willingly, for once, as if she was enjoying the experience. For once, helping out with chores didn’t bring that perma-scowl, but chuckles and smiles instead.

So, taking stock: a family goes to bed hungry but amused after watching the silly American struggle to use a fire to cook a meal that was just ridiculous (where was the meat?! The huge quantities of carbohydrates?!). A girl, at the bottom of a gender and age hierarchy, who gets dumped on quite a bit by every member of the family, got joy out of helping out with tasks that usually serve only to make her angry. And I got to make a meal that pleased my stomach (I’ll even get to have a tasty lunch of leftovers tomorrow). All in all, I'm pleased.

Happy Needless Turkey Murder Day!

[** I finally figured out how to change the post date on my blog entries. All of the dates should be correct now and in chronological order**]

Phew, it seems that as stage draws to a close, things are happening faster, and much more is happening everyday. It’s kind of like the entire Peace Corps experience in miniature – people always say that the first year is very slow, but the second year flies by. Stage passed quite slowly at first, but now I can’t believe it’s almost over (and I’m thrilled). Anyhow, yesterday was a day of many things, and today is Thanksgiving, so I’d like to share a bit about all of that, and how we stagiares are handling Tday.

So, yesterday, the health group went to a local high school and taught a workshop on HIV/AIDS. David and I (both trainees) and Stacy (a current PCV) all facilitated. The workshop was only about 45 minutes, and in French. Initially, I had thought that I would have no trouble – I’ve facilitated many workshops before, and getting up in front of people has never seemed difficult to me before. But as soon as we got to the classroom, I realized how in over my head I was. We had only planned the workshop a few hours before doing it, and hadn’t rehearsed it at all. As soon as we were up there, in front of about 40-50 students, plus all of the trainees, I just completely blanked – forgot everything we’d planned. The kids were fantastic, very well-behaved, and very participatory. I had some trouble understanding the students speaking in French, which made it very difficult to check whether they understood. Stacy, fortunately, was on top of it, and did an amazing job holding the workshop together. It was a good reality check for me, though, about how difficult it’s going to be to facilitate these workshops, and how much work I will need to put into doing them well, should I do them.

Immediately after that, my group of trainees had a meeting with our community group. One of the projects for the health program involves meeting roughly weekly with a community group (either of women, or a high school group, or with a group of people living with HIV/AIDS) and planning an activity that we are going to do at the end of stage to show what we’ve done. My group is the local PLWHA, and all along the meetings we’ve had with them have seemed to go nowhere. I’ve often thought – how is this ever going to culminate in anything? Next week is when we’re supposed to have our big culminating activity and be done with this project, so we finally needed to settle on something to do with the group. We’ve wanted the activity to be community-group-led, but it’s just been going too slow, and I think we finally realized that we just need to take charge and do some of the work in order to get it done. We kind of made decisions and just told the group what we’re going to do, and kind of hoped that they’d be on board. It’s really not ideal, but it was a good reality check for me in realizing just how long it might take to get things accomplished when at post and working with Cameroonian groups.

The things that have slowed the whole process: the American idea of meetings is very streamlined – people generally understand how things are run and can follow instructions easily. The idea of what one accomplishes in a meeting doesn’t really match up here; things are just slower. Also, Cameroonians often, just in conversation, repeat things a lot, so this can slow things down when you have to repeat yourself a lot. The language and cultural barrier also really slows things down. Even if I explain something in perfect French, I might be explaining it in terms that are really not comprehensible in a Cameroonian cultural context. For example, I had looked up the translation for the word, “banner,” but when I said this could be something we could make, one of the PLWHA group members asked what it was. I guess banners just aren’t a thing here. I think it’s especially tough to lead meetings as trainees when we don’t completely understand the purpose of what we’re doing with these groups. In any case, I think our project, whatever it is, will turn out kind of terribly, but it is at least good for me to think about how slowly projects may go during my service.

Phew, so continuing with the whirlwind day – we ended the day with a staff meeting, and afterward, we found out that one of our fellow stagiares has been kicked out of Peace Corps Cameroon. I don’t think my blog is really an appropriate forum to discuss the details of what happened or why she was kicked out, but suffice it to say that most people were very upset about it. It kind of threw me into a bit of shock and put a damper on my mood, especially right before Thanksgiving. I had been really excited about everyone’s ideas of what we’re going to make for Tday, and how everyone’s really pulling together to enjoy the day and have a huge feast (for 39 trainees and the trainers!). This event really just dampened my spirits and even made me question the operation of the Peace Corps.

But today is another day – Thanksgiving, no less! We had bought eleven chickens to prepare for Tday (turkey is not really available), and we had to begin our work with the chickens by killing them, de-feathering them, and then gutting them, removing all the icky organs and then finally peeling the skin and cleaning all the pieces of meat. It was a very intense process. A few of the trainees tried their hands at killing the chickens by cutting their throat, myself included.

Some of you might say that this is gruesome, but honestly, I think it’s a really good experience to go through if you eat meat. I’ve always thoughtlessly pulled chicken breasts off the grocery store shelves. Killing the chicken myself, and going through the entire process of preparing it to eat was eye-opening, and makes me appreciate the process of food production in a way that I didn’t even think I needed to appreciate it.

I also prepared banana bread last night – I made two loaves, one for my family, and one for the thanksgiving day fête. It was fun to show my family how to make it, and I think they really enjoyed the finished product – they ate the entire loaf in about 5 minutes without offering me a piece. The best part of it was that I cooked the banana bread on a wood-fire! My family doesn’t have a stove, but you can turn any old stove burner or fire into a stove using a large marmite (which is basically a huge saucepan with a lid), putting sand on the bottom and then putting the item you’re baking on the sand. It was dope, and I felt so accomplished.

So, anyhow, while I do miss family and friends in the states, and the traditional Thanksgiving day festivities, our celebration here is set to be really great. One of the perks of celebrating Thanksgiving in a foreign country is that it’s not a holiday here, it’s just another day. So if anyone forgot to buy some ingredients for something – no problem, all the stores are open, as usual. Everyone is contributing something different and I’m really excited for all of it – so far we’ve got a chocolate cake, a few banana breads, chocolate chip cookies, a pumpkin (or squash) pie, apple pie, pineapple pie, banana cream pudding, 11 marinated chickens, a squash puree potash-type soup, onion rings (made from scratch), deviled potatoes, mashed potatoes, carrots, green beans, sautéed squash, stuffing, and cabbage caraway soup. There’s probably more, but I don’t know what it is yet. We even got the afternoon off from training. It’s so great to spend the day with my fellow trainees, cooking, prepping food, baking, and then eating. One of the trainees is obsessed with Christmas, so he is working on making 18 Christmas stockings. Some of the trainees started a “five-piece Irish death-metal acoustic jam band” at the beginning of stage, and they’re set to perform five songs tonight, complete with dancers and a choreographed dance. We’re quite the motley crew. I love this day!

Are we there yet?

So training has officially become a total drag. Mostly, I feel frustrated because time is used so inefficiently and, moreover, I have very little control over my time. We are supposed to be at the training site from 7:30 AM til 4:30 PM everyday, and then home by curfew at 6 PM. We do get an hour and a half for lunch, but taken in total, this leaves us only about an hour and a half at a time to do anything. And I’m not just talking about hanging out with friends. With new regulations, we (the trainees) are permitted to go out past curfew only on Saturday and Sunday and Wednesday, the night of our weekly dinners together. I am actually feeling okay about the amount of time I spend with other the other stagiares. However, just to get little errands or chores done or to do everyday tasks to stay on top of my life usually take more time than that. Moreover, there’s often dead time during the day that is unplanned for – a training session will end early, or a guest speaker won’t show up on time because the roads are so bad, so then you’re just sitting, waiting for things to pick back up. Sometimes the training sessions are painfully boring and seem basically irrelevant to my work as a Health volunteer – example: a two-hour tech session on how to raise cane rats. Pretty much the only thing there IS time for during these short breaks is eating. Which might explain why I’ve probably gained about 10 pounds since arriving here. That, and my near-addiction to chocolate bars and cookies here.

So, as a stress reliever, this past weekend, I finally decided to go out at night. I’ve been avoiding it, because my family’s home has a large gate surrounding it, which they lock at nightfall. I feel bad coming home late and ringing the doorbell to wake my little brother to come open the gate for me. But, I’ve realized that I need to get out sometimes for my own sanity. And I’ve finally begun to feel a bit more comfortable in town, and even walking home at night by myself, if necessary. Me and about eight others went to this bar that had a pool table (!), drinks, and a club-type scene in the back. It was good time – we ate, drank, danced. I even played a round of pool. One of my favorite things was that in the club-type area in the back of the bar, there was a large mirror (actually one of the only full-length mirrors I’ve seen here), and people just stood in front of it, dancing, and watching themselves dance. It was hilarious. The place wasn’t exactly kicking, but we were having fun. Apparently, the nightclubs pick up a lot more later in the night – around midnight or one – but I didn’t want to be too rude to my family by returning too late so I went home around 10 PM. It was raining lightly, and I had stupidly worn my flip flops, so while me and Danny drunkenly walked home in the rain and mud, belting out songs, my flip flops kicked up mud on the back of my skirt, which I only discovered the next morning. It almost felt just like a night out in New York – even the next morning, one of my friends stopped by to let me know about how she didn’t quite remember how her night ended, except that she did know that she threw up. Twice.

In other news, I feel very at home here in Bangangté. I went for an hour-long run this morning, a bit out of town, and after tackling a number of large hills, I encountered a plateau at the top of one hill that was just gorgeous. I wished I had my camera, as I have at many moments while running. It figures that just as I get to know the environs, to make some local friends, to feel comfortable, I’m going to have to pack up and move to the middle of NOWHERE. My closest postmate is a half-day away, and I’ve come to understand that this is a bit intense, even by Peace Corps standards. The next closest postmate after that is surely a full day away; however, once I travel for that whole day, I have many options, since the full day will bring me to Baffousam, which is only an hour or less away from where many of my fellow trainees are posted. Some current volunteers are even posted in Baffoussam.

I’m realizing more and more that almost anything you might want can probably be found in Cameroon. Granted, it will be in the big cities (Douala, Yaoundé, Baffousam), which will mean a lot of traveling to get there, and then of course, a decent amount of searching once in that city to find whatever it is you want. But. It is possible. Right before swearing-in, all the trainees are going to stay for two nights in Yaoundé to get banking set up. I’ve been dreaming about eating milkshakes and pizza, which I’m told are available. Although the two will cost probably more than an entire month’s living expenses while at post, I don’t care. It’s worth it to splurge every now and again.

And besides that, I’m stoked on some of the Cameroonian foods, which you can’t find in America. A few of my favorites: batons de manioc (literally manioc sticks) – the texture is just about the same as the tapioca balls in bubble tea, but it’s in stick form – it almost resembles a piece of string cheese – floppy, white – but a tiny bit thicker and doubly long. It has very little flavor, but a strong smell, which deters most people (I don’t really notice it). It’s fun to chew on, satisfies my oral fixation for lack of chewing gum. I also suspect that it would be delicious with some sort of dipping sauce, though I’ve yet to discover one that will work well for this purpose. Batons are sold wrapped up in banana leaves (because after the batter is prepared, it’s poured into banana leaves and then steamed), and sold 100 CFA for a pack of eight. I’ve also come to love omelettes de spaghetti and omelettes d’haricots. That is, egg omelettes with cooked spaghetti or beans as the filling. Much better than you might at first think. Usually, there’s a bit of piment (spicy pepper flavoring), onions, tomato, and garlic thrown in too, so it pleasantly sets your mouth on fire. When the pasta omelette is cooked well, the edges of the pasta get fried and crispy – it’s delicious. Beignets and beans is another favorite. Mami’s will often perch themselves on a stool in market, or wherever they can find a spot, set up a huge vat of oil over a fire and then roll these balls of batter with one hand and then toss these balls of delicious right into the boiling oil. Hot, fresh beignets are awesome. I’ve also discovered some that are made from banana batter, instead of just being plain flavored. The beignets are often served with beans. It’s a nice combo. It doesn’t hurt that some of the local fruit is also some of my favorites – bananas, grapefruits, oranges, papaya, pineapple, and I can’t wait for mango season.

And, I’m getting better at bargaining. Which is necessary. Sometimes things have set prices, like when you go into a boutique or a restaurant. However, I’ve been getting such a kick out of bargaining, that when I went to buy candles the other day (definitely a set-price item), I couldn’t help but try my luck at bargaining. And I did well for myself, convincing the boutique owner to give me one of the candles as a “petit cadeau” (a little gift). Bargaining has started to become a game to me – seeing how much I can get someone to knock down the price. And I like the way Cameroonians do it. Sometimes the bargaining can get a bit intense, seeming almost unfriendly, like either side is very unhappy with what’s happening. However, after the price is set, if you continue with a short conversation – inquiring after the business of the day, the weather, etc – the person often becomes friendly, amicable. It’s as if this unpleasant bargaining thing must be taken care of – but once it’s over, it’s over; life can resume in a friendly, happy manner.

So, all is well here, for the moment. Exciting things are coming up soon, with swearing-in and moving to post. I just can’t wait for training to be over.

Meditations on traveling in Cameroon

Oh and one more thing. My first real experiences with traveling in country bush taxis left me feeling many things. I thought it’d be interesting to share some photos and some of my thoughts that I had while traveling:

- Jesus Christ, how are nine adults going to fit in this tiny car? [5 minutes later] Oh. Ow. That’s how.

- Wow, this countryside is so gorgeous. [trying to get more photos up]

- I am the luckiest person alive to be seeing and experiencing this right now [stupid grin on my face]

- Ohmygod, I am going to die now.

- Please don’t break down, please don’t break down, please don’t break down…

- Please don’t get stuck, please don’t get stuck, please don’t get stuck…

- I wonder how I can move my (insert body part here – arm, leg, buttcheek, hand, head, you get the idea) so that it won’t fall asleep.

- So this is why travel time depends on road conditions.

- Man, if the government would just pave these roads, I bet that would result in an almost immediate jumpstart to the economy, because then this two and half hour ride to go 50 km (~30 miles) would only take about 40 minutes instead and fewer delivery trucks would fall over/get stuck/have shot suspension systems due to the roads that cause them to break down all the time.

- So “good driver” has a whole new meaning here.

- No, no, I am going to die now.

- If Cameroon somehow managed to put itself together a little, have a little bit of infrastructure, have more paved roads, and have an actual tourist industry, this would be a tourist hotspot because it’s so friggin beautiful.

- [During a bush taxi ride with fourteen people in/on the car] I wonder what’s the most number of people that have been crammed into a bush taxi (ie 4-door sedan). I bet somewhere around 25. Hmm, that seems like a lot, maybe less. Maybe only 22 or 23.

- That’s ironic. The truck that fell over and is now stuck in the mud has the logo, “Africa moves, we do too!” on it.

- Well at least I don’t feel bad about not packing light – the guy next to me has a 200-lb sack of rice strapped to the roof and a stalk of 100 plantains in the trunk.

- I really don’t think it’s fair to call that a road

- Did we almost just tip over?

- Is that corn kernels leaking from a bag strapped to the roof? Oh good, the guys who are riding on the roof are taking care of it so we don’t have to stop.

A month in a week.

So I feel I should address my site visit. It was: exciting, fun, boring, and interesting, and more than anything else, utterly and completely overwhelming – all at one point or another. Ngambé Tikar is, as I detailed in my last post, fairly far away from Bangangté. By luck, we managed to get there in one day, but I think that is a bit unusual, and I also think it takes longer leaving my tiny village then coming to, since only one car per day leaves to go in the various directions that radiate out from the village. And, that one car will wait until it is FULL before leaving.

We arrived in village at around 4 PM. My counterpart, Magloire, who has enough energy to fuel two or three people, was ready go and do stuff, but I was exhausted from riding in cramped bush taxis for 9 hours in the hot hot sun. I took a bucket bath and called it a day and passed out. I got up early the next morning, and went running with Magloire. He’s a superstar runner (and superstar soccer player), and basically put me to shame. Meanwhile, everyone was just stop-walking, jaw-dropping staring at us (or rather, me) while running, so that was a bit uncomfortable.

After bathing, we began meeting EVERYONE important in village. It’s not uncommon to have many important people in village, and as someone new, it’s pretty important for me to know these people. I should preface this by saying that EVERYONE we met was incredibly welcoming, friendly, and told me something along the lines of their home was my home, which was really nice to hear. I felt incredibly welcomed into my village and it seemed that people were thrilled to have me. I felt even more fortunate later, when I was staying with a current PCV in a nearby village, and she told me her story of meeting the mayor of her village [see below]. My counterpart even told me a very endearing story about how they’ve been trying to make accommodations to get a volunteer in Ngambé Tikar for more than a year, and he was SO excited to finally have one.

Anyhow, we began with the député and then tried to find the priest of the Catholic mission, but he wasn’t there; we walked to the house of the chef du village (village chief), who called Magloire his “son,” and said if I ever had problems, to come see him. The chef du village is a bit of an intellectual and told me that he went to school in Minnesota (!) and played in the snow and built snowmen, etc etc. So that was cool. Next, we went to see the local hospital/center du santé, which was one of my favorite things. I met with the chief doctor, who is actually the only doctor who works there, and he was nice enough to give us a proper tour of the hospital. The hospital is incredibly clean and appears to be well-run – the doc told me he has a staff of 15 people. It even has a microscope in their lab!! Which is unusual, especially for such a small village. Also, they had ingeniously set up the microscope so that the direct sunlight came straight thru the window to light up the slides. With this, they can do testing for HIV, malaria, and any other illness that requires a scope. Dope.

Anyhow, we then met the chief of the gendarmerie, sous-prefect and the adjoint sous-prefect, who basically acts as sous-prefect when the sous-prefect is away (I don’t completely understand what the sous-prefect does or what that means, but I do know that prefects and sous-prefects are Important People in Cameroonian culture). Also, the sous-prefecture is on a large hill that overlooks my town and the surrounding scenery, so from there, you can really see how the village is divided between forest and savannah. It’s a gorgeous view, which, fortunately, is pretty close to my house. I’m thinking that it will be nice to trek up the hill every now and again, just for the view.

Like I said, my house is quite close to the gendarmerie and the sous-prefecture, so we also saw that. It seems like it’ll be nice – and really fun to put together. Right now it’s completely empty. It has a pretty large living room area and four modestly-sized rooms. I’m hoping to turn one room into a kitchen space, one into a study, and the other two into bedrooms. My pit latrine and shower area are in a separate “building,” about 15-20 feet from the house (which is probably good). There was also a large turkey wandering around my house, which seemed a bit strange, since I haven’t seen any of those yet. Magloire asked me what I thought of the house, and I said I thought it was nice. He seemed quite relieved and told me that he had been really nervous for me to see it, and was thus thrilled that I found it acceptable. Anyhow, after meeting so many people, I was totally pooped and the sun was really roaring. We grabbed a bite to eat and then I passed out for five hours until dinner time.

That first day was the hardest. I was just totally overwhelmed, and I couldn’t take in ANYTHING. We met so many people, and the sun was so hot and we walked all over, that I was kind of in shock. I even completely lost my appetite. The next day, I was a bit apprehensive to even face the day, but I knew we had a lot to do, so eventually I dragged myself out of bed. Over the course of the three days there, we finally met the head of the Catholic mission, the head of the sawmill that is in town, and the mayor. Everyone was consistently welcoming, friendly, fantastic, and said that I could come to them for anything. Since there’s no furniture to buy in town, the head of the sawmill even offered to have two beds and a table and chair built and ready for me when I arrive, since they have a carpenter on staff. It was a relief to be so unconditionally welcomed. And Magloire has been a remarkable counterpart. He let me stay in his home (honestly, there wasn’t really anywhere else for me to stay in my tiny, tiny village); and I feel especially fortunate, because he just seems incredibly motivated, energetic, idealistic, progressive and simply fantastic; in essence, a rarity in Cameroon.

I will share several good signs that I think indicate how great he will be to work with. First of all, one of the first things he said to me was that he wants to create something concrete for the community – that is his vision. And he spoke about this with such fervor and enthusiasm. He seems very genuine about it. He also seems to have ideas of what those things might be (for example, a centre d’écoute or “listening center” – which I think basically means, a counseling center, but I’m not totally sure yet). Second, the PC volunteer who site prospected my post knows him well, has worked with him, and thinks highly of him. I think it’s a very positive sign that an existing volunteer has a strong, positive relationship with him and esteems him as highly as she does. Another time, we were discussing marriage in Cameroon and he said that here, when a man gets to be around age 25, people start saying he should be married, having kids. Magloire is 27, unmarried and has no kids. He told me that he doesn’t want to do any of that until he has accomplished his goals. In this way, he is an unusually progressive and determined individual. What we might call a “positive deviant.” Moreover, not only did all of the responsables and notables in my village seem to have great relationships with him, so too did practically everyone else in village. Making the short loop around village, we stopped no less than five times so he could go greet someone or go tease a little kid. He seems to know EVERYBODY and everyone likes him. And he learns quickly and is observant. He noticed my hair twirling habit (who hasn’t?) and at one point said to me: “you do that when you’re working or when you’re bored,” which is, of course, true. Added bonus: he laughs at everything. I feel like the funniest person alive when I’m chatting with him. I feel like the most fortunate PCV in the world to have been placed with him. I’m posting a photo of him being goofy at the river we had to cross by ferry to get to village.

Anyhow, site visit was very overwhelming, but by the end of three days, I was beginning to feel really excited to work with Magloire and my village for the next two years. The next step of site visit was visiting a current PCV. Magloire was kind enough to accompany me to visit my closest postmate, who is also his friend. This turned out to be a good thing, since we took a bush taxi (like the last time, a 1980-something four-door sedan) with fourteen people in/on it to a river, which we then crossed in canoes, and then waded barefoot thru knee-deep mud to reach the other side, where we took a 10-minute moto ride to reach the next village. I’m pretty certain I wouldn’t have known how to get there without him. We left Sunday morning around 7 AM and arrived around 12:30 PM. This is the PCV who is currently living in the same village where my closest postmate (Ralph) will be located – that is, he is replacing her.

It was really great to discuss village life with her. Her village seemed a bit bigger than mine, and seemed to be quite a party village – bars everywhere, lots of drinking. We ate some of the best fish I have ever tasted and just chatted about lots of things. I realized that I was even more lucky to have had such a welcoming village when she told me her story of meeting her mayor. Apparently, when she met him, he said to her “you have breasts like African women,” and reached over and grabbed hers. I can’t imagine what I would have done if I had encountered that, but it would have certainly turned me off to the whole experience. Moreover, another trainee here told me that half the men in her village were really welcoming and half were really creepy; apparently a number of them asked if she was just like the volunteer she was replacing and thus would not sleep with them. So all things considered, although it might seem like it should be a given to be welcomed into a community (and not harassed), I guess I feel pretty fortunate that I was so welcomed and not harassed.

Another great part of site visit was coming back from it and seeing all my fellow trainees again. We’d all only been apart for a week, but somehow, when we all saw each other again today, I suddenly felt a lot closer to everyone. It’s strange, but true, that distance makes the heart grow fonder. I guess we all went to post, realized how alone we’d be (in terms of seeing other Americans) and then coming back together, we just valued being together all the more. Despite that, I am super psyched and ready to go back to post. Training has really become a bit of a drag. It’s annoying because even free time during the day is not free time. There’s not much to do at the training site, and I could go home, but then my homestay father would be confused why I was home and I wouldn’t want to have to explain it to him. We’re not doing that much anymore in training, and I’m ready to just start getting settled at post. My French is just pretty kickass right now, and I can basically communicate with anyone, and even joke with people, which is nice. I guess I do need to start focusing on learning pidgin English and maybe some Tikar, which is the most prevalent local dialect in my community.

So, despite the initial shock of reaching village and realizing how completely alone I’d be in a home with no electricity and no running water and only a pit latrine, I’m now pretty stoked. All those things are kind of superficial, and it’s easy enough to get used to. What I think is more important and can really make or break a PC experience is the work itself and one’s counterpart. I don’t want to say that I have the best counterpart ever, but I really think I do. So I’m just stoked about that. BRING IT ON.