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.

Bush Taxis 101

07 Novembre 2007

Picture: eight people crammed into a 1982 Toyota Something, carving down a dirt road, with about a ton of shit strapped into the open trunk of the car and the top of it. And when I say eight adults, I mean it – full-size, no kids here. Four in front, four in back. I was crammed in the front seat, second in from the passenger door in a position that can only be described as a cookie cutter gone awry. My counterpart, next to me, sat half in the driver’s seat, straddling the clutch, which the driver had to operate in what I thought was the most absurdly sexual manner. Really, I use the word “road” lightly. A more accurate description might be a dry, rocky riverbed, that, at times becomes sort of flat, as it meanders its way through the (gorgeous) hilly countryside in the West Province. This car was not made to off-road, and as such, I named it “lutteuse” (or “fighter”) because despite the road conditions, the ton plus weight of passengers and luggage combined, and the fact that the car was older than me, it didn’t tomber en panne the entire way. At one point, I looked over at the speedometer to see how fast we were going. While I was trying to figure out whether the speedometer was in kilometers or miles, I noticed that the needle hadn’t moved at all, even when the car sped up. Right, I thought, why WOULD the speedometer work? The stiff edge of the seat was jammed into the small of my back, making it *extra* comfortable. I was actually quite thrilled when the car pooped out, mid-ascent of a steep hill and we had to get out and walk because the car just couldn’t support the weight of all eight of us and all of our crap, even in first gear.

THIS was the slow passage from Foumban to Malentouen. I say slow because I was crammed as such for more two hours.

This was actually the third leg of a four-stage voyage from Bangangté to Ngambé Tikar, my post. The first leg brought us (my counterpart and me) from Bangangté to Bafoussam, a trip I’ve done before. Nothing new there. The second brought us, again in a minibus-type vehicle through an agence de voyage from Bafoussam to Foumban. This ride was notable because it was the first time I’ve seen a live goat strapped to the roof along with other cargo. Without a cage. Apparently, this is quite common. I’ve heard of 22 live goats being strapped to the roof and having several shoved in the van itself.

The third leg, as I already detailed, was the death ride, which brought us to Malentouen. We were making great time at this point and caught another bush taxi just as it was almost full. A note about taxis and travel agencies: here, when you go to a travel agency and buy a ticket for a set route or when you catch a bush taxi, you have to wait until the vehicle is full before you can leave. There is effectively no schedule. This can have its perks and pitfalls. Today, we managed to catch rides quickly because many were almost full and we (the two of us) brought the taxi to full, so we didn’t have to wait long to leave. However, sometimes the wait can be upwards of 2 or 3 hours. In Malentouen, they were waiting for one more person – however, me and my counterpart made two more. No worries. Just when I didn’t think you could cram more than eight people in a four-person sedan…voila! You can! This time, nine of us piled into a hatchback/station wagon-style car (again, circa 1980-something). Since this one wasn’t as full with luggage, I suggested someone sit in the trunk area (this is the kind of car where you can reach into the “trunk” behind the backseat); my counterpart looked at me like THAT was a crazy idea. Right. But nine people and all their 800 lbs of luggage in a 1980-something vehicle made for four, traveling along bumpy dirt roads – THAT’S fine.

Here is another fine example of Cameroonian crap-piling onto ancient four-door family sedans. I always knew there was a reason I loved those four-door family sedans.

Anyhow, we arrived in great time and collapsed in his living room. Then we went to sit outside, which was nice because the sun was past its hottest and the weather was really pleasant. Magloire told me about his goals and hopes for the work. It seems, from the way he talks about it, that he is extremely motivated, extremely idealistic and full of hope for what we can accomplish. In this sense, we are peas of the same pod. He also seems to be well-known and liked in the community. As we walked to and from his house, he must have stopped no fewer than five times to say hi to people and introduce. I couldn’t be happier to be paired with him for the next two years.

On first blush, my village is gorgeous – much nicer than Bangangté, I think. Granted, I was exhausted and starving from my day of travels, but I was pretty enchanted with it. We’ll see how I feel after I’ve used the latrine…

Post Announcements

This has been a really exciting week! On Wednesday, all the stagiares mustered up some good ole’ American tradition and creativity to throw a pretty damn good Halloween fête. We had beans and beignets (from Abba’s mom – the best in Bangangte), booze, candy, and even some proper decorations. And practically everyone came out in a costume, which ranged from a ghostbuster and slimer duo, a duo of a moustique (mosquito) and moustiquaire (mosquito net), an intestinal worm (specifically, Andy’s), various cats and animals, a very good Dr. Njiti impression, and a jazzercizer (“Let’s Get Physical!”). The Halloween fête was way fun, and it conveniently coincided with our regular Wednesday night group dinners, so we already had permission to be out past our 6 PM curfew. The party was rockin’ til almost 9 PM! Wooo!

Also thrilling was the announcement of everyone’s post yesterday. I will be opening a brand spankin’ new post in Ngambé Tikar, a small village in the Center Province:

That’s “nn-GAHM-bay tee-kar” phonetically. The village itself is apparently quite small, and it is located in the northwest corner of the province, very close to Adamawa and West provinces. The capital of Cameroon, Yaoundé, is also in the Center Province, and this is also where the Peace Corps office is located. Initially, I thought that I would be going to the provincial capital to do my banking – and this would mean getting to stay at the Peace Corps office in Yaoundé about once a month, where theoretically, I would have access to the Peace Corps office internet, as well as the potential to meet up with fellow volunteers. However, more careful inspection has revealed that a closer and more likely place for me to do my banking will be Bafoussam, the provincial capital of the West Province (and I’m told, the 3^rd largest city in Cameroon).

I’m not sure how I feel about all that – kind of ambivalent – but I am excited about my closest post-mate: Ralph! Ralph is posted in Adamawa, but he’s right on the Southwest border of the province and is very close to me, in Bankim. Ralph is a 63-year-old retired ski patrolman who once worked in the French Alps, Vietnam War veteran thrice over, French language enthusiast, and generally wise man, not to mention one of the most good-natured people I’ve met, considering he is far and away the oldest person in our 42-person stage (the next oldest person is 27). The other day, I asked him whether he thought sex and food made the world go ‘round. He answered, “definitely.” Then I asked which he thought was more important. “Food,” he replied. And Why? “Because, we’ve all been here in Cameroon for a month now without any sex and we’ve survived just fine, but where would we be without food?” Such sagesse. That’s “wisdom,” for you Anglophone folks. This is Ralph, with fellow stagiare Kate Legner:

So, although Ralph is only about a 45-minute moto taxi ride away (in the dry season), there is really not anyone else very close to me. Like, at all. In fact, one of the current PCVs who was here for training this week and who has seen my village told me flat out that it’s in the middle of nowhere. Which is both exciting and absolutely terrifying. Ten of the stagiares in our stage were placed in the West Province, and another ten were placed in the Northwest province, both of which are fairly small provinces, so these people are pretty close by one another, relatively speaking. Not like they’re all going to be partying with one another all the time, but if they’re having a rough time, any number of fellow PCVs are pretty close by to commiserate, etc. So I’m a bit scared about being practically all alone (speaking strictly about Americans). But at the same time, I’m not sure I’d want to be at a post so close to so many others. I guess the grass could always be greener if I dwell on this, so I’m pretty much just forging ahead and hoping everything comes up roses.

Which brings me to the things that I’m really excited about. The PCV who I will be staying with during my upcoming site visit, Stacey, has apparently pushed very hard for there to be a post in my village. Apparently, she thought that my future counterpart, who runs the local youth group, was so great and she thought the village itself was so great that it needed a PCV. Furthermore, my boss (APCD), Kim, confirmed me that my counterpart is very dynamic and motivated. These are things that I had mentioned to her as being important to me, because I think one of the toughest things to encounter in my work would be working and working and working and having no one in village motivated enough to work with me or give a shit. The community itself was asked to identify its needs, and they mentioned wanting to set up a “Centre d’ecoute” – literally, a listening center, but I think this roughly translates to a counseling center. Which is really exciting, as anyone who knows me knows that counseling is one of my favorite activities. They also listed about ten other categories for interventions, including my interests in family planning, repro health, and STIs/HIV, so I’m pretty excited to have the chance to work with a variety of health topics (including water sanitation and nutrition – bring it on, “maison de nourriture”). And I think I’ll be working with kids a lot, which I can say, based on my past experience teaching high school students, is a double-edged sword, but which is also ultimately rewarding. All in all, I feel at least a little at ease with regards to my work.

I had also mentioned wanting to be in Adamawa; there were only three health posts in Adamawa, one of which had to go to a man (Ralph), but my post is about as close to Adamawa as you can get without actually being there. In addition, Kim told me that the Tikar people are extremely proud of their tribe. Ngambé Tikar encompasses both Savannah and forest, so wildlife of both terrains abounds, and because of the forest, there are Baka people (otherwise incorrectly known as pygmies) there as well. So basically, it sounds like a fantastic, diverse mélange of really different environments and cultures – my own mini-Cameroonian version of NYC, n’est pas? As for amenities – I don’t know about running water, though I hear electricity might be a go (at least some of the time), and there is apparently cell phone service in some parts of the village, potentially my home itself.

I will close with the story of when I told my homestay father about my post. The conversation went a little something like this:

Father: so where is your post?

Me: oh right, I’m going to be in the Center Province, in Ngambé Tikar.

Father: …[long pause, in which he looks confused, concerned?] Merde!

Which, roughly translated, means, “Fuck! Child, you’re going to be SOL in the middle of nowhere.” Fortunately, our training director had told all of us, after finding out our posts, that when we told our homestay families where we were going that we shouldn’t listen to anything they said. Because, just like in the US, people have certain ideas about certain places, even without ever having gone there themselves (everyone in Kentucky marries their first cousin at the age of 15, right?). So I wasn’t overly concerned. But just in case I was, tonight at dinner, he told me that he had spoken to his friend here in Bangangté who is from Ngambé Tikar. He reassured me while shaking my hand, that Ngambé Tikar is actually a “nice village.”

As my fellow stagiares, Kate Wright, would say, I’m totally stoked.