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.